Chương 202: Reborn as the Dragon — Chapter 202 - Terrifying Labyrinth (4)

On the other side, the other two player teams weren't faring much better. The team led by the bald, burly man walked into a spacious hall and immediately caught a Kobold Lance-Pig Heavy Cavalry charge straight to the face. The Kobold cavalry had planned this out in advance. They held their position until every human was inside the right-angle corridor, then launched simultaneously from both endpoints. In that narrow space, the players had nowhere to go.

Bolikri and his mount Zhu Bajie were already a battering ram on legs, if the obsidian walls hadn't been as solid as they were, one charge would have punched clean through the labyrinth. This was what it meant to be an Oreo. What it meant to be a meat sandwich. Three consecutive waves later, Zhu Bajie's two-meter tusks were threaded with player corpses like a candied fruit skewer. Madry surveyed the bodies carpeting the hall and corridor, jaw tight, expression dark. He'd made his decision.

He was going all in, with the RPG in his hands. That fully armored Kobold rider had to be the leader. And there was an ancient saying back home: to catch the bandits, first catch their king. Kill the head, and maybe the rest would scatter. He already had three gaping holes in him from Zhu Bajie's tusks, but none were fatal, and the 10% pain threshold wasn't enough to put him down. Not far away, Bolikri was already charging again. Madry pushed himself up against the wall.

He loaded the crude rocket into the launcher, raised the RPG, and sighted in on the thundering iron-armored cavalry bearing down on him. In that moment, he felt like a real man.

"Go to hell!" He roared and pulled the trigger. The recoil staggered him, dropping him weakly to the ground, but his eyes stayed locked on Bolikri. The rocket screamed forward trailing white exhaust, sulfur thick in the air, and crossed the distance in a single breath. Bolikri didn't flinch. It reached back and tugged the bristled mane on Zhu Bajie's spine, just once, just enough. The connection between them was instant. Zhu Bajie understood immediately.

It dug its feet in and threw its hindquarters sideways, drifting like a runaway freight truck. CLANG! The rocket struck Zhu Bajie's iron-scaled rear directly. The impact point was a broad, curved surface, two hundred kilos of solid pig muscle with elasticity to match. Instead of detonating, the warhead bounced off like it had hit tank armor and spun away into the dark. It didn't come back the exact same way. But by now Bolikri was close, very close to Madry. The rocket exploded practically at his feet.

Flames and shockwave shredded the utterly baffled Madry in an instant. He died without ever understanding why his own rocket had come back for him. If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. As for Bolikri and Zhu Bajie: momentarily rattled by the blast, otherwise completely fine. The shrapnel left faint white scratches on their armor. Nothing more.

While Madry went out in a blaze of confusion, his fellow captain Medraco was dealing with a different kind of hell. He'd led his players into a narrow passage, single-file only and very long. It became their cage. A pack of Gnolls and Cockatrices had sealed both ends. Any player who stepped out was immediately swarmed and beaten to death. Didn't matter which side. The result was the same. Completely trapped. The monsters were smart about it too.

They held position at the entrances and never once stepped into the middle of the corridor, which meant there was no line of sight, no clean shot.

"Boss." A mage player sat slumped against the wall, knees crammed to his chest, voice flat with despair.

"Are we seriously just stuck here? Is there any way out?" The players around him were in the same state, a miserable row of cramped bodies, nobody saying anything, everyone looking dead-eyed. Medraco frowned and thought it through. Nobody wanted to rot in this corridor. But to break out, they needed a firing window. To get a firing window, someone had to go first and eat the hits.

"There's a way out," he said.

"But it's going to cost some of you." He exhaled slowly as the plan settled into shape in his head.

"First, we reorganize. Before, everyone was just rushing out randomly — that's why we kept dying. New formation: everyone crouch down. Warriors move to the front. Their HP is the deepest. They buy time for the rest of us." The players got it immediately. No complaints. They could respawn anyway, and if dying here helped the group, everyone would share in the reward at the end. The warrior players clambered forward over the heads of the mages and gunners and stacked up at the front, ready to go. Medraco continued.

"Mages, part of you follow directly behind the warriors. Your only job is to keep shields on them." He paused.

"Everyone's learned Frost Impact by now. The moment the warriors charge out, cast it on them. The splash will hit the monsters and slow them down. That's your window."

"Priests, the second those warriors are out, you start healing. As much as you can." He said that last part with a grimace. Several hundred players, and fewer than fifty had taken priest. Most had gone mage or warrior. Which was exactly backwards: priests were the backbone of any real group and nobody had figured that out yet.

"The rest of you — mages and priests — stay with our firearms squad. We exit last and open fire. Don't worry about whether the warriors can hold. They don't need to hold forever. They just need to hold long enough." He let a beat pass.

"And don't forget, I'm a Necromancer. As long as your corpse is still in one piece, I can raise it back up and keep it fighting." No objections. Medraco locked in the plan and the whole team started moving, organized, purposeful, nothing like the panicked scramble from before.

"Everyone advance at the run! Soon as you're close to the exit, you push hard, don't think about dying! Buy your brothers the time they need!" The lead warrior bellowed it out and broke into a sprint. The line behind him followed at an even pace, one body-length of spacing between them. When the exit loomed close, they surged, and charged out.

"Gugga!" The screech came from above. The first warrior out barely had time to register the sound before something massive slammed down on him from overhead and yanked him off his feet. A Cockatrice leader, over three meters tall, had him in its beak.

"Damn monster! Die!" The warrior thrashed and screamed, fighting back even as he dangled in the air like a cat by the scruff, sword and shield still swinging. Like a kid dragged into an alley who absolutely refuses to stop fighting. He didn't stop struggling for a second. The Cockatrice wasn't bothered. It twisted its long neck and whipped the warrior through the air back and forth, a broken sack with limbs. Armor plates came loose. The sword dropped. The shield clattered away.

It kept swinging until the pull on his spine became too much, until the vertebrae gave with a crack and his head came free. Only then did it stop. ➤ Next: Captive — Steel and Blood