Chapter 09

  Michael woke up, worked out, ate, stretched, and was in his truck in less than thirty minutes.

  The drive back to the Trail was uneventful; driving on winding roads surrounded by trees starved for water in an unusually hot summer was not the definition of entertainment. Michael liked nature, but not the sort of manicured wilderness he saw by the road, with too many lawns and fences reminding him of the artificiality of it all.

  The truck’s old AC struggled, working overtime to compensate for the oppressive summer heat. On the way there, Michael had plenty of time to think, having decided not to put on any music or listen to any podcast so that his mind could be sharper and less tired while fighting later. Thinking led to many considerations: thoughts about how his mana grew and why, about his skills, about how to improve his forms and his chances in the dungeon, and about what to do with his life. His thoughts went to his family and old college friends, from before he was forced to drop out and disappear from the face of his town with his tail between his legs.

  Perhaps one day he could come back to his parents and especially to his sister, no longer a defeated man but a self-made man, the true American dream. These days, though, it looked like America had long run out of dreams to give to people like Michael. It had taken magic to rekindle his hope for a better life.

  With magic, it could be different, but a whole set of dangers that were alien to him even a week ago had appeared on the horizon. All real dangers, some more likely than others, and on top of the usual abducting by the CIA, vivisection to figure out how he got his powers, and extortion, he also didn’t know whether there were others like him.

  He had thought about his theory: That some people who suddenly got rich or powerful might have had help from the dungeon. Perhaps a secret society existed of such people, in which they were inducted the moment someone discovered that they also had magic, and forced them to silence. Or perhaps he was making it all up, and nothing of the sort existed. Michael could very well be the only one on planet Earth with magic, and if that was the case then it was only fear of an unknown future that held him back.

  He felt alone and adrift, wishing for someone who knew their business to give him a helping hand. Perhaps even just a good-natured tip, a guiding hand helping him along. One person came to mind, and the more he thought about it, the more Michael realized that perhaps he wasn’t so wrong in thinking that he could help. Michael would rather trust people who had their own agenda rather than those who claimed to not have one, and then went and stabbed you in the back when, eventually, their own agenda suddenly became relevant once again.

  He forced his mind to more pleasant shores. Thinking about karate from yesterday, he realized that his [Fast Reflexes] skill had only enhanced his body’s natural reactions, the so-called lizard brain reflexes. It had not done anything to speed up thoughts or the way he processed information outside of danger and automated reactions. It made sense, in a way, although he was a little disappointed with that.

  He still wanted to try to make this faster reaction speed work with [Distortion Field], but now it seemed that he had to find a way to somehow make using [Distortion Field] an automatic reflex.

  A plan quickly formed in his mind: he would clear the first room and then remain there for as long as possible, making use of the fact that time did not flow outside the dungeon at the same speed as it did inside, and that the plentiful mana regeneration of even the first room would allow him to train almost indefinitely without wasting mana coins. He only had to be mindful and wary of the dungeon’s dangers.

  He brought most of his stash of coins just to be safe. Last time, the coins had literally saved his life.

  There was another car at the usual parking lot, one he had never seen before. It irritatingly occupied Michael’s usual spot from where he hiked to the dungeon. It was the first time he had seen anyone here, as the spot was quite secluded and not well-known. He himself had only found it after a long session of Google Maps, searching for the best place to park his truck to access the dungeon as quickly as possible.

  It was summer, though. There were bound to be people everywhere around the Appalachians, enjoying the outdoors.

  A quick hike that still felt interminably long, and he was in the dungeon once again. His flashlights were up and ready, more and more powerful than before, and he ached for a fight.

  He crossed the threshold and, “It’s goblins again,” he thought, scanning the room. “But it’s not one… not two… shit, it’s three of them this time. The dungeon upped the danger again! Third delve, three times the enemies.”

  He quickly scattered some lights across the room, throwing them to the far corners. He had coated them with rubber so that they would not break, learning from his earlier mistakes and improving his gear accordingly. The room was soon lit up to almost daylight, and the dance began.

  Michael still had his gun, secured in its holster but easily retrievable. The equipment he fought with was a dagger and a shield, and he was determined to clear the room with only those two items.

  The closest goblin approached, trying to punch Michael in the face. Despite there being more of them, the goblins’ moves were still slow and telegraphed, and Michael easily blocked the blow with his forearm. The block came even better than he had hoped, thanks to his workout and conditioning sessions.

  Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.

  He felt something give in the monster’s body and retaliated immediately while the goblin was still reeling with pain with a quick stab to its neck, nicking arteries and rending flesh with the dagger’s pristine edge, drawing foul blood. The goblin howled in pain, but soon the blood loss was too much, and it stumbled to the ground, slowly bleeding out.

  Michael turned his attention to the other two goblins, and an idea came to mind. He danced around them, but he was nimbler and quicker on his feet than he had ever been, topped off with magic and well-rested, and it was much easier work than he thought it would be.

  Still, using a dagger was not easy, as there were not many openings to stab the goblin due to the short reach of the weapon and Michael’s lack of experience. He held it in a reverse grip, slashing whenever he bought himself an opening either with a block or with his shield.

  The goblin he chose to kill was racking up injuries that oozed dark and foul blood, but it was not going down, most of the cuts too shallow to kill it, forcing the dance to continue for much longer than Michael had intended. The other goblin was also unharmed and dangerous, although it felt much less dangerous than even just one goblin had felt barely two days ago.

  [Healing Aura] was like a safety net, and even though he reminded himself time and time again not to be overconfident, Michael knew that the worst that could happen to him was a broken bone that would take a few minutes and some mana to heal. True, there was always pain, and pain was bad, but he was learning to deal with it.

  Five minutes later, the second goblin fell. Michael healed himself quickly, feeling the exhaustion of a long battle starting to diminish his ability to fight. Then he discarded the dagger and shield and, while still carefully keeping a distance from the last surviving goblin, took a deep breath.

  The monster, while uncoordinated and slow compared to a human, was by no means a shambling zombie. It was also able to walk on the uneven terrain as if it was flat, which had been a problem the first time around, but Michael was slowly getting used to the terrain, and he was almost at the point where he felt he was no longer at a disadvantage. Being taller than the monster allowed him to keep it at a distance by just walking, and he knew he could take his time to study his enemy.

  It’s no use wasting any more time, he thought after he gathered his wits. This is going to hurt.

  He did what he would have thought unthinkable before discovering magic.

  He walked right at the goblin, entering strike range with his hands down to his side as if he had no intention of defending himself. The goblin, all too eager to follow along with Michael’s suicide plan, swung at him, clocking him square in the chest. Moments later a small swirling orb of dark energies appeared and popped like a soap bubble.

  Despite having gotten the wind almost knocked out of him, and he had to thank Phillip and his conditioning sessions otherwise he wouldn’t have been able to tank the hit at all, Michael stepped back and healed himself before he could be clobbered to death.

  Clearly too slow. He had to be faster.

  Then he did it again. This time he was hit in the face. It hurt, a lot. The bubble did its thing, unperturbed, once again appearing too late to defend or deflect anything.

  He did it again. This time he managed to stop a savage strike with one of his bubbles, but the aim was off and the green arm was repelled upwards, the open fist hitting Michael in the chin. He spit something hard, shards of enamel cutting the inside of his cheek.

  It took a while to regrow the tooth. While he waited, Michael walked in circles around the goblin, keeping his distance.

  But this is good training.

  It went on for hours. It only ended when Michael saw that his portable lights were getting low on battery. Exhausted, he pulled out his gun and executed the goblin before slumping down to the ground. He held in a bitter laugh when he saw the meager loot the dungeon offered him: five copper coins.

  He laughed. He deserved the punishment, but it had been worth it.

  He was not yet at the point where he could cast the distortion sphere unconsciously, but the skill was starting to benefit from his enhanced reflexes, becoming faster to cast and easier to direct. His brain had gotten used to it, and it almost always appeared right where it was needed rather than off by some margin, reducing the amount of conscious thought needed to almost nothing. Almost.

  Next time I’ll get it to zero. A true reflex. But for now, five minutes of happiness for my gains.

  There had been a message, towards the end of the training session, which had been very welcome. Compared to making the [Distortion Field] an almost automated reflex, this was perhaps even better, although it was hard to say.

  It was a while before Michael felt ready to challenge the second room. In fact, a part of him couldn’t wait to be done with this delve and head back home, but he suppressed his desire to leave. Not that he could. Next time, he would train in the last room after softening the boss.

  Resolving himself to finish this off as quickly as possible, even at the cost of getting less loot, he crossed the threshold to the second room and was greeted by the usual message.

  There were six goblins in the second room, making the spacious cave feel crowded. Michael grimaced at the thought of having to fight so many monsters, but he didn’t pull out his gun.

  Even though he didn’t want to use the pistol, he still wanted to clear the room as quickly as possible with every other tool he had. Using his shield, the distortion field, and the dagger, it was only a couple of minutes before he finished off the last remaining goblin with a very satisfying [Shield Bash], courtesy of the third level of [Distortion Field].

  Using the ability felt strange, as if an invisible force picked him up and propelled him against the goblin, shield first. But seeing the monster take off flying only to splatter against the wall before disappearing in motes of mana had been satisfying.

  The loot wasn’t bad, a reward for quick efficiency. Michael had to stifle a laugh when the thought made him imagine the disembodied voice of the dungeon being forced to suffer through all the many boring hours of him walking around the single goblin in the first room.

  20 Copper and a clearly non-magical coin. It looked Roman, but it could very well be Greek. It would be a good bargaining gift for Old Dave, good enough that perhaps the man would finally give Michael that job he talked about.