Chương 40: Co-Op

"Sprinkler water might be as bad as goblin toilet juice," Megan said. She sat up on the edge of the curb, wringing black water out of her hair.

"Word of advice: Don't look at your system profile." So, of course, that was the first thing I did: Dorion Carmino Class: Archer Level: 5 XP Progress: 37/1600 Str: 6 Dex: 12 Con: 6 Int: 4 Cha: 3 Abilities: Piercing Shot Traits: Ranged Accuracy Improved Reload Sharpen Momentum Spells: (none)"Four fucking XP?" I spat.

"Four?!"

"I told you not to look."

"That's such bullshit." Megan nodded.

"Seriously, are you hurt? That was quite a fall."

"I'll be sore, but the troll took most of the impact," Megan replied.

"How about you? Any injuries?" I shook my head.

"I almost got us killed," Megan said.

"Going up the stairs was so damn dumb."

"We didn't have better options. Running head-on into either troll would have been the end of us. For sure when the second one caught up if we managed to do okay against the first."

"I wasn't thinking."

"Don't beat yourself up," I insisted.

"I think you made the only call there was."

"You almost blew us to pieces." Chuckling nervously, I shrugged.

"It was the only option I could think of."

"That was insane, but it was smart. Really good thinking."

"We got lucky with the gas. If it was off or if I waited too long to blow it…"

"Maybe we should think less about all the ways we could have died. For now at least."

"Deal," I said.

"The fire is all out, by the way. We can leave, and everything will be fine." Megan pondered the ragged remains of the troll stuffed with flares.

"A few of my uncles are deer hunters, and even when I was a kid, I used to think mounting deer heads was the dumbest thing in the world."

"But now?"

"But now I want that asshole's head on my wall."

"You could probably find a taxidermist willing to do it." Laughing, Megan replied, "I do wish I could go home with a trophy, but I'll pass on putting that head in a grocery bag and holding it in my lap the whole way home." I stood, offered Megan my hand, and helped her to her feet. Her movements were already stiff and timid.

"Are you sure it's nothing serious?"

"Yeah. Nothing's broken or torn. I'm pretty sure." The walk back across the stadium to the car was slow. At about midfield, Megan broke the silence.

"Congratulations on your first troll kill." Smiling, I said, "And congratulations to you."

"I'm glad we got this on film. I wouldn't believe this story no matter who told it to me." On the ride back to the city, Megan insisted we tell Beth and Nathan that we wanted the hunt video from this run to be a surprise. We would let them know we were fine, but they would know nothing else about what happened that day until she had the edit complete. Which was Sunday afternoon.

"I would like to motion that Dorion and Megan not be permitted to withhold information like this ever again," Nathan said, waiting for Megan to get the video up on the living room television.

"Seconded," Beth added.

"Then it's unanimous."

"How do you figure two out of four is unanimous?" I asked.

"Since the vote is about you two," Nathan explained, "then you are obligated to recuse yourselves, leaving only Beth and me with castable votes. Of the two available, the decision was unanimous."

"It will be worth it," Megan said with a grin. She had thoroughly enjoyed making Nathan squirm by not revealing the story. Beth pulled her knees to her chest and hugged her legs.

"I'm expecting this to either be the most frightening thing I've ever seen or the world's dumbest joke." Still smiling proudly, Megan hit play. When the video ended, cutting off at the moment I came outside and confirmed Megan was alright, Beth and Nathan kept their wide eyes on the screen.

"That was the most badass thing I've ever seen in my life," Nathan said.

"That's counting video games and movies. Goddamn, my girlfriend is awesome." Megan blushed.

"I want to rag on you," Nathan continued, directing the conversation at me, "but that was nuts, bro."

"You could have blown up the whole school," Beth whispered.

"Or yourselves at a minimum."

"There wasn't enough gas in the room for that," Nathan said.

"Those gas taps on the lab benches maybe push three or four liters of gas per minute. The room needs to be 5% gas to be explosive. With how big that room was… Might need over 10, 000 liters to get it in explosion territory, so the gas taps alone would take a while. Busting the line could have gone badly, but it got enough gas into the air to be dangerously flammable. Maybe another five minutes and it would have gone boom." Everyone in the room looked at Nathan in disbelief.

"What? I'm around this stuff all day. You pick up a few things."

"Shouldn't the whole building have exploded?" Beth asked.

"Maybe there wasn't that much gas left in the pipes and the main feed was off. I'm also not a physics major, so maybe other factors were at play too." Beth rested her chin on her knees.

"Guys, that was really scary."

"Sure was," Megan agreed. Nathan frowned.

"Not to sour the mood, but how much would a dungeon troll net you?"

"Two months' rent, depending," I answered.

"Daaamn. System rules are bullshit. I've seen troll fights on streams before, but that looked like nothing I'd ever see in a dungeon. And the system says it's worth basically nothing?" You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story. Megan nodded.

"Mmhmm." Nathan looked at me.

"Was it only your bowstring that broke?"

"I thought it was, but there are some stress cracks in the limbs. I hope the quartermaster on duty tomorrow morning believes I wrecked it test-firing my new dex."

"Will they give you a better bow this time?"

"Probably not."

"That sucks," Nathan said.

"So you'll have to hold back on your runs still."

"Yep." Beth started to giggle.

"Umm… guys." Everyone gave Beth their attention. She pointed at the screen.

"Am I reading your username right?

'Dungeon Divas?'""That's what happens when you let Meg choose the account name," Nathan joked.

"It's funny," Megan insisted.

"I couldn't think of anything else. It's not like it matters."

"You don't think I make a good diva?" I asked. Megan scoffed.

"Oh, you most certainly make an excellent diva. I had to pick something, and I thought it should be something ridiculous so it can't be connected to us."

"Dudes, daredevils, dramatists, dingle dangles, dorks, dastards, Dudleys, do-gooders, dancers, drowners, denizens, dippers, doormen-""Enough!" Megan shouted.

"I asked you if you wanted to help me with the channel. You told me to do whatever I wanted."

"Dungeon Darryls is also pretty funny," I continued, "since neither of us is named Darryl."

"Are you seriously bothered, or are you messing with me?" Megan asked.

"Just messing with you. I don't care what our secret username is."

"Okay, good. If it was a problem, you were going to be the one going out a window next."

Megan saw me set my kit outside of the intern cubicle on Monday. That was also the start of my fifth month with the CDM. For Megan, it was her last as an intern. Lofold moved on without saying where he was going, so I don't know what role he ended up in. An intern that reminded me of Saito but with an oily-slick topknot joined the cubicle. His name was Gregory Loman.

"What'd they say about the bow?" Megan asked me.

"They replaced it and told me I wouldn't get a third if I broke this one."

"Same strength?"

"Yep," I answered.

"It's pretty awesome I don't get to use all my dex points because I'm too broke to buy decent equipment."

"Did you check online? Might find something used."

"I looked. Nothing yet."

"Did you try the Craft Hall in Lawrenceville?" Black asked. His dinky desk chair creaked beneath his massive frame when he turned to speak. He hadn't been a part of the conversation from the start, but with how closely we worked together–literally–no conversation in the intern cube was private. It was normal for people to jump in and out at random times.

"That's a good idea," Megan said.

"I'm not familiar," I admitted.

"It's like a crafters co-op," Black explained. He was in the second month of his internship now.

"The idea is to make it easier for new craftspeople to get their start. It's cheaper than a storefront, and they provide a bunch of the basic equipment. They've got two or three of everything in there."

"Including bowyers?"

"Yep. And armorsmiths, weaponsmiths, leatherworkers, tailors, toolmakers, and there was a jeweler who specialized in enchantments. I think she's moved into her own store since then, though."

"Even if I don't find anything to buy, sounds like a cool spot to check out," I said.

"For sure," Black agreed.

"It's a fun place to browse around. Are you two back to crawler-sitting this week, or are you only here for a little bit?" Megan wiped her glasses on the corner of her shirt.

"Mill Rats issued a statement. Kielar denied ever using demon summoning spells and called a press conference to prove it. He summoned a bunch of elementals in front of everyone. He still has haters, but he doesn't need security anymore."

"Bet that's a relief. Hopefully your next assignment isn't as boring." Sighing, Megan said, "I've got harvester inspections to do. Not as bad, but not my favorite."

"I have a bunch of workplace certifications to test for," I added.

"It's going to take me forever to get through all of the videos." Megan nodded.

"Two weeks if you push yourself. Sorry, Dor, it's awful."

"I didn't expect it to be fun."

"The good news is, you've learned most of it already. The tests will try and trip you up, like using the right number but making it feet instead of meters to see if you notice. That and the chemical reactions material were the hardest for me." I appreciated the warning. Putting the entirety of my attention on my computer screen, I queued up "Comprehensive Trip Hazard Preparedness: Welcome" and did my best to pay attention.

The craft hall felt like part mall, part zoo. A lane ran down the middle of the structure with stalls for individual craftspeople on either side. Though products were located in such a way that it was clear what wares belonged to which stall, the building itself was treated like one big store. A few associates minded the fronts of all the vendors simultaneously, freeing the craftspeople to continue working.

Though the space behind the stalls wasn't strictly divided up according to each storefront, a layer of thick glass allowed shoppers to see the skill behind the products. In one stall, an armorsmith shaped a piece of a platemail while the weaponsmith next to him forged a spearhead. The noise insulation was impressive, but it wasn't until one of the craftspeople opened a door to step to the front that you really appreciated it.

The volume of the whole hall suddenly spiked with the clanging of hammers and the roaring of furnaces only to drop back to a muffled undertone when the door shut again. When Beth heard I wanted to go weapon shopping, she begged to come with me. Then Jonathan caught wind and joined us as well, which didn't surprise me all that much. He was one of the more dedicated dungeon crawl fans I had ever met, and that was saying something.

As soon as we stepped into the craft hall, they were both drawn to a chainmail-platemail suit of armor. The metal was iridescent, the ghosts of sharp, vibrant colors flowing across the material like ink in water. I didn't remember the name of the dungeon ore that gave it those qualities, but I knew it was ungodly expensive. I dared, however, to peruse one of the leatherworking shops. A suit made from hellcat hide caught my eye.

The blood-red material felt soft as fleece, light and flexible, but I knew it was far more durable than leather made from any Earth creature. I dared to look at the price tag. A year and a half of rent. Jesus. I would have to be running a few C and B gates a week to justify that investment, and even then, armor that expensive would only stress me out more. I'd almost prefer I got hurt to spare the armor rather than the other way around. My wounds would heal. A tear in my premium gear would not.

The bows were beautiful. This particular bowyer had racks of bow styles but only a few that had been properly stained and sealed. The customers picked the color and finish when they selected a bow, making the already sizable purchase feel more personalized. Most crawlers used a recurve bow because of its balance of speed, power, and durability. Very few crawlers used longbows, but there were a few. The smoothness of the draw was usually the deciding quality for those archers.

Flatbows and shortbows were slightly more common on crawls because of their general speed, but I couldn't imagine choosing either of those over a recurve. A flatbow was more durable than a recurve because of how its shape distributed the strain of a draw, but I disliked the way the tension felt on my fingers. The string didn't snap forward with the satisfying speed of a recurve. And a shortbow was the opposite problem. The small frame made each draw and release feel abrupt and violent.

At some point in my revelry, Beth drifted to my side. She ran her fingers along the frame of a bow with wonder in her eyes.

"I've never seen them unfinished like this," she said.

"It's amazing something so thin can withstand so much force but still feel so smooth and delicate."

"You definitely should have gotten the archer class," I chuckled.

"I like all well-made things," Beth replied.

"The way someone's expertise and knowledge shines through in whatever it is… I don't know. It's kind of beautiful." I glanced across the craft hall. Jonathan held a greatsword in two hands while one of the hall associates talked to him about it. The size of the weapon was absurd as far as I was concerned, to the point of being cartoonish, but Jonathan wielded it with surprising grace.

He looked like he had had at least a little bit of practice, and if not instruction, something like what Tailf3ther did for me, perhaps. When I returned my attention to the bows, I found Beth watching the bowyer through the glass. She was enraptured, like she left her body behind to get a closer look. I liked seeing her enjoy things. I did not like the price tags I was seeing, however. Nothing seemed unfairly overvalued or anything like that. I was just poor.

When Enforcer Grensmith told me that the CDM offered self-defense and personal protection training, I pictured those classes happening during work and occurring in a martial arts dojo, or a gymnasium at the least. Instead, I reported to a dingy computer lab on the second floor at 6 a. m., so I could take the course before my workday started. A bored woman with curly gray hair led me to a PC.

"Welcome to Self-Defense Tactics for Crawler Altercations, Level 1," she began.

"Your file says you are pursuing a dex archer build?"

"That's correct."

"Good. Then everything is set up. I recommend using the headphones. There are bathrooms above us, and once people start getting to the office, it's all you hear."

"I'm confused. I thought this was self-defense training."

"That is indeed what this is."

"I expected sparring and heavy bags and mats. Something like that." She shook her head pityingly.

"The most efficient way to prepare individuals for combat is to help them level. Hour for hour, we get a better return sending you on culls for XP instead. These trainings focus on strategic thinking instead of physical movements. It's all explained in the video modules. I loaded the barbarian defense module for you first, by the way." So she knew a barbarian was the reason I was here.

Though this training wasn't what I expected or wanted it to be, no amount of arguing with the lab proctor would turn it into something different. I put on my headphones and started to watch. The crux of the training distilled down to the idea of knowing your build's greatest strength and betting your survival on it. As a dex archer, I was never to accept a hand-to-hand battle.

If hypothetically an angry barbarian with a higher level than mine approached me in a bar, my best course of action would be to use my agility to run. Every other class matchup was more of the same. Angry cleric? Run. Mage? Run. Defender? Run. Druid? Run. The training provided some decent tips, like zigging and zagging to make myself a more difficult target for a mage to hit or using my agility advantage to cut sharp, sudden corners that less dexterous pursuers would struggle to replicate. But that was it.

My self-defense training was two hours in a computer lab, and I learned that fleeing the scene could keep me alive. Living was great, but if a barbarian came after me, I didn't want to just live. I wanted to win.