Dungeon Wars: The Rise of an F-Rank Soldier

by underrated Drake

Chapter 5 - Razor's edge

Previous Chapter

A deep breath.

A slow, steady inhale.

The first thing Spencer noticed as consciousness drifted back to him was the stillness—a quiet, almost unnatural calm that settled over his body. For the first time in his life, he felt… whole.

Not just stronger.

Not just smarter.

But different.

He cracked his eyes open, blinking against the dim green glow of the dungeon's remaining veins. His vision was sharper, more refined, the details of the stone walls and lingering dungeon energy far clearer than before. The air felt lighter, yet his body felt weightless, as though movement itself had become second nature to him.

And yet—

He clenched his fist, letting his newfound power settle into his core.

He was still weak.

His status screen flickered to life before him, and his eyes narrowed.

[STATUS UPDATE]

Name: Spencer Dracowski
Level: 37
Rank: C+
Attributes:

Spencer exhaled sharply, closing the screen with a flick of his wrist.

C+.

Even after maxing out three abilities, even after all the bloodshed and survival, his ranking was still low.

It wasn’t enough.

He needed more.

A groan echoed from nearby.

Spencer turned his head, seeing the others slowly coming to.

Royal Pin was the first to stir, pressing a hand to his head with a groggy grunt. “Ugh… I feel like I got hit by a truck.”

Chiba pushed himself upright, cradling his still-injured wrist, his expression weary. “More like a bus.”

Mr. Cakes let out a painful chuckle, still laying flat on his back. “Try a tank.”

Woodrow grunted but said nothing, simply adjusting himself against the dungeon wall, his eyes scanning the room with sharp awareness.

None of them noticed the change in Spencer.

His body looked the same. His height hadn’t changed. His frame was still lean.

But everything had changed.

Spencer rolled his shoulders, testing his movement.

It was subtle.

But his steps were quieter now. His breathing controlled. His vision sharper than it had ever been.

His intelligence surged with new knowledge—spell formations, battle strategies, stealth maneuvers, all ingrained in his mind as if he had spent years mastering them.

And yet—

He would say nothing.

The truth of the dungeon belonged to him.

The ownership.

The power.

The rewards.

And if anyone found out, if word got out too soon, then every greedy politician, guild, and nation would be on his throat before he had a chance to prepare.

So he wouldn’t tell them.

Not yet.

He had a plan.

And it started with getting stronger.

The group found the teleporter at the far end of the boss room—a circular stone platform, inscribed with glowing runes, humming faintly as if waiting to be activated.

Chiba stepped forward, placing his good hand on the central glyph. “This should take us back to the surface,” he muttered.

Spencer nodded. “Then let’s get out of here.”

The moment they stepped onto the platform, the runes flared brightly, filling the room with a flash of white light.

And in an instant—

They were gone.

The teleportation stone spat them out into the crisp, cold air of the Dragonlands’ northern forests.

For a moment, no one moved.

Then, Royal Pin exhaled sharply, his breath visible in the early morning air. “I… never want to go into a dungeon again.”

Mr. Cakes laughed, despite the pain in his ribs. “Gotta admit… I’d rather be baking right now.”

Woodrow stretched his aching muscles, rolling his shoulder with a grunt. “We lived. That’s enough.”

Chiba sighed. “Barely.”

Spencer simply stood still, looking out over the vast horizon.

He could see it now—the path forward.

He wasn’t ready to return to the capital.

He wasn’t ready to deal with the politics, the war, or the scheming nobility.

Not yet.

He needed time.

And there was only one place that could give it to him.

“I’m heading to Razor’s Edge,” Spencer finally said.

The others turned to him, surprised.

Chiba frowned. “Razor’s Edge? That’s a mountain town. Why would you—?”

“To train.”

The word hung in the air.

Mr. Cakes nodded slowly, his expression understanding. “So this is where we part ways.”

Spencer gave a small nod. “For now.”

Royal Pin clicked his tongue. “I should’ve known you’d be the crazy type.”

Woodrow snorted. “Hmph. Better than being weak.”

Chiba hesitated before reaching into his belt pouch, pulling out a small, silver coin.

“Here,” he said, tossing it to Spencer.

Spencer caught it instinctively, his sharp eyes scanning the strange insignia on its surface.

Chiba smirked. “It’s an engineer’s guild token. Show it to any blacksmith or craftsman, and they’ll give you a discount on weapons or repairs.”

Spencer raised an eyebrow. “And you’re just… giving this to me?”

Chiba shrugged. “Let’s just say I have a feeling I’ll see you again.”

Mr. Cakes stepped forward, extending a hand.

Spencer took it.

“You saved our asses,” Cakes said, his usual humor softened. “Don’t die before I can return the favor.”

Spencer gave a faint smirk. “No promises.”

Royal Pin simply gave a two-fingered salute, smirking.

Woodrow nodded, his gaze sharp, unreadable. “Make yourself useful. Next time we meet, I expect you to be stronger.”

Spencer smirked. “I will be.”

Then—

With nothing left to say, he turned.

And walked toward the mountains.

Unbeknownst to Spencer, the world outside had already started to shift.

The Dragonlands’ capital was in turmoil.

News of the failed war effort and the collapse of the S-rank dungeon had spread like wildfire.

And many A-rank and B-rank adventurers—along with military officials—had begun to question the Dragonlord himself.

He was too cautious.

Too hesitant.

And in a world where power ruled, a ruler who hesitated was seen as weak.

In the shadows of the palace, whispers grew louder.

There were those who plotted.

Those who schemed.

And some who were already sharpening their blades.

Because for the first time in centuries, the Dragonlands’ throne was vulnerable.

And hungry wolves were circling.

A FEW DAYS LATER

The train rumbled beneath Spencer’s feet, the rhythmic clatter of the rails a steady heartbeat against the silence of his thoughts.

He sat by the window, arms crossed, watching the landscape shift from the war-torn plains of the Dragonlands to the towering mountains in the distance. The air outside had already turned colder, thin wisps of snow trailing over the sharp cliffs and rugged valleys below.

Razor’s Edge.

A remote mountain town, tucked away in the frozen north, nestled between massive cliffs and endless forests. It was a place where adventurers came to train, fight, and survive.

A place where weakness was beaten out of you.

And a place where monsters were endless.

Spencer leaned back against the seat, exhaling slowly as the train pushed further up the mountains.

The town itself was infamous for one reason—its dungeons.

Unlike the war-torn southern regions where dungeons were fought over like pieces on a chessboard, Razor’s Edge had so many that no single guild or kingdom could control them all.

Most of them were ranked E and D, not worth the effort for powerful guilds or nations to monopolize. But that meant that rookie adventurers, mercenaries, and those who just wanted to fight had free rein to do whatever they pleased.

And more importantly—

The monsters never stopped coming.

Spencer smirked slightly, his fingers tapping against the hilt of his machete.

For most, Razor’s Edge was a harsh, unforgiving hellscape.

For him?

It was perfect.

The ideal place to master Bloodlust.

His dormant skill had yet to activate, but he knew how it worked. He needed to kill humanoid creatures, to spill enough blood in battle to awaken its true power.

This town would give him endless opportunities.

And by the time he was done?

He would be unrecognizable.

The train let out a long, sharp whistle as it pulled into the station.

Spencer grabbed his duffel bag, stepping onto the icy platform, his boots crunching against the frozen wooden planks as a gust of frigid wind slapped him across the face.

Immediately, he shivered.

“Holy shit, it’s cold.”

It wasn’t just cold—it was freezing.

The air was thin, and the wind cut through his jacket like a blade. The entire town was buried in layers of snow, steam rising from chimneys as thick plumes of white drifted across the streets.

Most of the buildings were made of sturdy stone and reinforced wood, their rooftops weighed down by massive layers of ice.

Everywhere he looked, adventurers moved through the streets, their weapons strapped to their backs, their expressions grim and focused.

And the monsters?

Spencer could already hear them.

Howls echoed from the cliffs above, distant roars and screeches drifting through the air.

He smirked.

“Welcome to the Freezer.”

Spencer had barely made it five steps into town before someone nearly ran him over.

WHAM.

A short, muscular woman collided with his side, nearly knocking him into the snow, her body rigid with frustration.

“MOVE IT, JACKASS!” she snapped, shoving past him.

Spencer blinked. “Excuse me?”

She stopped mid-stride, turning sharply.

And for the first time, Spencer got a good look at her.

She was shorter than him, maybe 5’5, but her presence made up for it.

Her fiery orange-red hair was tied up in a tight ponytail, streaks of gold running through the strands. She wore a black adventurer’s coat, reinforced armor plating on her arms and legs, and a massive greatsword strapped across her back.

Her golden-yellow eyes narrowed at him.

“Something funny, Slenderman?”

Spencer raised an eyebrow. “You always start fights before introductions?”

She snorted. “This town ain’t about pleasantries. If you’re standing in my way, you’re a problem.”

Spencer crossed his arms. “Alright. So what’s your problem?”

She huffed, crossing her arms. “I was heading to the training grounds before some twig got in my way.”

Spencer smirked. “You mean me?”

She smirked back. “You catch on fast, Greenie.”

Greenie.

Spencer immediately knew who she was.

Samantha “Smolder” Dracona.

Younger sister of Garble Dracona, the same S-rank prick who made his life hell in boot camp.

Unlike her brother, she wasn’t in the main army—yet.

She had been sent up here to train, to get her anger under control before she was allowed anywhere near the frontlines.

From what he had heard?

It wasn’t working.

Spencer exhaled through his nose. “You said you were going to the training grounds?”

Smolder’s glare softened slightly. “Yeah. You interested?”

Spencer shrugged. “I need a place to test my skills.”

She smirked. “Then let’s see if you’re worth a damn.”

And with that, she turned on her heel, leading him toward the fighting pits.

As Spencer followed Smolder toward the training grounds, he couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching him.

The streets were crowded, filled with adventurers, blacksmiths, and merchants, but amidst the movement, he caught a glimpse of something.

A man in a black coat, standing in the distance, his eyes locked on Spencer.

He wasn’t threatening.

Wasn’t overtly menacing.

But something about him felt off.

Like he was studying Spencer.

Calculating.

Waiting.

Then, as quickly as he appeared—

He vanished into the crowd.

Spencer’s jaw tightened.

He didn’t know who that was.

But something told him that he would find out soon enough.

And he had a feeling—

It wouldn’t be pleasant.

The training grounds weren’t what Spencer had expected.

Rather than an organized military facility or even a structured combat arena, the place was a brutal, makeshift battlefield.

Large wooden logs were impaled into the snow, crude training dummies hacked to pieces, and the entire space reeked of sweat, blood, and frost.

Groups of adventurers and soldiers clashed in sparring matches, the sounds of swords clashing, fists colliding, and curses flying filling the air.

There were no referees.

No formal rules.

Just fighting.

And the only way to win was to stay standing.

Spencer cracked his neck, rolling his shoulders.

Smolder stretched her arms, loosening up, her smirk growing wider as she looked at him. “Alright, Slenderman. Let’s see if you’re as fast as you look.”

Spencer arched an eyebrow. “What, no warm-up?”

“This is the warm-up.”

Then—

She attacked.

CLANG!

The force of her greatsword crashing down against Spencer’s machete sent shockwaves up his arms.

She was fast—faster than someone wielding a blade that big had any right to be.

Her swings were wild but precise, each one carrying incredible power, forcing Spencer to stay on the defensive.

He ducked under a horizontal slash, twisted on his heel, and moved to counter—

Only for Smolder to pivot mid-strike, slamming the hilt of her sword into his gut.

WHAM!

Spencer staggered back, a rush of air escaping his lungs.

Smolder laughed. “That all you got?”

Spencer smirked, wiping his mouth.

“No,” he said simply.

Then, he vanished.

His Stealth mastery kicked in instantly.

To the average person, it would have looked like Spencer had blinked out of existence.

But Smolder’s golden eyes widened, her instincts flaring.

Her sword swung upward—

But Spencer was already behind her.

His machete lashed out, the blade slicing through a few strands of her hair, stopping just inches from her throat.

She froze.

Then—

She grinned.

“Well, damn,” she said, letting out a breath. “Looks like I underestimated you.”

Spencer lowered his weapon, rolling his shoulders. “Not the first time someone’s done that.”

Smolder sheathed her sword, cracking her neck. “Alright, Greenie. I’ll admit it—you’re fast. Really fast. But speed doesn’t mean shit in a dungeon.”

Spencer raised an eyebrow. “No?”

She smirked. “Not unless you’re willing to kill.”

The entrance to the dungeon loomed before them—a jagged, dark opening carved into the side of a frozen cliff.

The guards stationed nearby barely gave them a second glance, their breaths visible in the freezing air as they huddled around small mana-powered heaters.

For them, this wasn’t unusual.

For Spencer, it was an opportunity.

Smolder rested her sword on her shoulder. “You ever kill a humanoid before, Greenie?”

Spencer’s grip tightened around his machete. “No.”

Smolder nodded. “Good. Then this’ll be fun.”

The dungeon interior was just as cold as the outside, but the deeper they went, the more the temperature evened out, replaced by the unnatural warmth of dungeon energy.

Torches lined the walls, their blue flames flickering eerily, casting long shadows across the cracked stone.

Then, in the distance—

A sound.

A low, guttural growl.

Spencer grinned.

They came into view seconds later.

A group of creatures, standing just beyond the next corridor.

They were humanoid in shape, but their skin was ashen and cracked, their fingers elongated and tipped with jagged claws. Their hollow, glowing red eyes locked onto them, their movements jerky, twisted—like puppets missing their strings.

D-Rank Dungeon Monsters – Frost Revenants.

Smolder smirked. “Think you can handle this, Greenie?”

Spencer stepped forward, adjusting his grip on his machete.

“I’ll be fine.”

Then—

The monsters charged.

The first one lunged, its clawed hand reaching for his throat.

Spencer sidestepped, twisting his body just enough to let the attack pass by him.

Then, with one fluid motion—

He sliced the creature’s head clean off.

The monster collapsed, its blood spraying against the walls in dark streaks of blue and black.

Then—

Something inside Spencer clicked.

A chilling sensation ran down his spine, crawling through his veins like liquid fire.

His vision sharpened.

His pulse slowed.

And then—

His status screen flashed.

[BLOODLUST: ACTIVATED]

Gained +50 points to Strength.
Gained +75 points to Speed.
Gained +60 points to Fighting Skill.

Spencer’s breathing hitched.

The power rushed into his body, his muscles tightening, strengthening, his mind suddenly clearer.

The other Frost Revenants hesitated.

Smolder stared. “What the hell was that?”

Spencer smiled.

He was only getting started.

Spencer moved like a ghost.

His body blurred between the charging Frost Revenants, his machete flashing in wide arcs, slicing through their decayed flesh and brittle bones as if they were nothing more than paper.

Each kill sent another rush of power surging through his body.

Each drop of blood spilled sharpened his mind, made him faster, stronger, more precise.

[BLOODLUST: ACTIVE]

Spencer twisted his body, dodging another clawed swipe, before bringing his machete upward in a brutal arc, severing a Frost Revenant’s arm from its socket.

It screeched—but not for long.

A single, well-placed strike sent its head flying across the dungeon floor.

The last monster tried to flee—

But Spencer was faster.

He dashed forward, gripping his machete in reverse, and drove the blade straight through the creature’s skull.

Silence.

Then—

His status screen flickered again.

[BLOODLUST THRESHOLD MET: ABILITY UPGRADED]

You have slain 20 humanoid creatures.
BLOODLUST LEVEL 2: Now absorbs 75% of slain enemy’s highest stat.

Spencer exhaled slowly, letting the rush of combat settle in his veins.

His body felt light, his mind razor-sharp.

And he had just gotten stronger.

Smolder stared at him.

Her golden eyes flickered with a mix of curiosity and caution.

“That was…” She paused, searching for the right words. “Way too efficient.”

Spencer wiped the blood off his machete. “Thanks.”

“That wasn’t a compliment,” she muttered, crossing her arms. “Most people struggle against Frost Revenants, especially rookies. You moved like you’ve been killing for years.”

Spencer smirked. “Maybe I have.”

Smolder narrowed her eyes.

For a moment, it looked like she was going to press the issue.

Then—

She just shook her head. “Whatever. Not my problem.”

Spencer relaxed.

The less she questioned, the better.

They left the dungeon shortly after, stepping into the cold air of Razor’s Edge once more.

The sky had darkened, the sun setting behind the jagged mountain peaks, casting long, eerie shadows over the frozen town.

Smolder stretched, rolling her shoulders. “I’m hitting the tavern. You?”

Spencer adjusted his grip on his duffel bag.

“I’ll check out the Adventurer’s Guild first. Get my license sorted.”

She gave him a lazy wave. “Suit yourself, Greenie. Try not to get yourself killed.”

With that, she disappeared into the snowy streets, leaving Spencer alone.

For the first time since arriving—he was on his own.

And he liked it that way.

The Adventurer’s Guild in Razor’s Edge was nothing like the ones in the cities.

No grand hall.

No ornate decorations.

Just a simple, reinforced building, its walls scarred from past fights, its interior filled with rough-looking warriors nursing drinks, sharpening weapons, or counting their latest loot.

Spencer stepped inside, shaking off the cold.

As he moved toward the front desk, he felt it again—

That sensation of being watched.

He turned his head slightly—

And met the gaze of a stranger.

The man sat alone at a table, nursing a glass of something dark.

He was unassuming—medium height, lean but not muscular, with neatly combed brown hair and sharp, intelligent eyes.

His expression was calm, friendly even.

But Spencer’s instincts screamed at him.

This man was dangerous.

The stranger tilted his head slightly, his lips curling into a casual smile.

“You’re new,” he said simply.

Spencer didn’t answer immediately.

He weighed his options, then finally nodded.

“Yeah.”

The man took a slow sip of his drink, setting it down with a soft clink.

“Came from the south, didn’t you?”

Spencer tensed just slightly. “What makes you say that?”

The stranger chuckled.

“Only people from the south move that fast.”

Spencer narrowed his eyes. This guy had been watching him.

“Who are you?” he asked.

The man smiled again, pleasant, unthreatening.

“Name’s Lusk.”

Then, he gestured to the empty chair across from him.

“Have a seat.”

Spencer hesitated.

Something about this man was off.

Not in an obvious way. Not in a way that screamed threat.

But in a way that made his instincts itch.

And yet—

Spencer slid into the chair.

Lusk smirked, swirling his drink.

“So, what’s a guy like you doing in a frozen wasteland like this?”

Spencer shrugged. “Training.”

Lusk raised an eyebrow. “Training?”

“Yeah,” Spencer said. “I need to get stronger.”

Lusk chuckled. “Well, you’ve come to the right place. Razor’s Edge is perfect for that.”

There was something in his tone—a knowingness, a familiarity.

Spencer stayed silent, studying him.

Lusk tapped his fingers against the table.

“I like guys like you,” he said after a moment.

Spencer blinked. “Oh?”

Lusk nodded.

“Yeah. You’re not loud. You don’t try to act tough, but I can tell you’re dangerous.”

Spencer didn’t answer.

Lusk grinned. “Let me guess. You’re not planning on joining the war?”

Spencer’s fingers tensed slightly against his machete.

“I don’t fight for free.”

Lusk let out a short laugh.

“Good answer.”

For a brief moment, Spencer felt the air change.

Not physically.

But something about the way Lusk smiled, the way he spoke—

It reminded him of someone who had seen too much death.

And enjoyed it.

Lusk stood up, finishing the last of his drink.

“Well, Spencer,” he said smoothly. “I’m sure we’ll run into each other again.”

He placed a few coins on the table, then turned toward the door.

Then, just before stepping out into the cold—

He glanced over his shoulder.

“Try not to die too fast, yeah?”

And with that—he was gone.

Spencer exhaled slowly, his mind racing.

Lusk was different.

Not openly hostile.

Not threatening.

But still…

He wasn’t normal.

And something told Spencer—

That wasn’t the last time they’d meet.

Not by a long shot.