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Ch 45
🕑 Added 2025-03-03 17:42:01 +0000 UTCYou have entered a Level 24 Dungeon.
Objectives: Defeat the murderous bandits in each of their camps and checkpoints and defeat the faction leader.
Camps cleared: 0/6
Checkpoints cleared: 0/3
At first glance, this dungeon looks the same as the others—stepping through the portal, we find the familiar landscape waiting for us. Tall pine trees, a meadow dotted with short shrubs, and a variety of wildflowers. Their white petals stand out stark against the darkness. The air is fresh but mixes with the scent of smoke and cooking meat.
But this one isn’t quite the same. Firelight flickers in the distance, sending jagged shadows crawling up the palisade walls. Even from here—maybe two football fields away—I can tell it’s occupied. Smoke drifts over the trees, mingling with the scent of roasting meat. The ground beneath my boots is soft with wild grass.
I haven’t recovered from my breakdown while healing the young Guildian. Not even close. But there isn’t time for moral platitudes. Blessedly, this dungeon is extending a lifeline. Labeling them murderous bandits isn’t perfect, but it’s enough. Enough to quiet the doubt—for now.
Mischief’s ears flick sharply, eyes locked on the walls. I don’t know much about feline behavior, but he’s definitely noticed something. But what? The camp is too far for noise to reach us—everything here is silent.
Wham.
A terrible pain erupts in my gut. My eyes shoot to the pain and I drop to my knees. As I drop, something slices the air past my ear—a second shot, missing by inches.
From my knees my hands move instinctively to the pain but stop just before touching the arrow that is so deep in my body it has punctured all the way through my back.
Through the haze of pain, I see Mischief dart in front of me. I barely manage to cast a barrier around him before the next arrow slams into it, deflecting harmlessly into the dirt.
It activates just in time for another arrow to hit and rebound off. It slams into the barrier’s invisible surface, deflecting off into the dirt.
Gingerly I touch the arrow.
"Shit—!"
Even just that gentle touch is enough to send blinding pain through my body. My hands shake as I just stare at the stump of the arrow in my stomach.
I can’t heal the wound like this. I had to get the arrow out.
Another arrow slams into Mischief's barrier—shooting off somewhere into the night.
No time to think. I grit my teeth and try to force myself to push the arrow through. Just like before the second my hand touches the arrow my body locks in pain.
“Mischief, help” I cough out the words.
Mischief whips his head toward me, eyes sharp. Before I can brace, his jaws clamp down on the arrow—and with a brutal yank, he tears it through me.
I hit the dirt hard, bile rising in my throat. My stomach clenches, and I barely register the taste of vomit. Darkness claws at the edges of my vision—but somehow, I force out a healing spell. Warmth blooms in my gut, a stark contrast to the searing hole in my flesh.
For a moment I lie there in the dirt. Dizziness clouding my thoughts. Through the haze I force myself to move. The phantom pain of the arrow still hums at my side. I cover myself in a barrier with a groan and force myself into a sitting position.
With my barrier active I give myself a moment to breathe.
Wham!
An arrow slams hard into my shield right at my face, I flinch but it never reaches me. Only…it doesn’t rebound off.
My breath catches. The arrow hangs there, vibrating in my barrier, pushing forward—drilling. I throw myself to the side a heartbeat before it shreds through and zips past.
What…the hell…was that?! Rather than rebounding harmlessly off my shield that last shot had struck my barrier and began to drill through it.
Mischief growls, hackles rising. Yeah. Enough of this.
I turn to him. “Did you see where the shots came from?”
A sharp nod.
“Lead the way.”
Without another word, were off–sprinting through the undergrowth, closing the distance in seconds.
A wall of scrub was blocking my view of the attackers, I don’t hesitate for a second and burst through.
There are three of them. The next few seconds happen in a blur of movement.
A tall female archer is already nocking another arrow when I arrive. She is guarded by two swordsmen standing ready swords already drawn.
The archer let loose.
Wham, bzzzz.
Shit.
I barely twist in time—the shot whistles past my ear.
Then the swordsmen are on me.
I lash out with a sweeping blade ability. The first fighter blocks—just barely—but the force knocks him off-balance.
The second lunges forward, his sword glowing with a skill.
I ignore him. I know it's a reckless move—but I trust my barrier in spite of the archers' strange attack.
Thwack! The sword hits and rebounds off. With each strike landing on my barrier I refresh the spell.
With the first attack failing I focus all my attention on the staggered opponent, closing the gap in a blink.
My sword swings up, aiming for his torso—
Another drilling arrow screams toward my head.
I have no choice—I adjust at the last second before my strike lands.
My sword cuts through his arm at the shoulder momentum carrying the blade upward carving into the side of my enemies head, taking his ear.
I don’t have time to register the blood-curdling scream.
The second fighter is swinging at me again.
Crack. Another strike against my shield.
I twist, dodging to the side—the swordsman's strike leaves him stumbling, its all I need.
I drive my sword straight through his chest.
You have killed Dark Elf Fighter (Level 23).
You have leveled up. Dark Elf? That was… unexpected.
No time to think.
I whip around, expecting another shot from the archer—it never comes. Mischief has it taken care of.
She lies in a pool of her own blood, motionless.
The last fighter—the one I’d maimed—turns to run. He never gets the chance. Mischief launches, his fangs flashing in the dim light. A strangled gurgle, a violent shake, and then—silence.
You have killed Dark Elf Fighter (Level 22). Even though Mischief strikes the killing blow–like usual we are both shown a kill notification.
Silence.
The whole fight lasts less than a minute.
And yet…my hands drop to my knees and I choke in rasping breaths.
For the first time since the wave trials, I was wounded.
Not just a graze. Not just a slight burn from neglecting to cast a barrier.
I was one second away from a kill shot. The drilling arrows. The barrier failures.
My defenses were not absolute. The drilling arrows, the barrier failures—these weren’t just lucky shots. Someone had designed them to break through exactly what I relied on most. A direct counter to me. Or at least the spell I use.
We’ll have to rethink our approach. If every camp has archers like this, fighting head-on is a death sentence. I run through possible options while looting the dark elf bandits. I was lucky my shield was strong enough to give some reaction time or this fight would’ve been even shorter.
Each of the elves was wearing common grade leather armor and common grade weapons. This was an upgrade to the typical drop of crude weapons and equipment.
Mischief and I take a quick breather in the clearing. I’m holding one of the new common grade swords out scrutinizing it. It doesn’t seem all that special. I remember that I am carrying one of the crude swords from a raid in my inventory so I pull it out.
Holding them side by side nothing jumps out, the only difference is a bit of wear on the crude sword. The weight feels the same, the length nearly identical. But that doesn’t mean much. I’ve learned that subtle changes in this world matter—just because I can’t see the difference doesn’t mean it won’t affect a fight. I make a mental note to ask Damon later.
For now? I need to come up with a battle plan with Mischief.
