Chương 45: Chapter 42: The Blind Spot

From the eastern corner of the Ag building, a heavy chain-link perimeter fence began, stretching along a pathway approximately twenty feet out from the regular classroom wings. The layout had been designed to let students move safely between the outer breezeways while remaining protected inside the school grounds. The fence wrapped continuously around the eastern edge of the campus, only terminating where it met the library structure at the very front.

That meant we couldn't skirt the buildings or use the concrete overhangs for structural cover until we completely reached the front of the school. We were forced to move completely exposed against the open lane. We needed to take this incredibly slow. I pressed the button on my mic.

"Travis."

"Go ahead, Dad."

"I need you to sweep the internal breezeways between our current position and that eastern roof guard. Make sure the corridors are completely clear of foot traffic."

"Copy that, scanning now," he answered. I turned my head toward Alex, keeping my voice down to a bare whisper.

"I'm going to keep my bow drawn and anchored toward the roof lines of the classrooms. I want you to take the point position. Keep your eyes locked dead ahead and watch the gaps between the breezeways. If you catch even a shadow of movement, you freeze in place. Understood?"

"No problem," Alex murmured, adjusting his grip on his bow.

"Clear all the way up to the base of the roof guard's structure," Travis reported over the line.

"You've got a clean lane."

"Copy," I replied, giving Alex a sharp nod. As one cohesive unit, we pushed down the eastern flank of the school. Alex led, with Dog tracking low and tight to his back left, while I brought up the rear, my bow raised and my aim tracking along the concrete roof flashing above us. We rounded the bend, tracking south along the fence line toward the front of the campus where the final roof guard was stationed.

When we neared the designated building, Alex dropped into a tight crouch, holding a defensive angle on the ground level. I stepped laterally away from the fence line, expanding my angle to clear a direct shot over the building's edge. From this specific pocket of the lawn, I was looking at a distance of approximately one hundred meters to the target. In the past, a distance like that would have been the absolute maximum limit of my accuracy with a traditional recurve bow.

But with my scaled physical stats, heightened perception, and the crisp clarity of my dark-vision overlay, I felt entirely confident. I took my time, settling my boots into the grass and cycling through my tactical breathing techniques. We were completely out in the open on this patch of lawn, and a single missed shot would pull the entire hornets' nest down on our heads.

Just as the sentry rotated his torso toward my position, I caught his sudden breath of recognition—he'd spotted a figure standing in the open grass, aiming a weapon straight at him. But the realization came a fraction of a second too late. I held my breath and released. The heavy carbon arrow punched directly into his center mass. The guard stumbled backward a single, uncoordinated step, a look of profound confusion washing over his face before he collapsed flat onto the roofing material.

I let out my breath in a long hiss, completely unaware I'd even been holding it. I tapped my comms.

"The east side is clear. Confirm front indicators are still inactive." A second later, Isadora's voice cut through the static.

"Overwatch confirms front targets are stationary. You're clear."

"Copy that. Closing on the front office now. Team two, we're approaching your perimeter shortly."

"Copy," Joe responded, his voice tight.

"We're in position." We pressed forward again, Alex covering front while I kept my eyes tracking the empty roof lines. We moved like ghosts along the perimeter fence, working our way toward the front courtyard. But the moment we hit the open expanse of grass separating the general education classrooms from the science wing, we had to come to a hard stop. I needed to get eyes on the two courtyard guards Travis had spotted earlier—the ones holding the door closest to the central quad.

Remaining in a deep crouch, I worked my way to a viewing angle, tracking their movements for a full minute before slipping back to Alex's side.

"Alright," I whispered.

"You want the good news or the bad news?"

"Give me the bad news," Alex said flatly.

"There is zero cover between this corner and the next building block. We're going to have to low-crawl the entire distance across the grass. It's easily a hundred meters of open ground."

"And the good news?"

"The sentries look completely checked out," I said with a faint smile.

"They're staring inward toward the fires in the quad. We should be able to cross the lane without pulling their eyes."

"Should?" Alex countered, raising an eyebrow.

"That doesn't exactly scream confidence, Dad."

"Nah, we'll be fine," I chuckled softly, patting his shoulder.

"We move simultaneously, but I want you tracking on my left flank. Keep it slow, rhythmic, and don't rush. If the guards catch our movement, forget about the bows entirely. I'll draw my sidearm and we go fully loud. If that happens, you sprint for the nearest structural wall, secure hard cover, pull your Glock, and engage targets as necessary. Clear?"

"As clear as it's going to get, I guess," Alex muttered.

"That's the spirit, son." Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit. Dropping flat into the prone position, we hooked our thumbs over our bow strings to keep the frames clear of the dirt and began low-crawling across the open grass on the far side of the bus lane. The night was exceptionally dark, and with both of us outfitted in solid black BDUs, the visual contrast was practically nonexistent.

To my absolute amazement, Dog didn't need any instruction; he dropped his chest straight into the grass, keeping his massive shoulders completely level with our bodies as he slithered forward beside us. It felt like it took an absolute eternity to cross that open expanse of lawn, every muscle in my core burning with the slow, deliberate movement, but we cleared the danger zone without pulling a single glance from the courtyard.

Sliding back into the heavy shadows of the buildings, we rose back into a low crouch and checked our sights. As we rounded toward the front entry of the main office, the ground guard near the glass lobby doors came into clear view. However, from this tight angle against the masonry, the roof sentry above the office was completely invisible to me. I checked Alex's position.

"Same execution as before. You lock onto the ground target, I'll take the roof. But I'm going to have to step laterally into the open parking lot to get a clean angle on the guy up top when he clears the ledge." Alex gave me a silent nod of understanding, drawing his string back and anchoring his pin on the lobby guard.

I pulled my own bow to full draw, tracking the empty concrete roof line as I began slowly stepping backward and to the left, extending my distance from the safety of the wall to clear the overhanging roof. Just as the distinct twang of Alex's bow string clipped the silence, sending an arrow screaming into the chest of the lobby guard, a violent, white-hot flash of agony exploded in the lower right side of my back. It hit right below the rear rim of my tactical vest, driving deep into my kidney.

A powerful hand clamped down onto my left shoulder blade, twisting a heavy steel blade inside the wound. A raspy, mocking voice chuckled directly into my ear.

"Your sneak needs more sneak, old man." My entire visual interface instantly corrupted, flashing brilliant crimson as a massive cascade of system warnings flooded my sight, and I heard Alex let out a frantic, terrified scream:"DAD!" [System Combat Log] Critical Hit: You have sustained 36 points of piercing damage! (Base Damage: 12 x 3 Sneak Attack Multiplier) Status Affliction: You have gained the [Bleed] debuff. Loss of 10 HP per minute for 10 minutes or until medically treated.

Status Affliction: You have been [Poisoned]! Loss of 10 HP per second for 2 minutes or until magically cleansed. The sheer shock of the trauma turned my legs to water. I stumbled backward two uncoordinated steps, the sudden movement tearing the man's grip off my shoulder. I spun around, my vision blurring at the edges, and saw a figure clad in dark leather armor suddenly yanked off his feet. Alex's green [Vine Whip] had snaked through the dark, wrapping violently around the attacker's throat.

Reaching behind my back with a groan of pure agony, I gripped the hilt of the dagger embedded in my flesh and ripped it free. I immediately channeled my mana, casting [Minor Heal] on myself. A flush of warm energy washed through my core, restoring 30 hit points and instantly cauterizing the [Bleed] effect, but the venom coursing through my veins was untouched.

The [Poisoned] timer was ticking down rapidly—if I didn't find a way to neutralize the toxin within the next few seconds, my health pool would hit absolute zero. Dog surged into the fray like a freight train, his massive jaws locking down onto the assassin's forearm with a sickening crunch, but the fighter was incredibly resilient, managing to stay on his feet despite the beast's weight.

My automatic [Inspect] finally processed the target's profile through the chaos: [Target Profile: Human] Level: 8 Class: Rogue Realizing I was seconds away from collapsing, I threw my entire body weight forward. I lunged through the dark, driving the rogue's own venom-coated dagger straight through his chest piece and into his heart. The momentum carried us both to the pavement, the man going entirely limp beneath me as we hit the blacktop.

I rolled off his corpse, my hands shaking violently as I tore a plastic potion bottle from my chest rig. I yanked the cap with my teeth and downed two massive, burning gulps of the fluid. The alchemical mixture hit my system, instantly restoring 60 hit points, but the persistent [Poisoned] notification merely flickered, its total duration cut by half but still actively draining my vitality. I reached up, slamming my thumb into my radio switch, my breath coming in shallow, ragged gasps.

"Johnny... Cleanse... now..." The words had barely cleared my lips when a deafening, sharp rifle crack shattered the night sky. A high-velocity round smacked into the asphalt inches from my head, spraying sharp bits of gravel across my face. An instant later, a terrifying, heavy whipping sound tore through the air above me, followed by a massive, bone-shattering thwack that vibrated directly through the ground beneath my back.

I had absolutely no time to process what weapon or spell had just landed; my vision was darkening as the poison ate away at my remaining health. I tilted the bottle back and forced down the remaining three doses of the health potion, pulling another 90 hit points into my reserve, but the deadly green timer kept ticking down in the corner of my eye. Across the tarmac, Joe's voice roared through the earpieces, completely abandoning stealth protocols.

"Man down! Go loud! Go loud!" The night instantly erupted into chaotic, sporadic bursts of gunfire. Suddenly, a pair of hands slammed onto my chest armor. Johnny had sprinted through the line of fire, dropping to his knees beside me. He closed his eyes, his palms glowing with a brilliant, pure white light as he channeled his magical energy.

"Hold steady, Derrick! Cleanse!" A wave of intense, freezing energy surged through my chest, instantly neutralizing the burning heat of the rogue's toxin. The green debuff icon shattered and vanished from my display. Without breaking his rhythm, Johnny kept his palms pressed flat, immediately casting his area-of-effect group heal. A soothing light washed over my skin, stabilizing my vitals and bringing my current health pool up to a safer 64 hit points.

The air was thick with the smell of gun fire and the deafening echo of rifle fire bouncing off the concrete structures. Gritting my teeth against the residual ache in my back, I pushed myself up from the pavement, desperately scanning the chaos to locate my son and assess our tactical standing. Near the concrete pillars of the main office entrance, Alex was completely locked in.

He was working his compound bow with terrifying speed, launching arrow after arrow into the darkness, while his left hand moved in fluid, casting arcs—sending thick, thorny green vines whipping across the pavement to entangle and pin down a wave of enemy combatants rushing out from the interior corridors.