As I walked through the entry tunnel, I did a bit of quick math in my head. If my calculations were correct, which usually were because math is one of the things I’m decent at. By my numbers, something like thirty days had passed by inside the dungeon since my last trip (those tests earlier didn’t count). In that amount of time every single one of my duct tape markers had completely vanished.

Now to be completely fair that could’ve been caused by any number of things. Maybe the goblins ran off with the strange new material. Perhaps something innate about the dungeon environment had destroyed it. What if the dungeon just doesn’t like littering and actively cleans up the messes adventurers leave behind? In MMO’s stuff tended to despawn if you left it behind long enough so that you didn’t crash the game by dropping four thousand cabbages in a river. Whatever the cause was, I was deeply annoyed that I was going to have to redo all of my navigational work. It was impossible to retrace my steps from yesterday, so that chest I had left unopened was likely lost to me (for now).

Oh well I guess.

I took a note down that I’d have to work out a different way to mark my paths, but the tape was going to have to make do for now. It felt like a waste, but it wasn’t expensive, I had plenty. It was just so time consuming and hard on my lower back to stoop down constantly to tear off tape and place it.

As a result, I was taking a different path this time, at least I think? All of the tunnels sort of looked the same. I think this wasn’t the same tunnel, considering I found what looked like a perfectly formed hallway. Four stone archways split off to the side, two on each wall. A quick peek through them with my light told me these were actual rooms, unlike the others I’d seen. This dungeon was sprinkled with that weird man-made-looking stoneworks, but nothing was comparable to this. If you told me a team of masons had been working here, I’d believe you.

I walked right past the four doors and fetched out a pair of motion sensors which I stuck on the wall. One a foot off the ground to catch something low moving, the other three feet up as a backup in case a creature happened to step over the first one. I walked back and placed another set at the way I had come from, just to be sure.

With both paths accounted for, I did a round of Eeny, meeny, miny, moe, to pick a door, and ended up on the first to the left. I’d go counter clockwise. A quick sweep with the flashlight showed me it was void of visible enemies, and I walked right in.

The room was at least thirty feet wide, and about fifty feet long. The ceiling was low enough that I could’ve jumped up and touched it with my hand if I wanted to (I didn’t). At the end of the room my flashlight glinted off the familiar metal banding on two chests. Between me and the treasure was a long table, made of wood.

No chairs to be seen, nothing on the table. It wasn’t even that well made. Someone in my high school shop class could’ve made it in a weekend. I walked along its sides, knocking it with my fist to see if it’d collapse, but it didn’t, so I guess it was sturdier than it looked. I tested each stone brick with my toe as I went just to be sure, and the room didn’t collapse or start closing in on me. So that’s good too.

The chests, when I got close, matched identically with the ones I had found earlier, but this time had a thick, but very rusty, old fashioned padlock.

“Where’s the dog with the keys in its mouth?” I mused aloud.

Oh, look here, I brought a key.

My backpack got sat down on the floor next to me and I unstrapped the crowbar. I winded up, and jammed it into the seam of the lid, near the lock, and gave it a pry. The wood whined in protest as it resisted, but as I put more of my weight on it it started to splinter, and the metal of the lock ripped free.

Remember kids, a lock is only as good as the container it's attached to.

I was close to opening the chest, but stopped when I remembered the last two times. This was time for another experiment. I walked back to the table, and with a not small amount of effort pushed it across the floor, and tipped it over, blocking the lower four feet of the door. Satisfied with my barricade, I strolled back to the chest and pried it open.

I swear I could feel the squeal in my bones this time. Without hesitation I dropped the crowbar, letting it clatter to the floor as I spun around to face the door. A second later, my motion sensor pinged, and the howls of rabid goblins reached my ear. I cranked up my light and looked through my red dot, aimed above the table. Sure enough a small pair of hands latched onto the edge, and I heard the grunt of effort as the goblin tried to climb over. I hazarded a guess, aimed a little lower, and put three rounds through the wood. I could see the blood splatter the wall opposite the door after the second shot, the third one was just to make sure. The body fell to the floor, and the surviving goblins learned nothing, they followed their friend’s path, trying to climb over.

Four more shots at the table, and their efforts ceased.

I reloaded, and walked over to peek over the side of the table.

Three dead goblins laid there, dissolving a moment later.

I didn’t feel like moving the table just yet, and my arms aren’t that long, so I left the gold there for now. I walked back to the chest and finished my work, slamming it open.

Inside sat a pair of ye old boots.

An oddly pristine pair of fancy ye old boots.

Crafted of black leather, with straps and metal clasps in place of laces, they actually looked pretty damn nice.

Would I get made fun of if I wore them out and about? Maybe, but I’d be the one wearing a sick-ass pair of boots.

I fished them out, and took a look at my own pair. They had held up decently well in the six years I’d owned them. They had been with me when I hiked all the way to the top of Mount Hallasan in South Korea. I had trekked the forests of the Midwest in them. But damn were these boots getting old. I already needed to retire them, the rubber sole was starting to tear along the middle, like my boot was growing a mouth. Super glue just wasn’t keeping it sealed anymore.

Fuck it, why not?

I parked my ass on the floor, facing toward the door, while I untied my boots and kicked them off. I shoved them into my backpack, since I wanted to keep them (they are sentimental). That brisk dungeon air chilled my toes for a few seconds as I wiggle my feet into the new pair. And lo and behold, they fit me perfectly. They fit even better than my old pair (they had been the wrong size, but I got used to it. Boots cost money).

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

I clasped them tight, and got up to walk around the room.

These boots were comfy as hell. At first I thought it would take a month to properly break them in, but they conformed to my feet like they had been made just for me.

I decided I’d keep them.

I took a moment to repack my mag, set it back in the gun. Of the two hundred and fifty rounds of 5.56 that I’d brought with me, I’d only used seven so far. I made a decision that I’d end my trip if I got down to only sixty.

I migrated over to the second chest, and began to pry it open as well. Same as each time, the hinges made that horrible awful fuck-off noise (which I was beginning to think wasn’t the hinges). I took my position, and waited.

The motion sensors dinged a second later, and I could hear them beating against the side of the table. Then I could hear crunching, and the beginnings of a hole started to chip way through it. Those bastards had weapons, and were trying to chop through the wood instead of going over. I opened fire, and heard two bodies drop before the chopping stopped. I crept forward to check, peeking over the table again.

A small green hand grabbed the barrel of my rifle and pulled it. Those little midgets were strong, I’ll give them that. If not for my sling, it would’ve gone right into the hallway. I tried to wrestle control away, but they refused to let go. Very well, I carry a backup for a reason.

I drew my handgun, and aimed it around the corner of the wall, where the goblin had been hiding, and fired twice. It folded over, and its limp hand let go of my rifle. A scream to my right alerted me to the three others hiding to that side. I didn’t have time to switch back to the rifle, and opened fire. I ended up using over half the mag, but they all fell.

Backing up, I reloaded my handgun first, then the rifle, backpedaling until I had a dozen feet between me and the door. Once I was sure that no more were coming, I repacked my mags, and moved back to the chest.

It was empty.

My disappointment was immeasurable and my day was ruined.

Frustrated, I spun around and drug the table out of the way, leaving the room. I stooped down to collect all nine of the nuggets, and put the crystals in my tupperware. Though I still had no clue what use they were, I’d figure it out sooner or later. Worse case scenario I could sell them to college-age girls, pass them off as “healing crystals”. Yeah. That’d work.

With $3600 in my bag, I moved to the next room.

This time, there was only one chest. The room itself was the same size as the last, but with two rows of what looked like bed frames. They wouldn’t be very good for barricading, but maybe making a funnel?

I could certainly try.

I moved them, one by one, toward the door, and did my best to stack them. The door itself was about four feet wide, and with the frames in the way that narrowed it to a foot and a half. To make things harder for the goblins, I ran a few strands of paracord across the frames, making a crude net.

Satisfied with my work, I turned toward my prize, and prepared the crowbar. The rusted lock didn’t stand a chance in the world at resisting my skills with a steel crowbar, and it clattered to the ground in seconds. I confidently popped the lib an inch to trigger the noise.

“Let the goblins come,” I thought to myself.

God was that noise awful.

It was so much worse this time.

It sounded like I had opened a dozen chests at once.

I could hear the motion sensor ding before the noise had even ended. Then it dinged again. And again. Both sets were conducting a symphony, “Ode To Goblins”.

I steadied my aim on the chokepoint, and even as my red-dot came to rest between the paracord the first goblin was already struggling with it, snarling and flailing its arms at me. I took the shot, and before its body could hit the ground two more goblins were pressing into it, holding it upright pinned between them. Then came a fourth. Then a fifth. Within seconds there were ten of them. No, more than that.

The paracord was rated for five hundred pounds, but I could hear it straining against their combined strength, and then the bed frames lurched as they started to push the whole thing.

I opened fire, squeezing the trigger again and again. The horde didn’t stop. I counted twelve, fourteen, fifteen, more. The first goblin was already dissolving and they still hadn’t stopped coming. My breath caught when I felt the bolt lock back, the familiar feeling of the gun having ran dry. With a push of the button I let the mag drop straight to the ground, and drove a fresh one in, slamming the stock into my shoulder to pop the bolt forward.

As I started firing again, I saw a flash of light against metal, and realized that one of the goblins had a blade. I focused my fire on it, but with all the others in the way I could barely get a round in it. The moment it died, the next goblin snatched up the razor and began sawing at the cord. I kept shooting, and they kept dying, but their resolve was unwavering.

I got one lucky hit, a round hit the blade square on, and it shattered. But the goblins hardly cared, they started gnawing on the paracord instead, desperate to do anything they possibly could to get to me.

My second mag ran dry, and I grabbed one of the three I had left. If this kept up, there would be no way for me to quickly repack a mag before I got swarmed. No time to load even a single extra round. Oddly enough, I found myself wishing I had a shotgun and a pouch of ammo. That was something I had never considered before.

As my third mag started running low, I could feel the heat start to radiate off of the barrel, but knew the gun would be fine. I had ran it through worse at the range, and I sure as hell was going to run out of loaded mags before this gun would suffer a burnout on me.

The goblins picked the worst time to break through, just as I was dropping the empty mag. With no time to complete a reload as the vanguard rushed me, I let the rifle drop to my chest and drew my pistol, firing it one handed as I fumbled to load the next mag with my free hand. This was something I had also never considered practicing. How often do you think “Damn, I should practice reloading my rifle while also simultaneously firing my handgun!”?

Three goblins got jammed up in the chokepoint, clogged it and giving me a moment of reprieve. That ended when the others finally figured that they didn’t have to wait in line. Using their fellows as step stools, they began climbing up the sides of the beds. I drove the bolt home on a new round, and took my rifle in my left hand, rushing toward the barricade. I fired the gun through the small gap between the frames while my handgun barked in the direction of the chokepoint.

My handgun slide locked back, and I shoved it in my holster as it was, no time or spare hands to tend to it. While I was trying to load my fifth and final mag, a goblin leapt from the top of the beds, and I acted on instinct. I’ve always been protective of my guns, so I hated what I had to do, but it was a matter of survival. I swung my rifle at his head like a bat, knocking him to the side. In that split moment I had earned for myself, I seated the last mag, slammed my palm into the bolt release, sent a round into the back of his head, and continued firing at the rest.

Then suddenly they stopped. I stood there, waiting for the goblins to come. I watched them through the gap, they were there and ready, snarling and howling, like they were a chained dog challenging a passerby. Then they started pulling back. Within seconds they cleared out of the chokepoint, and I heard a motion sensor ding as they passed by.

The floor was covered in spent brass, shining gold, and enough glowing crystals that I probably could’ve turned off my flashlight and still been able to see clearly.

Immediately I rushed over to my backpack, almost slipped and fell on the loose casings, and grabbed my nearly empty mag and the box of ammo and tried to load as many as I could before they came back. I got maybe five into the magazine before the floor shook.

Then it shook again.

The motion sensor dinged, and my rifle swung back to the door as the entire room vibrated with each step this thing took, something bigger than a goblin was coming. My fingers fumbled the box, and the rest of the rounds clattered to the floor. I shoved the mag back into the rifle, unsure how many I had managed to load.

The massive beast got to the door, and roared when it saw me standing there.

It definitely wasn’t a goblin.