Chapter 49
In the darkness of the dungeon, the flechettes shredded the goblin. Victor was still adjusting to his new skills, and he noted with annoyance that he wasn’t as accurate as he wanted to be. He’d effectively gutted the monster rather than piercing its heart, which is what he’d been aiming for. Dead was dead, but efficiency was important.
He felt the rush of energy that came with killing a monster. Experience, he understood. It invigorated his body as he surged over the threshold of level eight.
He pulled up his menu to check out his stats.
Name
Victor
Health
150/150
Age
22
Mana
193/210
Race
Human (Outworlder)
Stamina
180/180
Class
Combatant
Strength
15
Level
8
Dexterity
18
Subclass
Ferromancer
Constitution
15
Titles
Murderer
Endurance
18
He’d gained another point in strength and dexterity. Taking one of his spare flechettes, he twirled it through his fingers. The point was sharp, but the weapon wasn’t bladed, so there was little risk of cutting himself. He tried to gauge whether or not the point he’d gained marked a measurable increase, but he remained uncertain. Possibly?
He’d definitely seen improvement from level one, however. Not eighty percent, which is what he’d been hoping for for an eight point increase. It was hard to quantify exactly. But it was marked.
Likewise for his strength. He’d always been fit in his past life. He lived a life where there was little chance of becoming sedentary, and more than once his exercise regime had literally saved his life. Compared to sweating it out in the gym, however, the gains from killing monsters was ludicrous. He’d have to run some tests to figure out how much the point he’d just gained actually measured out to, but he was pretty certain he was at least thirty percent stronger than when he’d been summoned.
He wasn’t bulking up, however. While he’d arrived in Welsius in a fit body, his muscles were no more pronounced after leveling up than they were before. He’d have to do some lifting to figure out whether the system would track regular muscle gains as well as whatever magic was in effect with level ups.
If he could, then he’d attempt to build as much muscle as he could before he finished leveling.
He stepped over to the deceased goblin, holding out a hand. The flechettes he’d used to end its miserable life flew out of the corpse and into his hand. He began wiping the gore from them as he evaluated the combat.
His class was powerful. He was grudgingly coming to the realization that reinventing a rifle had actually limited his lethality. Perhaps if he had a proper semi-automatic pistol, or even a revolver. But the flint-lock rifle he’d created, while dangerous, couldn’t compete with a wall of pointed steel driven by his Magneto-powers. Especially since he was coming to find that he could redirect the projectiles on the fly without cutting their momentum.
And when he ran out of flechettes, he still had his knives. He remained as deadly in close quarters as ever.
Victor knelt, taking his blade and cutting the goblin’s ears off to add it to the string that he’d already gathered for the bounty on the little monsters. The dungeon wasn’t one of Tom’s dungeons; he’d left the city of Profons behind right after the murder spree.
He sighed, recalling that. What a waste. He’d been hoping for a level or two from the men he’d murdered. He’d intentionally selected high-leveled targets to try to get as much Experience per kill as possible.
Killing humans didn’t grant Experience to other humans, it seemed. He’d killed five men with his rifle, another one in hand-to-hand combat and a final person with his flechettes. While he got the rush of adrenaline that he always experienced when ending the life of another person, he didn’t gain a single level.
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It wasn’t until later, when he’d come to this dungeon, that he confirmed that the system didn’t award experience for murders. It was a shame that he hadn’t killed his first monster before killing his first human, as the rush of Experience was truly distinct. He wouldn’t have needed to repeat the experiment on so many different people.
Unfortunately, he’d confirmed another fact.
Using the rifle was less efficient than using his powers or his knives. He wasn’t certain why, but the system seemed to dock him experience when he killed a goblin with his DIY firearm.
That was fine. He’d level using his new powers instead.
It didn’t mean that the firearm was a waste of time or money. It was proof of concept, and now that he had a working prototype he’d be able to demonstrate how to make and use them. While he’d been forced to experiment to see whether or not he could level through mass murder, he’d investigated a number of less anti-social matters before leaving the capital.
He’d come to a conclusion. Even with the leveling system in place, a level thirty commoner was only as strong as an above average soldier from his past life. There was a qualitative difference between a combat Class and a noncombat one which was virtually impossible to overcome. Especially when the combat Classes were able to delve deeper into the dungeons than anyone else, allowing them to fight monsters that no Commoner could face.
Firearms, however, were an equalizing force. He didn’t know what warfare looked like on Reus, but he was fairly confident that he was about to revolutionize it. Even if all he could replicate were Napoleonic tactics, there was no way that anyone would be able to face down a line of infantry wielding his rifles, backed up by the artillery he intended to create.
Wiping the grime from his hands, Victor smirked. He’d push himself to level ten before heading out into the wastes between Welsius and Velund, and from there he’d track down that queen that was raising an army of commoners. Perhaps he wouldn’t make it before the first invasion, but he was confident that he’d arrive in time to make a difference.
In fact, it would be better if the initial push into Welsius was rebuffed. He hoped that she invaded Welsius and not Petosh. The more desperate Galya became, the higher price he could set for his firearms.
He idly wondered what the foreign queen looked like. He knew that she was a widow and was yet to remarry. Perhaps it was time to present her with a suitable groom. And for the dower, the means to conquer a kingdom.
~~~~~
Sevin’s jaw hurt.
It wasn’t a problem he was used to having, but chewing dragon meat was harder than it looked. He doubted he’d be able to eat the meat if it weren’t for his relatively high level.
The flavor was to die for, but the texture was like leather. None of the other villagers who’d accepted Antoine’s invitation to celebrate the dragon’s demise with a bit of dragon steak had been able to chew the meat at all. Most of them hadn’t even been able to cut it; Sevin had to infuse his knife in order to do that trick.
Now, on the road back to the capital, his jaw still hurt, but he’d eaten dragon. Only a handful of people in the world could claim the same.
He was pretty sure that it was affecting his body. He’d checked his stats, and although he was still level twenty six, he’d gained a few points in strength and constitution.
Name
Sevin Wells
Health
430/430
Age
16
Stamina
410/410
Race
Human
Strength
42
Class
Warrior
Dexterity
27
Level
26
Constitution
43
Subclass
Pikeman
Endurance
41
He rode up next to Rory. “You feel any different?” he asked.
“Little bit,” Rory admitted. “Like the dragon magic is settling into me bones.”
“Yeah,” Sevin said. “The system says I’m two points stronger than I was. And three points in constitution.”
“Nice. I’m about the same.”
“Definitely worth the delay to eat the dragon steaks,” Sevin said. “Although I guess Lord Worth doesn’t think so.”
Aisha and Tirns had taken off the night after the battle to fly out to the wastes once more. Tirns to scout the oncoming Velundese, and Aisha to administer aid to the ones who had been attacked by the dragon. Assuming that there was anything that she could do about it at this point.
That left Sevin, Rory, Antoine and Lubald, who was insisting on returning with them to the capital. He’d been very distressed to learn that he was presumed dead. Tirns had insisted that he’d corrected the matter via linkpen, giving an accounting of how he had blinded the dragon, contributing to the fight significantly.
Lubald remained unsatisfied with that measure, and anyway, he was a Titled Dragonslayer now. He deserved a higher title than just lord of some little hamlet in the middle of nowhere. While he’d grown attached to Tilluth Village, there was a case to be made that he should be promoted to viscount, or possibly baron of the region.
Or so Harvold had interpreted for the man using sign language. Sevin pitied the man for having lost his voice, but not even Aisha’s healing magic had been able to fix it. She said perhaps that if she’d been on hand when it had happened she might have been able to make a difference, but at this point the wound was healed and there was nothing that she could do.
Lubald had accepted the news with equanimity. Then, five minutes later, he’d thrown a mug through the inn window without warning. It was a shame, but he was no worse off for having Aisha examine him, except for the brief window where he’d had some hope of a cure.
Sevin was still getting a measure of the man. The villagers had a fairly positive, but casual, attitude towards him. They respected that he’d faced down a dragon, twice, for their benefit. But after the initial celebration had died down, they had begun treating him casually once more. Sevin figured it was a case of familiarity dulling the senses, because Sevin couldn’t look at Lubald without seeing a high-level warrior moving with grace and poise.
Sevin had heard that Lubald was in the mid-thirties range for his level, but that information was clearly out of date. Perhaps it was only his familiarity of being around Antoine and the other Royal Knights, but Lord Worth was oozing power with every motion.
He even made riding a horse look graceful.
Lubald noticed him looking and returned Sevin’s stare with a glare. Sevin quickly looked away. He wasn’t ashamed to have been caught studying the Lord Protector of Tilluth Valley, but it would have been rude to get into a staring contest with the man.
“You still in hero-worship mode over his lordship?” Rory asked.
“I’m not worshiping him,” Sevin objected. “I just respect him. If he hadn’t acted when he did, my family might have died in the dragon attack. As it was, my family managed to escape into the dungeon and hide there under his protection. Even with the most of the militia awakening a class, they said that it was Lord Lubald’s vigilance that kept everyone calm throughout their stay in the dungeon. That, and him heading down the deepest floors to clear out any threats that might sense them up above.”
“My mistake. You’re not worshiping him at all,” Rory admitted.
“Thanks.”
“You’re crushing on him.”
“I – what?”
“Nothing to be ashamed of. He’s a very handsome man, and his scars only add to his allure. I don’t swing that way meself but I can see what--”
Sevin punched Rory hard enough to knock the other boy out of the saddle.
“Oi!”
“Prick.”
While Rory was remounting, Sevin rode over to Antoine, who was in the lead. “I still don’t understand why you brought us with to slay the dragon,” he told the man. “Was it just to feed us the dragonmeat and make us stronger?”
“You got stronger after eating that brick?” Antoine asked.
“Er, yes?” Sevin said. “Rory did too. Were you not expecting that?”
“No. Although I was level eighty-something when I first tasted dragon, so I suppose I might not have noticed if I got stronger back then or not,” Antoine admitted. “That was a real fight. Closest I’ve ever come to dying in this world outside the world dungeon. Maybe I’ll tell you about it sometime.”
“Okay,” Sevin said. “But if it wasn’t for the meat, why did you bring us? You couldn’t have planned for the bandits, and anyway you could have handled them by yourself. We did very little but slow you down the entire way, even if we did help you keep watch at night. So why bring us at all?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Antoine said. He motioned to the baggage train that Rory and he were leading. Five horses piled high with dragon parts on their backs. “I didn’t want to haul all of that back to the capital by myself.”
“Oh,” Sevin said, feeling underwhelmed by the answer.
“Cheer up. Lord Lubald might not return your affection, but I’m certain that some young man will find the story of how you got dragged along to slay a dragon most alluring,” Antoine told him.
“I’m not gay!” Sevin shouted.
Lubald signed something to Antoine, who burst into laughter. Sevin frowned.
“What did he say.”
“He said ‘the brat doest protest too much.’”
Sevin scowled and gave each of his riding partners a rude gesture. Three of the four person caravan burst into laughter.