Investing In My Lv.999 Devoted Wife Makes Me a Tyrant

11 | New Skill

Allen walked deeper into the dungeon, his boots echoing against wet stone. The corridor sloped downward, the air growing colder with every step. The walls narrowed, then widened again, opening into a small chamber lit by faint phosphorescent moss that clung to the ceiling like patches of sickly green stars.

He stopped to catch his breath. His ribs still ached from the club strike. His shoulder burned where the Duskrat's claws had raked him. Blood had dried on his jacket in stiff brown patches, and his left boot squelched with every step from the wound above his ankle.

'Still alive. That's more than most get.'

[Violet: Host's level has increased. The Skill Shop has been updated with new available skills. Would Host like to review the options?]

Allen pressed his back against the cool stone. "Show me."

A translucent blue panel materialized before his eyes.

[Skill Shop — Available Skills]

[Dash (Common, Active) — 150 DP: Short burst of speed. Range: 3 meters. Cooldown: 30 seconds.]

[Kick (Common, Active) — 100 DP: A powerful kick. Damage scales with Strength.]

[Minor Regeneration (Uncommon, Passive) — 400 DP: Slowly heals minor wounds over time. Healing rate increases with Endurance.]

Allen stared at the third option. Regeneration. Passive. He wouldn't need to activate it. It would just work, knitting his flesh back together while he walked, while he fought, while he breathed.

'Four hundred Dominion Points.'

He checked his balance. 370 DP. Not enough.

"How much for the goblins back there? And the Duskrat?"

[Violet: Kills inside dungeon gates do not directly generate Dominion Points. Dominion Points are earned exclusively through investments in Wife.]

Allen closed his eyes. Of course. The system wasn't a hunting tool. It was a marriage tool. Every Copper, every skill, every stat point—all of it came from her. From Seraphina. From the blanket he'd tucked around her shoulders and the soup he'd spooned between her lips.

'I need to get back to her. Clear this gate. Go home. Take care seraphina.'

"Anything I can do to get 30 more points?"

[Violet: Host's current Dominion Point balance is 370. No dungeon actions can increase this total. However, Host may consider an advance.]

"An advance?"

[Violet: The system can extend credit for skill purchases under specific conditions. Interest is 10 percent, deducted from future Dominion Point earnings. Minor Regeneration would cost 400 DP now, with 33 DP deducted from future earnings until the debt is cleared.]

Allen almost laughed. A system that offered loans. His life had become something he couldn't have imagined three days ago.

"Do it."

[Violet: Skill purchased. Minor Regeneration (Passive, Uncommon) acquired. Remaining DP: -30 (credit). 33 DP will be deducted from future earnings until debt is cleared.]

The sensation came as a warmth spreading through his chest. Different from the cold clarity of Calm Mind. Different from the hard endurance of Iron Will. This was soft. Gentle. Like warm water flowing through his veins. He felt the wound on his shoulder tingle. The ache in his ribs faded another degree. The gash on his ankle stopped throbbing.

Minor Regeneration. Slow. Subtle. But it was working.

'Better.'

He pushed off the wall and continued down the corridor.

The passage branched again. Two paths. One sloped upward, the other descended into a wider chamber where the phosphorescent moss grew thicker, casting everything in a sickly green glow.

Allen chose the lower path.

He heard them before he saw them. The skitter of claws. The guttural muttering of goblin voices. More than two this time. Maybe five. And beneath the goblin sounds, something else—a wet, grinding noise, like stones being chewed.

He pressed himself against the wall and edged forward until he could see into the chamber.

Five goblins. Two of them armed with rusted blades, one with a crude spear made from bone and twine, two with nothing but claws. They were gathered around a carcass, something large, maybe a dungeon beast that had wandered into their territory. The grinding sound was them tearing flesh from bone.

And behind them, two shapes moved in the shadows.

Stonehide Larva. Allen recognized them from the Guild bestiary he'd memorized years ago. Larva stage of a Stonehide Beetle, a common dungeon scavenger. Each was the size of a large cat, segmented gray bodies covered in pebbled hide that looked like rough stone. They had no eyes, no limbs, just a circular mouth on their underside filled with rows of grinding teeth. They moved by rolling, curling into balls and spinning across the stone floor.

One of them rolled over the carcass and began grinding at the ribcage.

Allen calculated. Five goblins. Two Larva. The Larva were slow on the open ground but fast when they rolled. Their hide was tough, he'd need to strike the underside where the mouth was, the only vulnerable point.

He couldn't take them all at once. So he wouldn't.

He picked up a loose stone from the floor and hurled it into the far corner of the chamber.

CLACK.

Every head turned. The goblins screeched and scrambled toward the sound, claws raised, blades swinging at shadows. The two Larva uncurled, confused, their round mouths gaping at the ceiling.

Allen moved.

He came in low and fast, knife already drawn. The first goblin never saw him. The blade punched through the back of its skull before it could turn around.

SSSHHKK.

One down.

The second goblin spun, spear thrusting wildly. Allen sidestepped, caught the shaft under his arm, and drove his knife into the creature's throat. Blood sprayed across the green-lit stone.

GRRAAAK—

Two down.

The remaining three goblins turned as one. Blades and claws. No more surprise. No more easy kills.

Allen backed up, putting the carcass between himself and the goblins. The two Larva were moving now, curling into balls and rolling toward him with surprising speed. The first one launched itself off a raised stone and spun through the air like a cannonball.

He threw himself sideways. The Larva smashed into the wall where his head had been, chips of stone flying from the impact. Before it could uncurl, Allen stomped down on its back, flipped it over with his boot, and drove the knife into the soft flesh of its underside.

SSSLLLRRPP.

The Larva convulsed, green ichor spilling across the floor.

Three goblins and one Larva left.

The remaining Larva changed tactics. It didn't roll. Instead, it skittered toward him with a grinding shuffle, its circular mouth gaping and closing, rows of teeth spinning inside its body. It lunged at his legs.

Allen jumped. The teeth grazed his boot, tearing a strip of leather from the sole. He landed awkwardly, pain shooting through his injured ankle, and slashed downward.

The blade caught the Larva's mouth. Teeth shattered. The creature screeched and rolled away, ichor trailing behind it.

The three goblins charged together.

The first one swung a rusted blade at his head. Allen ducked, felt the wind of the swing, and drove his knife into the goblin's armpit. The creature screamed and dropped. The second one lunged with claws out, catching Allen's already-torn jacket and ripping it further. Allen headbutted it—forehead to snout—and the goblin staggered back, clutching its face. The third goblin hesitated.

He grabbed the second goblin by the throat and slammed it against the stone wall. Once. Twice. The third time, something cracked and the creature went limp.

The last goblin turned to run.

Allen threw his knife. It spun twice and buried itself in the back of the goblin's neck.

THUNK.

The creature crumpled.

Allen stood in the center of the carnage, breathing hard. His chest heaved. His wounds throbbed. But Minor Regeneration was already working, the gash on his ankle had stopped bleeding, and the burn in his shoulder had faded to a distant ache.

He retrieved his knife from the goblin's neck. Wiped it on its own rags. Turned to face the wounded Larva, still twitching on the ground. One more strike, and it went still.

[Ding!]

[Violet: EXP gained. Level up: 8 → 10.]

The energy hit him like a wave. Stronger this time. Two levels at once. His muscles tightened. His bones felt denser. The pain in his ribs vanished entirely. He stood straighter, breathed deeper. His grip on the knife felt like iron.

'Level 10. Still pathetic. But less pathetic than yesterday.'

The chamber fell silent. The only sounds were the drip of water from the ceiling and the distant echo of fighting far behind him, the Hunters, still struggling against the monsters he'd left them with. He didn't hear any more screams. Maybe they were dead. Maybe they'd fled. It didn't matter.

He opened his System Panel. The blue screen flickered to life.

[Name: Allen Veton]

[Level: 10]

[Class: None]

[Title: None]

[HP: 95/100]

[MP: 0/0]

[Strength: 14]

[Agility: 15]

[Endurance: 13]

[Intelligence: 1,247]

[Skills: Calm Mind (Passive, Common), Iron Will (Passive, Uncommon), Night Vision (Passive, Uncommon), Minor Regeneration (Passive, Uncommon)]

[Talents: None]

[Bloodline: None]

[Equipment: None]

[Dominion Points: -30 (credit)]

Four passive skills now. Regeneration slowly healing his wounds. His HP had climbed back from wherever it had dropped during the fight.

'Getting there. One corpse at a time.'

He closed the panel. Looked around the chamber. Five dead goblins. Two dead Larva. The carcass they'd been eating was something he didn't recognize, maybe a young Stonetusk, its tusks barely formed. The phosphorescent moss cast everything in that pale green glow.

The corridor continued on the other side of the chamber. Downward. The air grew colder still, and somewhere in the distance, he could hear something breathing. Something large.

Allen checked his knife. Still sharp. Still bloody. He started walking.