It was good to be out of the camp again. He'd never been a city boy growing up, preferring to spend time on the farm with his friend, doing what farm kids do best. Break shit. Even the camp, while he didnt see many people and hadn't been there during the day yet, the repeated concrete buildings just gave him a suffocated feeling. When more people arrived and started adding their own touches to the building it could come alive but for now he was loving trekking over the grasslands again.

He was on a job.

He needed gold and other than waiting tables for the foreseeable future the best way seemed to be adventuring. As he walked, scanning the skies for easy training, he thought again of Grace. She would have been the first to notice he was missing, what did she do? Would she hate him for leaving after she asked him on a date? Was she worried? He also thought on the other words that had stuck with him.

‘We need to thrive. And that means embracing the world we are in.’

More than ever he felt that she was right. And instead of creating an app or investing in some unknown crypto currency. In this world he needed levels.

Level three [Hunter], he pulled back on his bow an arrow nocked. It didn't feel any easier after gaining two levels, and he hasn't received any cool new skills. Releasing the nocked arrow he watched as there was still a slight pull as it left the bow, sending it off target and missing the black bird he had been aiming at thirty meters away.

“Fuck, what do levels mean if they dont help you shoot.” swearing he followed after the arrow.

As he picked it up his thoughts turned back to the job he was on. It was one of the lowest paying jobs he could find but it stood out to him. Four gold pieces to kill fifteen plus bolt sheep. He thought back on the smaller flock he had met in his first hours on this world. There had been about seven of them then and were able to blast a bolt at him. Fifteen would be much more dangerous. But with his bow James was confident he could pepper them with arrows…. Shit. After a mini panic attack he counted the arrows in the quiver attached to his belt. Nineteen, plus the one he had nocked equaled twenty.

Would that be enough? He had been managing to one shot the birds by the end of yesterday but whether the bolt sheep was going to be that easy was another scenario entirely. If there was a river or other water nearby he could use that to his advantage but he was confident his bow could do the job. Now he just needed to find them.

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James found the flock easier than expected. It seems whoever had scouted them out was very good at providing direction. After walking west from the camp for three hours the sun was near to reaching its peak. He had found a small break in the mountains that was described in the directions as another valley, turning south he walked for another half an hour before he heard the crack of lightning striking despite the clear blue skies.

Following the direction of the sound, he tried his best to stay low, sticking to longer grass when it grew and keeping below the ridge of the rolling hills it took him another five minutes to find the flock. He was going to need to have a word to the scout. In Front of him was a mass of sheep, easily more than twenty, although counting them was hard as they were in constant movement, the flock itself stayed in the same place focused on one spot. But the individual sheep within the flock moved, trying to get to the center of them. James felt a pang of regret as he saw those sheep that got pushed out from the centre came away with distinctly red mouths and faces.

‘So the blast I heard was them finishing something else off’ He thought.

Keeping his distance, James moved around the flock, trying to determine just how many there were, but no matter how many times he tried to count there was no way to get an accurate count as they writhed against each other trying to get a bite of whatever they hunted down.

Focusing back one the flock he thought of his options. He wasn't confident that he could outrun the flock, not with it firing bolts at him. But could he use a skirmish approach? Take one or two sheep down at a time then run and hide?

Looking around the area there were plenty of hills that he could hide behind, sheep were not exactly known for their sense of smell so he should be able to hit one on the edge of the flock then hide, wait for them to move on and then repeat.

Realising he was obviously underleveled for even the lowest paying job he stood, arrow nocked and aimed towards the flock. Looking around the edges he saw a slightly smaller bolt sheep that was constantly pushed to the back of the flock. Drawing the arrow back he aimed for the sheep's head, hoping that it would take it down before the rest of the flock would know what happened.

Breathe, hold, release.

James stood for a moment, watching to make sure the arrow hit. It took less than a second for the arrow to hit home, a sickening crack sounding out as the arrow drove through the sheep's head. A smile spread as he saw it drop, at the same time James ducked below the ridge of the hill. Lying on his front he didn't even breathe as he waited, listened, and counted. After ten second, nothing. At fifteen he stood back up, another arrow nocked and ready. What he saw made his stomach drop, the flock had in fact realised that one of their own had been killed. All of the remaining sheep faced outwards in a circle looking outwards, as soon as he stood a chorus broke out.

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“BAaaaaaa”

Pulling back he frantically loosed his nocked arrow before turning to run. As he did he heard a thunk as his arrow drove into something, it didn't have the crack as his first one did so he doubted it downed the sheep.

As he ran he heard the pounding of hooves as the flock gave chase. Cresting the next hill he turned his heart once again pumping in his ear, releasing another arrow into the flock. Another thunk resounding. He noticed that he had gained about ten meters as he had run. Seeing the hit bolt sheep take a stumble from the arrow embedded in its shoulder the entire flock halt as it regained its feet.

So they needed to be in constant contact?

The build up of sparks started as he watched. Once more beginning at the edges of the flock, quickly flowing in towards the leading sheep. James dove backwards as the crack of lightning echoed around the hills. The smell of burnt ozone instantly filling his nose as the grass where he had just been standing smoked.

Raising back to his feet he couldn't help but smile. The flock were still thirty meters away, standing still as the sheep with an arrow in it struggled to move. As quick as he could he nocked and released arrows. One, two, three, four. All four arrows flew straight, James could feel where the arrows needed to go and saw three crack through the skulls of sheep, the forth however missed entirely flying past a sheep on the edge as the flock writhed.

Quickly he moved out of sight, running in a circular route he counted the amount of arrows he had left. Fourteen, there were definitely more sheep still alive than that. Emerging from behind the hill he took aim again, the flock still looking at where he had been, electricity sparking as they charged another bolt. Aiming he released another arrow, again he was rewarded with a crack as the arrow pierced the side of a sheep's head.

That turned out to be a mistake. As the sheep fell to the ground, he saw the arrow sticking out of its shoulder. He watched as a realisation came over the flock, they charged, no longer slowed by the lamed sheep.

“Fuck”

As he turned to run, to keep some distance between him and the flock. But instead he half turned then every muscle in his body locked as the burning smell filled his nose. Crashing to the ground agony filled his body spreading from his side.

Finally he was able to scream.

Feeling his muscles loosen he rolled, knowing that any moment the flock would be on him.

Looking up he saw the flock was just ten meters away, luckily he didn't see any sparks arcing across them. Springing to his feet he started sprinting, stumbling as his muscles still contracted on their own. Feeling at his side his hand met skin, a stinging feeling almost making him double over. Looking back he could hear the sheep right on his heels.

“This is not to plan” he said.

‘What plan?’ He thought.

He sprinted, one side of his body burning, the other started to stitch. No one in fantasy ever mentioned you still got stitch . His legs started to slow on their own. Glancing over his shoulder the sheep were still there, ten meters back. As he crested another hill he quickly turned to his right putting in a mini sprint with the little energy he had left. Grabbing an arrow from the quiver, he nocked it and aimed, not for a killing shot but rather at the hind leg of the sheep. Feeling the twang and hearing the thump of arrow hitting flesh he turned to run again, needing to gain ground. Running another hundred meters he looked back, allowing himself a small smile. The flock was now over twenty meters behind him, forced to keep together and travel at the slowest speed.

“That could work.” he said to himself.

Halting to take aim he took a moment to find the sheep with an arrow in it. Looking over the flock he could see the sparks beginning to appear on their wool, jumping from sheep to sheep. He saw the limping sheep near the middle of the flock, setting the pace. Calming his breath he fired another arrow at a sheep to the left of the flock, before he even noticed if it hit or not he drew and fired again, aiming for the opposite side of the flock. Sparing a moment to see the two sheep drop he turned and ran.

Nine arrows, he counted taking another right turn constantly checking on the flock. Despite breaking eyesight several times as he moved behind hills the flock seemed to know what direction he was running. Counting he thought there were still fifteen sheep in the flock, thinking back on the arrows he'd fired he guessed he'd downed eight or so of the bolt sheep.

Standing atop another hill he aimed, feeling like a proper adventurer backlit by the sun he rained arrows on them as he dreamed. Nine arrows, nocked, drawn and fired. Nine arrows, and seven sheep fell, the smile disappearing quickly as he saw the remaining eight sheep coming at him. Luckily they were still moving at a slow pace, making it easy for him to keep a distance. But with no way to attack from a distance?

“Fuck” he said.

Turning to run he panicked, gripping his bow he was lost for what to do. He couldn't get close to the sheep or they'd bolt him. He’d run out of arrows, he wasn't a mage, he wasn't prepared.

Running over the hill he saw his saviour. Sprinting he reached the bottom of the hill, leaping over a wrecked body, the rib cage coming to his knee. Slipping slightly in the blood that soaked the ground he dived. A small shock ran down his arms as he rolled the first sheep he had downed over, seeing his arrow sticking out of the middle of its forehead. Pulling on the arrow out he looked back at the hill, the sheep were charging down towards him. Still on his knee he nocked the arrow and fired. Another sheep down.

‘You can do this’ he thought.

Setting off once again in the direction hed first left he ran, soon coming across two more sheep, two more arrows. Grabbing them as quickly as he could he kept moving, his arms fumbling from the shock of touching the wool. Once the numbness faded he turned and loosed. Each arrow driving home.

Four left.

He ran and shot, ran and shot, ran and shot, ran. and. Shot.

Finally he collapsed, catching his breath before he couldn't help himself. Laughter. He survived. Sitting up he looked back at the sheep counting in his head. Twenty three sheep. The smile now plastered over his face as he stood. It would take him a while to collect all of his arrows and enough legs to fill his sack. Better to start now. Drawing his sword for the first time as he pulled on a leg he froze.

Clapping.

Turning he was met with the most stereotypical arrival every. Standing atop a nearby hill was a man. Easily over forty, James could see greying dark hair even from a distance of thirty or so meters. The man was dressed in dyed green leather, the bow at his side a dull white.

“Well, i did not expect you to survive that.” The man said, his voice seeming to come from right in front of James despite the man being so far away.

“In truth I was going to finish them off after you thinned the flock a bit,” the man continued. “So what are we going to do now.” He finished picking up the bow and started making his way towards where James stood. Silent and exhausted.