Chương 16: Head On

I looked up from the blue interface, feeling a rare and fleeting surge of actual competence. I had the stats. I had the weaknesses. I was ready to use my superior human intellect to dissect this problem like a middle school biology project.

"Okay, this is actually some top tier data," I said, tapping the floating screen with an air of tactical authority.

"Now that we know these armored milk wagons are basically allergic to water and have the turning radius of a freight train, we can sit down, draw up a sophisticated battle plan, and—" I stopped. I realized I was talking to a patch of empty air where eight feet of Russian tracksuit should have been. I whipped my head around and saw Dimitri. He wasn't hiding behind the tree anymore. He was standing out in the open like he was posing for the cover of a romance novel set in a gym.

In one hand, he clutched that notched hunk of iron that looked more like a giant letter opener than a sword. On his other arm, he had strapped that rotting barrel lid, which looked less like a shield and more like he'd been doing some very aggressive dumpster diving.

"Hold on a second, Big Sunshine!" I hissed, my voice cracking with the kind of panic usually reserved for realizing you've left the stove on.

"Where exactly do you think you're going? We haven't even discussed the formations yet!" Dimitri turned back to me, his face glowing with a smile so radiant it probably could have been seen from orbit. He looked like he was about to give a commencement speech to a group of orphans.

"The sun does not wait for the clouds to plan their movement, my dear Arthur!" he boomed, his accent rolling through the meadow like a benevolent landslide.

"Glory is a shy maiden who only dances with the bold. It is either we seize the mantle of our destiny in this very heartbeat, or we let it slip through our fingers like grains of sand in the wind!" To my absolute horror, he didn't just stand there. He took his blunt, nicked blade and slammed it against the rotting wood of his shield with a massive thwack. The sound was surprisingly loud, echoing across the plains like a dinner bell for the apocalypse.

In a terrifyingly synchronized movement, all eight of the Bovine Crustaceans stopped their grazing. Sixteen twitching eye stalks swiveled around, locking onto the giant man in the tracksuit who was currently inviting them to a private beatdown session. My jaw didn't just drop; I'm pretty sure it hit the dirt with enough force to cause a minor earthquake.

At the very edge of my vision, I could see Elias Thorne standing near a bush, wearing an expression of pure, unadulterated terror that perfectly mirrored my own soul.

"He just rang the bell," I whispered, my hand shaking as I fumbled for my training revolver.

"He actually just rang the dinner bell. We're not the hunters, we're the appetizers." Dimitri didn't just walk toward the monsters; he launched himself forward with the unstoppable momentum of a runaway freight train made of muscle and premium polyester. He didn't even check to see if I was behind him. He just sprinted into the fray like a man who had forgotten that death was a thing that could happen to people.

"For the tranquility of this humble hamlet and the sanctity of the clover!" Dimitri bellowed, his voice echoing across the meadow like a benevolent thunderstorm. Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon. I stood there for a split second, my eyes probably dinner plate sized as I watched his Adidas stripes blur against the green grass. I should have known. I really should have known that a guy this wholesome had to be missing a few structural bolts in the logic department.

"Yep, there it is," I muttered to the wind, my voice dripping with the exhaustion of a man who has officially realized his life is a sitcom.

"I knew he was too good to be true. Nobody is that nice, that huge, and that sane all at the same time. There is always a catch, and apparently, his catch is a complete and total lack of self preservation instincts." I let out a sigh so heavy it felt like it had its own gravitational pull. I stood up from my hiding spot, dusting off my beginner rags, and focused my will on my pocket dimension. In a flurry of blue digital sparks, my Training Prototype-7 materialized in my grip.

It felt heavy and cold, a comforting weight of metal that promised to at least make a loud noise before I was trampled into a pancake.

"Alright, Big Sunshine, don't die yet," I grumbled, following after him at a much more dignified, slightly panicked trot. By the time I caught up, Dimitri had already reached the first armored milk tank. He didn't even use his dull, notched sword. Instead, he tucked his shoulder behind that rotting barrel lid and delivered a body slam that would have made a professional wrestler weep with envy. There was a sound like a wrecking ball hitting a pile of wet bricks.

The Bovine Crustacean, a creature made of literal stone and chitinous armor, was lifted right off its six legs. It did a slow, majestic backflip through the air before landing on its shell with a sickening thud. It wasn't dead, but it was currently wiggling its legs in the air like an overturned beetle, looking deeply offended by the laws of physics. I came to a halt a few feet away, staring at the carnage.

I mean, I knew the guy was big, but seeing him manhandle a prehistoric crab cow like he was rearranging light furniture was a whole different level of terrifying.

"Note to self," I whispered.

"Never, ever get on Dimitri's bad side. The power of kindness apparently comes with the ability to bench press a mountain." The other seven armored milk-tanks didn't just sit there and watch their buddy get turned into a decorative lawn ornament. No, they coordinated with a level of tactical precision that was frankly insulting for creatures with eyes on stalks.

They began to scuttle sideways, their chitinous legs clicking like a thousand knitting needles made of bone, until they had Dimitri dead center in a circle of impending doom. One of the beasts decided it had seen enough of the giant in the tracksuit. It lowered its armored brow, its eye-stalks retracting for impact, and launched into a Tidal Charge that looked like it could level a small cottage.

"Oh no you don't, you oversized seafood platter!" I shouted, finally finding my groove. I planted my feet, gripped the weighted handle of my Training Prototype-7, and took aim at the charging freight train. I squeezed the trigger for the very first time. The sound wasn't a pathetic pop. It was a crisp, echoing crack that rang out across the meadows like a whip made of lightning. I could actually feel the magic happening.

It was a bizarre, tingly sensation that started in my chest and flowed down my arm as the system converted a chunk of my internal energy into a projectile. [Notification: Basic Mana Shot discharged. Resource deduction: 1 Mana Point.] The bullet wasn't lead; it was a glowing pellet of pure sapphire light that zipped through the air with a faint hum. It bypassed the creature's stony carapace entirely, sinking right into the fleshy, cow-like shoulder.

Since these things apparently have the magical defense of a wet paper towel, the impact was glorious. The Bovine Crustacean let out a metallic, screeching roar of pure agony, its charge faltering as the arcane energy sizzled against its skin. It stumbled, its momentum broken, and that was all the opening Big Sunshine needed.

"The light of cooperation shall always pierce the darkness of adversity!" Dimitri bellowed, his face glowing with enough joy to start a cult. He stepped into the creature's path and delivered a thunderous shield bash with that rotting barrel lid. The impact sounded like a giant slapping a side of beef. The monster didn't just stop; it was sent into a violent, sideways roll, joinining its friend in the "I can't get up" club as it tumbled across the clover.

I blew a puff of imaginary smoke from the barrel of my gun, feeling about ten percent more like a hero and ninety percent like I was still going to die.

"One down, six to go," I called out, my heart hammering against my ribs.