Chương 48: Beyond the Scope

Frank kept his promise and next-dayed a lesser ironwood recurve bow to the Dungeon Divas PO box. The packaging was little more than simple cardboard and foam padding, which almost felt disrespectful to the quality of the bow inside. Though his website was kind of shit and didn't have a lot of information, Beth and I figured out that the bow Frank gave me would retail for about six months of my rent. Something worth that much warranted a case or even fancy wrapping paper–anything to give it the fanfare it deserved.

Meanwhile, Frank packed it like someone who didn't care about an eBay rating. CDM bows weren't junk, but as my level went up, I could feel my body outperforming the frame, and that wasn't just when I pushed it with my speed. The better I got, the more I felt that the draw could be smoother. The grip wasn't perfectly ergonomic. The frame felt flimsy, like balsa wood, like I knew it couldn't work as hard as I could. This lesser ironwood bow, however, felt like a partner ready to go into battle with me.

The finish was a simple matte stain with white engravings that allowed the wood's natural metallic coloring and grain to shine through, but the material felt like something more than wood. It had the coolness of metal, which was probably where it got its name, but it didn't feel like holding a piece of metal. Ironwood approached having the qualities of metal without actually becoming metal. It was weird.

"Do you like it?" Beth asked, watching from the couch as I opened the box.

"I do. A lot." I liked it so much that I didn't want to put it down. With some effort, I passed it to Beth.

"Oh, that's not how I expected it to feel."

"What did you expect?"

"It feels like it's adjacent to wood but not actually wood. I don't know how else to describe it."

"You're going to get to work with wood like that soon," I said.

"I'm nervous about tomorrow. I don't want to screw this up."

"You're going to do fine."

"I don't know anything about social media." I accepted the bow back from Beth.

"You're being too hard on yourself. Twenty minutes ago, you walked me through a full plan."

"I've never done anything like this before."

"Everyone starts at the beginning," I said.

"You can't get around it." Beth laughed.

"That's very wise."

"Nathan told me that not long after we met. I was afraid of pretty much everything, and hearing that helped."

"I'm glad he's your friend."

"Yeah, me too. I think you should take his advice." Beth hugged me.

"Thank you." My phone rang.

"A D gate needs cullers by 11: 30 p. m. Are you available?"

"Yes."

"Thank you for your service. I am texting you the address now."

"Dungeon gate?" Beth asked.

"Yep. Let's get this bad boy strung so I can take it for a test drive." For the first time in a long while, I knew someone when I arrived for the cull. This was a D gate on a farm somewhere west of the city. Megan and Glen both were present, as was a fighter, the captain who was a brawler, and the guard who was a ranger. I hadn't seen many of those in the CDM.

At any rate, I had never done a cull with Glen, and I realized then I didn't know his class because he never spoke at all and avoided any social gatherings the other interns might have. He was a fighter as well, it turned out. The other fighter I had done one other run with. She was a jacked brunette who liked maces. The captain was new to me, and he was quite possibly the most stereotypical brawler I had ever seen. He was a bear of a man and looked like he would be at home in a rough-and-tumble biker bar.

I, however, would not be at home in a biker bar because I used phrases like "rough and tumble." So our party had two brawlers, two fighters, a ranger, and me, an archer. The bias toward martial classes in the CDM was on full display.

"Hot damn, Carmino," the captain said when he saw my bow.

"What bank did you rob to get that thing?" That drew the attention of the other crawlers. I hadn't considered that some improved gear would make me stand out. I should have because now it seemed obvious that this is exactly what would happen. Crawlers loved to look at and talk about gear, and a level 5 with an ironwood bow was an unusual thing.

"I saved up for it," I said.

"The CDM bows don't hold up to a dex build, and the quartermasters have been pretty ornery about replacing mine when it breaks."

"That's a good investment," the captain offered.

"Shouldn't need to buy another bow in your lifetime if you take care of her."

"That's the plan." I glanced at Megan. She shrugged nonchalantly. The attention that bothered me wasn't concerning to her. Deciding that she was the more socially aware of us both, I did my best to adopt her way of thinking instead of endlessly fearing that someone would figure out we were the Dungeon Divas.

"Alright," the captain called when everyone was ready to start the run.

"I took a look inside, and my money is on it being a goblin dungeon. Heads on swivels, people. Let's do this." The dungeon was a large cave system. Where most dungeon corridors were relatively narrow, every chamber in this dungeon was expansive. Stalactites like upside-down skyscrapers hung from the ceiling, and our every movement echoed into the darkness. I preferred tighter quarters to this, I realized.

Yes, a more open field was better for an archer in most cases, but the amount of darkness our torches couldn't penetrate made me uneasy. We were exposed, and anything waiting to launch an ambush would know exactly where we were. Oddly, though, the first goblins we encountered ran right at us, and the frontline made easy work of them.

"Those goblins were fleeing something," Megan whispered.

"Looked like a typical charge to me," Glen replied.

"They wanted to get by us, not kill us. There's a difference." I was about to back Megan when the captain spoke first.

"I think she's right. Something feels off about this." We continued the run. The next goblins we encountered were already dead. Based on the scattered remains, whatever killed them used weapons as well as claws. A few even looked as if they attempted to run in the direction of the gate, but they bled out from missing arms or legs before they could get far.

"This is a variant," the captain declared.

"We're not on a typical goblin run, so I need everyone to be extra quick about following orders. This is my third D goblin variant. The first two were undead goblins, but this doesn't look like that at all. We might not know what we're dealing with until it's on top of us. Got it?" Everyone nodded. My first thought was that this might be the work of trolls. The wild trolls Megan and I encountered definitely enjoyed this degree of violence, but they didn't use weapons.

Trolls scratched and bludgeoned and tore at their prey, none of which left the comparatively clean wounds left by sharp blades that we saw here. You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story. Whatever killed the goblins liked both kinds of attacks. They were equally happy to run a weapon through a goblin's stomach as they were to rip a fistful of flesh out of its side. We continued onward through the massive caverns, finding little bits of goblins along the way.

When I say little, I'm not being facetious. The corpses of these goblins, who were very much dead based on the amount of blood we saw, had been taken. Other than a few hunks of meat and the odd appendage, no remains were left behind. A few steps deeper in, a spear hurtled out of the darkness. Glen got his shield up in time to deflect it, which was good for him and bad for me. The chipped and ragged speartip screeched off the cheek of my helmet. That was the closest call I had ever had on a crawl.

I thought the trolls in the high school would defend that title for a while, but just then, I was fractions of an inch away from dying. If my reaction speed had been any lower, say even one point less in dexterity, that would have been it. A spear not even meant for me, thrown by an enemy I didn't see, could have gone right through my face. When rocks followed the spear, our party was prepared. Out of habit, I stuck close to Megan and crouched low to share her shield.

When the volley stopped and her shield came down, I saw the yellow eyes of an oversized goblin mere feet away.

"Hobs!" the captain yelled. Megan got her shield up in time to block an axe swing.

"Down!" I yelled to her. Without hesitation, she crouched, giving me a few extra inches of clearance to shoot over her shoulder. We used this tactic on the surface, and it worked well here too. In the few instants the hob needed to recover after bouncing an axe off of Megan's shield, I put an arrow in his chest and then a second. That was my first time getting a clear look at a hobgoblin in person. They looked like six-foot goblins but with more muscle and an orange tint to their skin.

Two other hobgoblins crashed into the frontline. They made me feel small in a way that no monster I encountered before ever had. Boss monsters were typically larger than I was, but none of those were humanoid, and none of them hunted in groups. An oversized inker or slime were too abstract, perhaps. With hobs, it was obvious we were smaller and weaker than they were. A muscular arm raising a club that far above you makes you feel like the lesser species, like you are an inferior bug in need of squishing.

But I was faster. The draw strength on my new bow was greater than I was used to, but I knew that would get easier, especially when I added strength stat points later on. The real takeaway is that I loved that bow, pretty much immediately My arrows didn't save the day, to be clear, but they did allow me to contribute. Peppering the hobs slowed them down and exposed them to the blades of our frontline. My arrows alone weren't likely to fell one, it seemed. I could settle for being useful, however.

When the last hobgoblin died, the captain had us fall back.

"Anyone heard of this dungeon variant?" he asked quietly. We each shook our heads, including the guard.

"A true hobgoblin dungeon is C-ranked," the captain continued.

"If this was one of those, that first wave would have been bigger, and there wouldn't be goblin fodder lying around." He paused, as if searching for the words.

"We can clear this, but that's only possible if everyone has their heads in the game. If you aren't able to keep your cool, you could die, and you dying probably means the rest of us getting fucked up too. Anyone feel that way? We can turn back now if so." Monsters from a C-ranked gate in a D? When I was five levels short of the C-ranked minimum level recommendations? Yeah, I was terrified, but I think the shame of admitting that might have felt worse than the prospect of dying.

When no one said they wanted to turn back, I hoped they all hadn't gone through the same reasoning I did. If they were as scared as I was, then we were in trouble.

"Good," the captain said.

"We've got this." For the next twenty minutes or so, we saw only splashes of blood and gore left behind by goblin corpses. We moved slowly and cautiously, sweeping headlamps over every corner and shadow, expecting an ambush at any moment. But no such ambush came, so we continued farther into the cave. As we crossed another large chamber, the lights on our headlamps dimmed, contracting the darkness around us. When I shined mine on my hand, however, the light looked just as bright.

The bulb wasn't dying, nor was the battery. I looked up to cast it around the room. Yet, the light didn't travel as far as it felt like it should.

"It's a Dark spell!" the guard yelled, and just in time. Spears and rocks burst from the darkness as the frontliners raised their shields. I kept low to avoid another ricochet blasting me in the face. Glen blocked a stone the size of a softball but didn't see the spear coming in from the side. The crude metal punched through his thigh. We still couldn't see who or what was attacking us. Poor Glen babbled and yelled, his eyes locked on the weapon piercing his leg.

If I couldn't help but shout and curse when I pinched my finger in a doorjamb, then surely I would have been just as incoherent were I the one enduring so much pain.

"Defensive formations!" the captain called.

"Stay tight! Stay close! There's at least one shaman out there!" In terms of combat magic, the Dark spell was fairly simplistic and relatively low-level. As the name implied, it suppressed the effectiveness of light sources, but real mages would scoff at that description. The spell seemed to suppress light sources, but it actually didn't affect our headlamps at all. Instead, the Dark spell surrounded us with a field that absorbed light, preventing any from reflecting back.

Therefore, the solution to beating Dark wasn't more or stronger light. You either needed to escape the field or interrupt the caster. With the barrage of stones beating on our party, escaping the field wasn't an option. We could scarcely move forward or backward without exposing ourselves to more danger. And I was the only one in the party with a ranged weapon. Our ranger liked swords better. So, I started shooting. As methodically as I could with rocks raining down on us, I painted the darkness with arrows.

The shaman had to have a line of sight with us to maintain the spell, and he couldn't move while he held it. So, hypothetically, if I covered enough area with my blind firing, I would eventually hit the shaman. Maybe. If the shaman was in an elevated position looking down on us, we were screwed. I'd never have enough arrows to probe every inch of our surroundings like that.

I pushed my 12 dex as hard as I could, and I loved feeling the bow in my hand endure the abuse as though this were nothing more than a quiet day at the range. Finally, after twenty-some precious arrows tinged off of stone, I heard the dull, swift suction sound of an arrow striking flesh. The room lit up. The captain started to yell for me to focus the hobgoblin shaman, but I was already on it. I pumped three more arrows into it before it ducked behind the cover of a stalagmite.

"Light him up as soon as he shows himself!" the captain called. But I couldn't just watch for the shaman to show itself again. We had four hobgoblins bearing down on us, and Glen was still on the ground, bleeding and screaming. For a brief moment, the guard appeared to glow. Then she stepped out of the fray and swept her sword across the battlefield in one smooth arc. Her sword seemed to extend as it carved a swath through cave and hobs alike.

It was as though her weapon was a laser, automatically extending to the farthest point no matter how much the distance or terrain in between varied. One second, it was cutting across a boulder fifteen feet away, and the next, it was digging through the wall forty feet away, and then back close again to gut a charging hob. That was the Horizon Slash ability from the fighter class. She could probably only use it once a day at her level, hence having saved it until she knew it could do the most good.

LootLootLouis used the same ability combined with fire magic against the frost salamander a few days back. His was more visually impressive, but I was thankful to see such an effective technique helping to keep my party alive. The shaman poked its head out to cast, and I put an arrow in its eye. A few moments later, the captain crushed the shaman's neck beneath his boot. The guard asked Megan to hold Glen's leg. She apologized to the intern, broke the spear off, and then pulled the splintered shaft through.

It looked like agony, but that was better than trying to yank the leaf-shaped tip back the way it came in. Next, the guard dumped a healing potion into the wound and then a second into his mouth. She held his head as he thrashed and spasmed, but after fifteen seconds or so, he stilled.

"Holy fuck, that hurt," Glen whispered, his face soaked with sweat and tears.

"Am I going to get a bill for those healing potions? I know I can't afford them." The guard chuckled.

"Me neither, but we're authorized to use them in emergencies. Take a minute to get your bearings before you try to move." Glen nodded. He was in no hurry to get to his feet. The guard looked to the captain and asked, "Ready to fall back?" The captain checked his watch, frowning.

"It's thirty minutes back, and then at best it will be two hours before backup gets all the way out to the gate to help us." The guard winced.

"How long until a dungeon surge?"

"About an hour."

"Shit. I wish they would stop playing things this close. We should have way more of a buffer than that."

"But that would mean taking the gate off of the market earlier, and we can't do that because we might miss out on some revenue," the captain groaned sarcastically.

"We're seriously going to try for the boss with this party?" the guard asked. In other contexts, I would have been offended, but she was right to be concerned. She and the captain were the only ones over level 10. The rest of us were level six and below. That party makeup would have been fine for a normal D-ranked goblin gate, but this variant had already proven to be significantly more difficult. We were not the right party to finish this run. The captain stared at his watch as his body bounced nervously.

"By the time we get to the exit to call for help, the gate-tracker should have automatically alerted the CDM that this gate is in danger of surge, so us making the trip doesn't really help anything… Fuck. Okay, people. We're closing this gate. Get a drink of water and get your heads on straight." I used that time to collect as many of my arrows as I could find. No other class had to play pick-up-sticks after every battle like mine did, so that ritual always felt a bit silly. I didn't have a choice, though.

Until I could afford an enchanted bow that summoned its own arrows, this would be my life after every encounter. Spoiler: I would never be able to afford a weapon like that, and Frank wasn't likely to have one sitting around to give me either.

"Alright, folks," the captain said after a few minutes.

"Let's close this motherfucker."