Backwoods Dungeon

Chapter Eleven

Command the Flora

A million thoughts ran through my mind, but I pushed all of them to the side.

The fact that there were more goblins, their goals, where they came from? All of that could wait. There were still at least two still alive, and I wouldn’t be safe until I was sure they were dead.

The near-death experience galvanized me a bit. On the one hand, I was horrified that I had almost died. On the other, the Goblins had set themselves firmly into the “infestation” category, which meant I could exterminate them with roughly the same moral concern as calling a termite inspector.

They had to go. Not for money and not for the cool class and skills. No. These fuckers had to go because they were a legitimate threat to my home.

It was like when a gigantic spider escaped beneath my computer desk. Sure, it might not harm me, but I could never rest easily as long as I knew it was down there. I’d move the whole damn desk, trying to find the little beast on the off chance that it might be venomous and might bite me. What I felt for these god-forsaken imps was that feeling multiplied a hundredfold.

I knew these goblins would attack. I could feel in my bones that they intended to hurt people. I’d been the unlucky first, but their bloodlust wasn’t specifically directed at me.

Just like they’d tricked me into following them into their ambush, they’d do the same to Jill, Miss Booker down the road, or god-forbid Rio.

‘What if they came to our house at night? What if they hurt Rio?’

It may have been pure luck that I found them before they could multiply. I hadn’t seen any genders among them. If there were both male and female goblins in my encounters with them, it wasn’t apparent at first glance. All I knew for sure was that there were more today than yesterday.

Those grim thoughts followed me as I made my bloody way back to the cave and the last two members of the initial ambush. I couldn’t leave them alive.

They were not cowardly until directly confronted with something that might kill them. I had to give them that. When I came within sight of the cave, I saw the two arguing in their gravelly language.

They were both tugging on the dead goblin’s loincloth when they noticed me and grinned.

I held up the gun once I felt like I was close enough. The two goblins had seen me flee into the woods and heard distant shots, but they didn’t seem intelligent enough to realize that meant I’d gotten the better of their brothers.

They just saw how bloody I was and assumed I’d be easy pickings. They might not be wrong if not for the gun. I’d used the machete to great effect before, but I would’ve preferred getting all my kills with the gun.

“Kuraabka Mak Sto!” one of them shouted as it slinked up the mountain, though its eyes never left me. A challenge? An order? I couldn’t tell.

They thought the high ground would be an advantage, and both tried to take positions further up the hill. Like the other group of goblins, neither recognized that the gun was a weapon.

I fired and missed. The bullet slid cleanly over the goblin’s right shoulder. Luckily, the roar of the gun was almost as potent as the bullet itself. Both of them froze in shock at the ear-splitting crack. Gritting my teeth, I readjusted and fired once more. This time, I didn’t miss. The goblin clutched at its chest, screaming. As it slumped over, I turned the weapon towards the next one.

The goblin stared between my gun and its fallen brethren in disbelief. I briefly recognized the moment fear crept into its eyes before I pulled the trigger a third time. I’d been aiming for its chest, but the bullet slammed into the creature’s neck and sent it spinning to the ground instead, instantly silenced.

The gong sound came again, accompanied by the two red and green buttons, but I didn’t focus on them. Instead, I breathed a deep sigh of relief.

That was all of them. All of the goblins that I knew of, anyway.

After meticulously checking my surroundings for any sign of more of the little fuckers, I slowly made my way to the two new corpses.

One goblin had dropped another potion, which I greedily scooped up. This one looked different than the last one, as it had a blue liquid inside instead of a red one. The label read “Mana. Small.” That was easy enough to understand. The red potions restored health, and the blue ones restored mana. I still felt drained in some inexplicable way from when I had used my Cyclone Armor before. I assumed this would restore the source that fueled that ability.

My mana.

It still hadn’t sunk in yet. I had mana, and I’d used it to summon armor from the fucking wind. I felt drained afterward, though not tired in the traditional sense. It was more like dehydration, but in some esoteric way that I didn’t understand yet. I didn’t feel as bad as I had right after I’d stopped conjuring the armor, so I thought that the Mana replenished slowly over time, but I’d spent ten minutes walking back to the cave, and it still only felt marginally better.

The regeneration was slow. Fortunately, it didn’t seem as slow as healing a wound, and it looked like these potions would help. I would have preferred another healing potion, but I decided not to be greedy.

Mentally labeling the feeling as “Mana Starved” in my head, I checked what the other goblin had dropped. It felt a little callous to be hoping for more magic coins after just deciding not to be greedy, but I had no luck there anyway.

Instead, I was just… weirded out. I picked up the metal plate that had somehow fallen out of the goblin’s pockets, unsure what I held. Fortunately, the system – magic? Augmented reality? – had something to say about the item.

Breast Plate

Magic

Heavy

Armor Unknown

Enchantments Unknown

A strength of at least 14 is recommended to wear this armor.

“...what?” I asked.

Unlike the screens for my skills and attributes, this information hovered over the armor whenever I focused on learning more about it. The moment I didn’t need to see what it was anymore, the information faded away, but it would promptly return if I ever needed to see its features again.

There wasn’t exactly much to draw from it. It… was a breastplate. It was considered “Magic.” It was “Heavy,” which in gamer terms was usually a classification between Heavy, Medium, and Light Armor. The next piece of information was irritatingly vague and seemed to indicate that I'd need to have it appraised or something, while the last was an attribute recommendation.

There was no way the Goblin could’ve been carrying this, though. That meant the gold, potions, and apparently, armor, appearing after I killed the goblins, were all being… generated? Produced?

Every dead goblin was a gamble, and anything could drop. What the hell could do that?

It seemed like coins and potions were more common than items like this, but what was I supposed to do with it? I didn’t think I’d be able to sell it. Maybe I could take it to a pawnshop?

I slid the breastplate over my head. It was like a vest, with two holes for arms, but that was all it covered. Just my chest and stomach and a bit of my neck. Once I had the whole thing on, I was impressed with how perfectly it seemed to fit me. Still, it felt unwieldy, somehow. I could move in it, but it was like carrying a heavy backpack. No way fighting Goblins while wearing this would be a good idea, even with the added chest protection.

Not while my strength was less than fourteen, at least. Perhaps it would feel light enough to use once I was that strong?

I took it back off after glancing around to ensure I wouldn’t be ambushed while shimmying out of the armor. I had no use for it, so I dropped it on the ground. Though the day was still productive and extremely educational, I'd gotten no further coins. It looked like I’d leveled up, too, though my attributes screen didn’t seem to provide an actual level.

I opened the skills screen and started reading over all the different skills with more detail this time. Last time, I’d decided that the overwhelming offensive power of guns would probably outshine almost any of the low mana cost attack abilities in the skill trees. I had thus chosen one of the few defensive abilities available. That still held true, but not as firmly as before. If I had an assault rifle, maybe I could rely on that and focus on pure defense, but my gun didn’t always hit the mark. I could also be surprised or tricked.

‘Disconcertingly, easily as it turns out,’ I thought bitterly.

I was certain the Rogue class had an increased accuracy skill of some sort. I didn’t know if that could be applied to a gun, but with the doubled drop rates and the increased need for accuracy with my bullets, I was starting to regret not choosing it.

There were a lot of skills to choose from. The Cyclone and, more importantly, the Tornado were the most intriguing but not the most useful. I’d missed more than one goblin due to poor aim. Guns were amazing, but they didn’t make me invincible, and the ability to hit a moving target was never guaranteed. Not without a lot more practice.

With that in mind, I chose “Gripping Vines” as my next skill and added a point. Once again, I didn’t receive any preternatural lessons, but I didn’t think I’d need to this time. My mana starvation from using the Cyclone Armor had faded somewhat, especially once I'd turned off the healing aura. My mana had replenished, at least enough to afford to use it again.

It felt like a reservoir in my stomach that was running low but constantly filling at a slow rate.

I reached out toward one of the goblin’s corpses and tried to push on that feeling. I focused on vines rising out of the ground. The drain came immediately, but the effect was astounding. Roots sprung from the earth and surrounded the corpse before dragging it beneath the ground. Within seconds, no evidence of the goblin remained. It seemed Gripping Vines used whatever nearby plant was the most convenient and roots worked.

It seemed so simple. I had mana and a face-value description of the other skills available. Was there any reason I couldn’t use the mana to create a cyclone, regardless of whether I had the skill?

I resolved to try when I felt less tired. The vines hadn’t mana-starved me, which told me they cost less mana than the Cyclone Armor, but I would need at least an hour or two to recover fully. I didn’t want to leave the bodies lying around for anyone to find, either. It was unlikely that anyone would stumble upon them unless they were just traipsing around on private property. I’d still rather not answer the questions if someone did, though.

That would have to wait, though. I was too tired to do anything about them right now. The only thing I did have energy for was a perfect second use of my new skill.

I had wondered about the existence of a cave on my property ever since I’d first found it. Our surveyor probably would’ve found it if it had been here before. A cave could be a big selling point for a house in a rural area like this, so I couldn’t figure out why it hadn’t been on the listing when we bought it.

Occam's Razor. The simplest solution was usually correct. I suspected the cave hadn’t been here before. Perhaps the goblins had dug it, or maybe there’d been a small earthquake or something. Either way, the two outliers here were the goblins and the cave. They were probably connected somehow.

I returned to the cave’s entrance and pushed the last of my mana into the roots in the area one more time. Thick roots grew before me, curling and twisting into a wooden wall, covering the cave entirely. It actually felt even easier than consuming the goblin, though it drained the last of my mana.

When Gripping Vines finished sealing the cave, it certainly looked conspicuous. Anyone stumbling across this would have no idea what built it. Until I managed something more permanent, it would have to do.

That done, I finally trudged back up the mountainside. I wouldn’t be taking the road this time. Not covered in blue and red blood like I was. I’d probably have to burn my clothes. I would probably need to devise an excuse for all the bullets down here, too. It wasn’t all that uncommon to hear a stray gunshot or two out here in the country. Eight shots might make the neighbors a bit curious, though.

As I walked, I brought up my status screen. I almost followed the exact same strategy as the last time I’d leveled up. One each to Strength, Wisdom, Constitution, and Charisma. Strength and Wisdom were the primary attributes of my class. Constitution meant I could take more punishment and Charisma because everyone liked to look good. I decided to change it by just a tad, though.

Instead of Strength, I added a point to Dexterity.

Strength might be good for the Druid class… I wasn’t actually sure why, though I suspected it was due to the Shapeshifting Tree. I didn’t really want to turn into a wolf, though. Even turning into a bear didn’t seem all that useful. Knives could kill bears. Dexterity was all about accuracy, agility, and balance. Usually. I was operating under a lot of assumptions here, but I figured more accuracy would be better for me in the long run because, again, Guns.

Wisdom and Intelligence might make my various skills more powerful, which would always be useful. Charisma… well. That was just for vanity. Partially, it was because I lived in the real world, and if I could look a little better, be a little more funny, or know the right things to say, it would usually be more useful to me than all the goblin slaying skills I might ever get.

Goblin slaying wasn’t quite as lucrative as I thought, but since I had this system, I might as well try to use it to get a better job.

Resolved to come back later that evening, I trudged my way up the steep slope all the way back to the house. I got naked in the backyard and threw all of my clothes into a burn barrel before pouring in some oil and lighting a fire.

Rio had wanted me to burn some trash in our yard for a while anyway. Why not surprise her?