Chapter 28

“This beauty,” said the middle-aged, pudgy man as he showed off a very strange-looking sniper rifle, painted red and gold with all sorts of stickers and trinkets added to it, “is the Thunderstrike XLR-99. It comes loaded with custom-engineered, .50 BMG armor-piercing rounds that can punch through steel and concrete with pinpoint accuracy up to ten clicks away. Barring the wind, of course.” He finished with a flourish and a grin, to which Old Dave snorted.

“Well, Mike. It fits in your backpack. What do you think?”

“I can see why you brought be here before I went in,” Michael said, ignoring the friendly nickname, “it’s lightweight and I think I remember how to put it back together. But the price, man…”

Old Dave was taking his usual 1% fee, of course, which was much less than with the healings but still quite conspicuous for a morning’s worth of work. At least, Michael knew why Old Dave was doing all this. Knowing that he did it for money set his mind at ease, otherwise he would have wondered just why the old man would want to help him so much. Yes, Michael had healed him from the ravages of old age, he supposed, but in time the gratitude would fade. Money didn’t.

Now that their business relationship was well-defined, Michael had no issues paying for the service the old man offered: Dave would take a 1% fee on anything he brokered, and in exchange he would make sure Michael prospered in any way he could.

“What price is too much if it saves your life?” the seller said smoothly, confusing his ponderings for unwillingness to buy. They were in a shady warehouse, but where else could someone get their hands on illegal, barely tested custom weapons? “I’m thinking you need to defend yourself from something big. That or you’re a terrorist. Don’t worry, I’m a discreet man.” He winked, which was disgusting.

This time, after all the rants and lectures, Michael had asked Old Dave information about the weapons dealer and the price the man had demanded to even just show the merchandise, much to the old man’s delight. Which was mind-boggling, but with a rich oil tycoon with terminal cancer lined up for tomorrow, it was bearable.

Crazy to think that barely five days ago I was standing menacingly in the middle of a dusty parking lot, about to get shot multiple times, with no clue that my life was about to change so drastically.

“We’ll take it,” Old Dave said after Michael nodded, descending into a round of fierce negotiations. Which is weird, considering that the lower the price, the lower his fee. But then again, Old Dave is both broker and agent, both acting in his interest and in mine, even when the two collide.

After they were done, they moved onto the second item Michael would bring to the dungeon. It would fill the huge backpack to the brim, but they had planned for it. The forested area where he had defeated the forest king was lush with plants and food, and water wasn’t a problem either. Michael could eat and drink most things, thanks to his healing getting rid of the toxins, and not having to bring food left a lot of free space for guns.

“Are you sure you don’t want to cheat a little?” Old Dave had asked they day before, back in the pawn shop. He had told Michael to stop by so that they could discuss strategy. Michael had agreed after extracting some assurances from the old man, to which Dave had only laughed. They were inseparable now, he had claimed, their fates entwined.

“Funny you talk about fate, seeing how I shattered the Forest King’s fate with a punch.”

Dave laughed uneasily at that, “Dungeon Michael making an appearance! No need for that, boy, better save your psycho persona for when we needed.”

Michael snorted, and the two shared a laugh. After that, they got to more serious talks.

Old Dave was nothing short of scandalized at the retelling of the fight with the king. “You turn into a monster when you get in there. A crazy, mad monster.”

After which was a rant about how Michael turned back into an idiot when he left the dungeon. What followed was another rant, Old Dave raving about Michael being stupidly reckless.

“If you die, what of me then? You’d leave me neck-deep in a pile of shit, that’s what. You need to be more careful.”

Michael had agreed, of course, but he also explained about the reward system. To which Old Dave had snorted in mocking disbelief, as if he didn’t care overmuch about what the dungeon did and wanted, asking him if he wanted to cheat anyway.

“That would lower the rewards, though.”

“What of it? Who cares. You’re after this unity thing, are you not?”

“And the coins,” he had come clear to the old man, explaining everything. There was no need for threats, either. It was true that Old Dave was neck-deep in Michael’s stuff now. “I need the coins to heal people.”

“That’s secondary.” Dave said dismissively. “You can just farm them on the first floor, where the danger is much less. I don’t care if the dungeon gives you less of them every time, you just keep delving. You said you trained for ten hours straight once, right? You can delve five or six times in a row if you need. Heck, bring a tent and sleep in the dungeon after defeating the boss. Then you get out and only ten minutes have passed, and you delve again. Rinse and repeat until you have the magic coins you need.”

“That doesn’t take into account the ramping difficulty though, and I don’t like the idea of sleeping in the dungeon. What if I get attacked?”

“Don’t care about the first point. The first floor is easy and you grow stronger with every training session. As for the second. Buy a motion sensor and use it as an alarm.”

“That’s smart.”

“See? You would be wasting your potential without me. Now, listen. I know a guy who knows a guy. He can meet us tomorrow morning if we pay the rush fee. He’s got… interesting weapons to sell. I’m thinking, if you can one-shot this boss guy from half the valley away, why not just do it? Then you sweep in and mop up the other mobs, as you called them. Yes, I remember the lingo. It’s important.”

In the end, Michael was sold. The Unity was too enticing a reward.

The second weapon he bought was a grenade launcher, called Triton MK-IV. The seller explained with passion how its fragmentation grenades could blow a bunker wall, how Michael could calibrate the timing of the detonation and much more. The last weapon was a pistol, a replacement for the shitty one he had bought with his savings what felt like ages ago. It was yet another high-caliber weapon, to handle tough enemies.

***

The chauffeur, as Old Dave called the driver, deposited Michael at the usual parking spot. There were a few cars there, along with one he had seen a few times already, but he quickly put it out of his mind as he trekked towards the dungeon. The backpack was heavier than usual, fabric stretched to the extreme to accommodate the weapons and all the ammo they had packed for the trip.

When he got within range of the dungeon’s influence, he started feeling the mana in the air. His routine GPS check showed that the mana now reached 1.2 miles away from the dungeon, presumably in all directions. It had expanded again in the three days that had passed since he had last been here, according to the table he had saved on his phone. It was inconsistent data, however, impossible to extrapolate from, the rate of expansion not following any mathematical law.

Then he was there, the gaping maw of the dungeon surrounded by trees and rocks, dark and foreboding. It was different than he remembered it from his first adventure there. Or is it just my imagination? It looks more otherworldly, eerie. The trees are strange too.

“Yes.”

The empty room, which had replaced the first goblin room to allow him to choose whether to quick travel or not, vanished in a flash of violet-tinged magic. Elemental energy, perhaps?

Then he was back in the forest, in the exact spot he had left.

Back at the camp, he found Drullkrin ruthlessly drilling some orcs, having them fight each other with wooden clubs and blunted spears. Blood flowed freely even though the weapons were mere practice weapons, the strength of the orcs exceeding their defense. But with their regeneration, and with healers at the ready, they were soon ready to go at it again. Further away, other mock battles were taking place, commanders and lieutenants coordinating their share of the once unruly mob of mismatched forest monsters.

Drullkrin noticed him and rushed to him as he passed by a group of archers putting arrows through far away targets. The goblin was eager to show the progress he had made with molding the mob into an army, proudly showing off his work, and despite his monstrous appearance Michael found himself warming up to him a fair bit.

“As you can see, the troops are ready to attack the abominations of the swamp at your command, my liege.”

“Good.” Michael said, impressed, “you did an amazing job.”

“It has always been my dream,” the goblin said sheepishly, “to lead, to command, to inspire. The old king was too shortsighted to see my talent, but of course you saw it immediately.”

Michael rubbed his head at that, knowing that he hadn’t really planned for this. He had chosen because he knew the goblin, but seeing how it was all going exceedingly well, surpassing expectations, he grew confident in his ability to pull off the plan he had outlined for the second boss. Which was good. Now, time for me to show off.

“I have something to show you,” he said with as much pomp as he could muster without cringing too much, “come with me.”

***

The base of the large tree exploded in a shower or wood and splinters. Behind it, several smaller trees that happened to be in the path of the bullet likewise exploded, falling over.

“Incredible,” Drullkrin said, wide-eyed, “is this the sort of magic you command, my lord?”

“This?” Michael scoffed, wearing the mantle of the king with increasing confidence, “this is but a tool I have. A strong one, but a tool nonetheless.”

“Yes, yes, I see.” The goblin muttered, scurrying towards the felled tree to examine the damage, “such strength, our king would have never survived a weapon such as this.” He then turned to Michael, realizing something that left him awestruck. “To think you didn’t even need to use such aids to defeat him… the gap was just insurmountable.”

“What about the glyph bearer in the swamp?” Michael asked. “Is he stronger than your king was?”

“He is stronger than our king was, my lord, stronger indeed. But your weapon, its might is great, and it can strike from farther than an arrow could ever fly. The swamp king never leaves his putrid domain. We could strike from afar, take him by surprise. I think even he would struggle to survive such a weapon. Then…”

Drullkrin then launched into a long explanation, outlining a plan of attack to defeat the swamp people. It was similar to what Michael had come up together with Old Dave, despite their limited information. Michael interjected here and there, asking pointed questions, but he knew nothing of warfare. Once Dave’s suggestions ran out, he just let Drullkrin rattle on.

I need to study warfare, among the many things. But how does one fight with bows, magic, and monsters?

He stayed mostly silent, until the end when Drullkrin was outlining all the way he would torture the twisted Fae of the swamp.

“Couldn’t we… let them surrender? Join our ranks? We would need their strength to challenge the next glyph bearers, I assume.”

“Of course,” the goblin rubbed his hands greedily, “use them as arrow fodder, let them take the hits for us while we weaken the next enemy. A miserable end. An excellent idea, as expected from someone such as you, my king.”