Solomon wasn't quite ready to trot off to the outpost and start mowing down his enemies, unfortunately. For one thing, he didn't want to have to reload in combat by using a measuring cup with one hand. It was a recipe for disaster, even without considering what would happen if he accidentally dropped powder onto the igniting tip of his hook.

Mort carried paper for sale. It wasn't anything special, but it seemed to work well enough as Solomon rolled up a basic cartridge. He knew he was probably doing something wrong, but until he could consult with an actual gunsmith all that he could do was muddle through. At the very least, he had put his bullets and powder together in convenient packages.

He rolled up five cartridges before he considered himself reasonably well armed. He wasn't going to have time to get many shots off with a muzzle loader unless something very strange happened. He'd more than likely be doing a lot of work at melee range.

The last decision he had to make was whether to spend some more grid points moving up the bladed weaponry skill tree. He had the points available to finish it completely and still have some left over for future gun-related grids. The problem was the nature of the choice confronting him.

He was up against the second to last grid, the thirteen pointer. One of the grids was Weapon Mastery. When he chose it, he would have to choose a weapon. The grid would then grant abilities related to the use of the weapon, along with the usual attribute points. The other grid was Jack-of-all-Blades, which would grant more general but less powerful abilities.

Solomon wasn't ready to make that kind of commitment. He did want to specialize. He didn't expect to have the free time to master multiple forms of weaponry, anyway, and he had both money and his engineering ability guaranteeing that he could get his hand on the type of weapon he wanted whenever he wanted.

He just wasn't sure what he wanted. He'd been happy with his hatchet. If the system ever opened up a networked rating system, he'd give it five stars, for sure. But was it the only melee weapon he wanted to wield for the rest of his life? He wasn't so sure.

He was also honest enough to admit that a lot of the appeal of the hatchet lay in the fact that he hadn't needed to apply it with much skill. With the way the dungeon monsters had been throwing themselves at him, he hadn't needed to do much more than chop with great force and great enthusiasm. Going up against intelligent monsters could reveal a weakness in the weapon that he hadn't noticed yet.

This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

For that matter, getting himself some actual weapons training was certainly on his agenda for the near future, one way or another. With a little more practice under his belt he might find the hatchet lacking.

If it came down to a matter of life or death, he'd dump his points into hatchet mastery without a second thought. Between Mort's confidence in him and his own happiness at building a functioning pistol, though, Solomon thought he had a bit of a margin for error in the coming battle. He was willing to head into the outpost without cashing in the grid points he had saved up.

So, cartridges in his pocket, all Solomon had to do was load up his gun and head out. He measured out a last load of powder with his measuring cup before tucking it into his inventory, rammed the powder home, then dropped in a bullet. He secured the gun in a holster he had crafted out of a piece of leather, took a step forward, then stopped as he heard the thunk of the bullet rolling out of the gun barrel and came to rest against the bottom of the holster.

Well, that was embarrassing. Solomon was grateful that Mort had long since headed back inside, not interested in watching him roll up cartridges.

He should have known he was forgetting something. Solomon removed holster and gun together and laid out another sheet of paper, doing his best to get all of the powder out before rolling up another cartridge. Once that was done, he bit off the end and poured the powder into the gun. This time, after ramming the bullet and paper home together, he was able to invert the gun without any issues.

Newly armed, Solomon returned to the dungeon door and laid his hand on it.

[Choose your destination:

- Dungeon

- Outpost

WARNING: Once you enter, you can only leave by clearing a floor.]

He took a deep breath before selecting the outpost. The doors swung open before him, revealing utter blackness. When Solomon stepped through, he was once more put through the disorienting whirl of teleportation.

He came back to his senses to find himself standing in a grassy clearing. He was looking straight at a little green man.

Not an alien. If he had to put a name to what he was seeing, it was a goblin. About the height of his belly button, filthy, clothed in rags, a spear clutched in one hand, its fanged maw could have been intimidating if it weren't staring at him with undisguised horror. For a frozen moment they simply looked at each other. Then the goblin screamed something incomprehensible and turned to run away.

Solomon immediately launched himself after it. He started second guessing himself after the first few steps, but he didn't want to lose this opportunity to take down an enemy one on one. His longer legs ate up the distance between them.

The goblin turned back to check on his position. It looked shocked at how close he was. On its next step it paid for its carelessness, tripping and sprawling flat out on its stomach, spear flying out of its hand.

Solomon stepped forward, put a foot on its back and drew his pistol. He couldn't waste time. More goblins could be arriving at any moment. He took aim at the back of the goblin's head and used his hook to touch off the shot.

It wasn't heroic. It wasn't noble. It wasn't very impressive. But it had to be done.