Chương 65: Sneak Attack

Perched up in my cozy canopy sniper nest, I watched the glorious frontline circus unfold down below with a look of profound entertainment plastered across my face. Realizing my frontline buddies were currently engaged in a deeply personal debate with several highly motivated slabs of walking firewood, I decided it was only polite to send another invitation of high-velocity lead down into the clearing.

With a practiced, mechanical flick of my wrist, I manually manipulated the slide of my Standard Issue Matchlock, feeling the rough, unpolished wood scratch against my Trigger-Finger Wraps like an angry cat. I quickly prepared a fresh round, letting exactly one single point of my precious mana pool drain away to form the magical bullet inside the iron barrel.

I leaned my shoulder comfortably into the slightly grooved wooden stock, squinting through my tight Squint-Guard Bandana as I prepared to play an aggressive game of dental surgery with the specific Fungal Shambler currently using its sticky Mycelial Tether to pin Dimitri's massive legs to the damp forest ground.

I was just about to gently squeeze the smooth trigger and turn that overgrown mossy log into a highly expensive collection of Swiss cheese when a sudden, violent prickle of pure adrenaline spiked right up the back of my neck. Something was moving through the thick undergrowth. Something exceptionally fast. My eyes darted away from the main chaotic frontline, tracking a blurred, shadowy silhouette that was currently weaving through the dense foliage with an erratic, high-speed series of terrifying zig-zags.

The sheer, unadulterated agility of the movement gave me an immediate, highly unpleasant flashback to the system manual. It was a familiar, spindly frame of tightly wound blackened vines, and a cold sweat broke out beneath my bandana as I realized its single-minded, predatory trajectory was heading directly toward the edge of the tree line. Right toward June.

Our resident, hyper-aristocratic element-bender was currently entirely lost in her own grand world of narcissistic majesty, her pristine linen tunic billowing dramatically as she raised her Scuffed Juniper Branch high to chant another catastrophic elemental spell. She was completely, utterly oblivious to the fact that a literal hyper-speed botanical assassin was about to aggressively crash her royal garden party.

"June, look out, you magnificent royal pain in the neck!" I screamed at the absolute top of my lungs, my voice violently shattering the quiet forest air. Without waiting for a response, I threw caution completely to the wind and launched myself out of my comfortable canopy nest.

I sprinted frantically across the high branches, my Trainee's Soft-Steps slipping slightly on the damp moss as I scrambled through the dense foliage, leaping from one massive trunk to the next like a deeply panicked, heavily armed squirrel trying to intercept a runaway freight train. As my attention focused entirely on June's imminent demise, the dark canopy right next to me completely erupted.

An entirely different, completely unnoticed Rot-Vine Creeper burst out from the shadows of the high branches, its bulbous violet flower pulsing with a violent hunger. Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation. The hidden monster didn't even hesitate to capitalize on my distraction. With a terrifying flash of its wrist, it unleashed a single, slender root that shot straight through the air with the whiplash-inducing speed of a high-velocity bullet.

The lethal spike was aimed directly at my chest. In a frantic, purely instinctual survival reflex, I hoisted the heavy wooden stock of my Standard Issue Matchlock right in front of my vital organs, attempting to use the mass-produced infantry rifle as a makeshift shield. The absolute physical impact that followed was completely ridiculous.

The slender root collided with my firearm with a deafening, bone-shattering crack, the sheer piercing power of the spike completely obliterating the grooved wooden stock and shattering the iron barrel into a useless spray of splintered wood and twisted scrap metal. My absolute favorite long-range tool was officially reduced to expensive kindling in the blink of an eye. The momentum of the high-speed projectile didn't stop there.

As the rifle vaporized in my hands, I violently twisted my torso to the side, desperately trying to dodge the remaining force of the thrust. The razor-sharp root missed my heart by a fraction of an inch, tearing brutally straight through the thin fabric of my Padded Gambit Jacket and piercing deep into the flesh of my left shoulder.

The sheer kinetic force of the impact violently slammed my body backward, pinning me completely flat against the rough bark of the massive tree trunk behind me like a highly disgruntled collection of butterfly specimens. [System Notification: Your Standard Issue Matchlock has been completely destroyed. Do not panic, as this structural annihilation is merely temporary and the firearm can be fully re-summoned once a sixty-second cooldown period has successfully concluded.] The clinical, completely monotone voice of our digital female overlord echoed smoothly inside the quietest corners of my mind. It was a lovely, soothing reminder that while my beloved mass-produced infantry rifle wasn't dead forever, it was currently taking a mandatory one-minute union-mandated coffee break while I remained pinned to a giant oak tree like a tragic piece of low-budget taxidermy.

"Oh, you absolute piece of literal lawn clippings!" I roared into the chilly forest air, glaring right through my messy bangs and my tight Squint-Guard Bandana at the darkness where the stealthy botanical assassin was hovering.

"You think you can just turn my primary weapon into expensive kindling and expect me to not take it completely personally, you damn Creeper?" Realizing that my shoulder was still actively pinned to the bark and that my favorite long-range option was currently locked behind a highly annoying countdown timer, I decided it was officially time to bring out the heaviest, most obnoxious machinery in my digital storage closet.

With a frantic, lightning-fast mental command, I bypassed my empty holster and directly summoned my trusty Field Lobber right into my remaining free hand. The heavy, exceptionally cumbersome iron tube materialized instantly, its textured grip settling into my palm while the extra weight of the primitive launcher threatened to pull my arm right out of its socket.

The barrel was slightly deeper than usual, which was fantastic because I was about to do something incredibly stupid and highly irresponsible at point-blank range. I didn't bother aiming. I didn't bother checking my line of sight. I simply shoved the massive, unpolished iron mouth of the hand mortar directly toward the thick cluster of blackened vines where the offending root was originating from. I squeezed the smooth, scuffed trigger without a single drop of hesitation.

The heavy firearm violently erupted, letting out a deafening, metallic roar that completely shook the surrounding branches. A massive, overinflated bullet of pure concentrated magic surged right out of the deep cup, instantly detonating upon direct contact with the vine monster's spindly chest. The resulting kinetic blast was an absolute, unadulterated disaster for everyone involved.

Because the explosion happened approximately two inches away from my own face, the devastating shockwave didn't just disintegrate a significant portion of the Creeper's flammable wood composition; it completely tore the invading root right out of my bleeding shoulder and sent my entire body rocketing backward through the air like a poorly aimed cannonball. I flew straight out of the high canopy, breaking through several layers of dense foliage and rustling leaves before gravity remembered I existed.

I plummeted downward and landed flat on my back against the damp forest floor, the absolute physical impact with the hard dirt causing a spectacular, deeply painful rattle to echo through my entire skeletal structure.

"Oh, sweet mother of statistics," I wheezed loudly, rolling over onto my side while hacking up a small cloud of dust and pure agony. Every single muscle in my torso felt like it had just been aggressively tenderized by a very enthusiastic chef with a giant meat mallet, and my Padded Gambit Jacket was definitely going to need a serious wash after this.