I ducked under Steelyman’s sword while Sync jumped into backward handsprings, avoiding arrows fired by Goblin-Chick. She dove behind a stack of barrels for cover.
“Fisticuffs!” Silas shouted and launched himself at the Steelyman, who raised his shield. Silas suctioned onto the shield, then he cloaked himself.
Steelyman, who registered as a Level 9 Player, wasn’t moving terribly fast, probably due to the incredible weight of his armor, but it would only take one blow from his sword to do me in.
The Elfman crouched down, scooped up dirt and dust, and coated himself with it, making himself now a dirty Elfman. Then he drew his daggers and grinned.
Mmkay…? Not sure what the point of that was.
Wizardman Tuck waved his arms and began shooting fireballs at Sync, but she’d already skirted to different cover. Goblin Chick drew another arrow and searched for Sync.
All of them clinked and jingled like two-legged attack-Christmas trees. If these guys ever had to do a stealth mission, they would immediately fail.
I drew Rook’s Revenge and began swinging at Steelyman, but he blocked my swing, and I bonked Silas, who was still plastered to his shield.
“Ouch! Watch where you’re swinging, you conch-head!”
“Well, that’s not a good spot to be, pal!” I fired back.
I swung low, hitting Steelyman in his legs and scoring minimal damage, but he wore steel armor, so hitting him with a gun didn’t produce the results I would’ve liked. His health bar barely ticked down.
It would be great if I could shoot him instead, this being a rifle and all.
Then Steelyman kicked me square in my chest, sending me tumbling backward. I almost dropped the AMR but somehow managed to hold on. Thanks to my ballistic vest, I hadn’t taken any damage this time, but that didn’t do anything for my wounded pride.
I groaned and pushed myself up to my feet.
“Oi, watch the rogue!” Silas bellowed. “He’s sneaking up on you!”
“What? Which one’s the rogue?” I glanced around.
“The pointy-eared bloke! The Dollar Store Orlando Bloom!” Silas’s voice was uncharacteristically alarmed, which didn’t make sense.
He was clearly referring to Dirty Elfman, who was still covered in dust and creeping closer to me, but still several feet away. At his current pace, he might’ve reached me in a year and a half or so. “He’s not sneaking at all. He’s right there.”
“Naw, mate. It’s dark out, and he’s in stealth mode!” Silas argued as he dropped off the shield and slithered away. “I can see him because of my Camouflage skill, but you can’t. It’s impossible! His stealth ability is way too high!”
“He…” I furrowed my brow and motioned toward Dirty Elfman, who continued to creep forward at a snail’s pace. The giant bling clock around his neck continued to clink and jingle, no matter how carefully he moved, and the light from the nearby tavern was more than ample to see him. “All he did was cover himself with dirt. I can definitely still see him. And hear him.”
Steelyman had lumbered back over to me and raised his sword for another swing, effectively ending my argument with Silas. I dipped under it and decided to make a bold move. On his backswing, I jumped up and executed a perfect dropkick on Steelyman. Both of my feet connected with his chest, and I launched him back.
A cool medieval lute riff sounded, accompanied by a flute. It sounded unsurprisingly familiar.
| CRITICAL HIT |
Steelyman tumbled over a table, spilling the drinks of four NPC orcs patronizing The Green Apple. They shot up from their chairs, roared in fury, and pounded their chests. Then they all began beating on Steelyman with their fists.
[Congratulations! You have incited a Tavern Brawl.]
[This is classified as a Special Event for this game type. Bonuses, rewards, and other results of this Special Event will be tabulated upon successful completion of the Tavern Brawl.
Completion is defined as either winning the Tavern Brawl and emerging victorious or hiding until the conflict concludes. No benefits are awarded to Players who flee the Tavern Brawl.]
I cackled as the orcs, all of whom ranked between Level 15 and 18, absolutely mauled poor Level 9 Steelyman. The previously ambient music took on a lively Celtic tune, one I could actually get behind rather than that horrendous synth metal the game overused whenever a battle broke out.
Then, in an eerily coordinated display, all of the tavern patrons rose from their seats in unison. NPC orcs who’d been sitting across from each other, chatting as friends, savagely turned on each other and began to fight tooth-and-nail with no apparent provocation.
Tankards of ale bounced off NPC heads, hurled by others, splashing the floor with liquid. Bottles shattered as others jammed shards of glass into NPCs’ necks and bellies, eliciting abrupt flows of numbers and spurts of glitter. Chairs crashed into NPCs’ backs, fragmenting as if they were made of balsa wood, and tables collapsed as NPCs slammed each other through them.
The entirety of The Green Apple had devolved into one big kerfuffle, and all the while GrannySmythe looked on, arms folded, her butter face etched with the angriest scowl I’d ever seen.
“Mate, look out!” Silas blurted from somewhere beside me.
I whirled around to see Dirty Elfman, still covered in dirt, crouched right next to me.
I’ll admit, I hadn’t seen him coming that time, but now that I’d noticed him, he was a goner. I raised my rifle over my head like Davy Crockett at the fall of the Alamo and brought it down hard.
You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
It swished right through him and did nothing, pulling me off-balance.
| +0 damage inflicted against stealth opponent |
| The Keen Eyes ability is required to melee-strike stealth opponents. |
“Are you kidding me?” I yelped.
Caught by surprise, I could only watch as the Dirty Elfman stabbed both his daggers at me. Pain spiked in my chest, and a series of alerts flashed through my vision.
| CRITICAL HIT |
| ALERT: Ballistic Vest damaged. Protective stats reduced. |
The same medieval lute-and-flute riff sounded, and the blow knocked me to the ground along with the numbers tumbling out of my chest. My HP drained to 50%, and it felt like a titan had punched me. The vest had kept his daggers from fully impaling me, but it had sustained tremendous damage, and I still leaked glitter from the wounds.
“What? How is that even possible?” I roared, scrambling back.
“I told you he’s in stealth mode,” Silas insisted, “like me!”
“So what? Because he’s literally a dirtbag, I supposedly can’t see him or do anything about it? That makes no sense.”
I was still on the ground, with the not-so-stealthy Dirty Elfman looming over me. His outlandish oversized jewelry clock swayed side to side, mocking me.
He poised for another strike, meaning I couldn’t afford to keep debating game logic with a space octopus. Upon further reflection, I couldn’t imagine any scenario in which I’d willingly make time for that, but suffice it to say now was definitely the worst time.
As Dirty Elfman moved to strike, I kicked my legs over my head to roll back out of the way. A familiar message flashed on my HUD:
| ERROR: The Dodge Roll skill has not been unlocked. |
| Please unlock this skill on your Skill Tree to activate it. |
Instead of rolling backward over my shoulder skillfully, as any reasonably athletic person could do, I rag-dolled into a table and took more damage.
I heard Dirty Elfman snicker, and I wanted to lose it so bad. Like… they’ll-never-find-the-body-because-every-bit-of-it-can-fit-into-a-matchbox-level of losing it.
But, as only a man of profound greatness can, I wrangled my boiling emotions and worked the problem with considerable logic, finesse, and bravery.
In other words, I ran away. I leaped to my feet and darted off to hide and regroup. In doing so, the last tattered remnant of my pride took a blow I might never recover from.
“Silas, where the shell are you?” I hissed. “Make yourself useful!”
While I kept watch for Dirty Elfman, I saw Sync creeping toward the edge of the tavern roof just over where Wizardman Tuck and Goblin Chick searched for her. Then she jumped down, jabbed Wizard Tuck with her WHIM arm. He seized as if being electrified or tased, and she hijacked his class.
He dropped to the ground with nothing but a censor bar over his nethers and the “Unconscious” debuff. Well, he’d kept the stupid haircut, too.
I burst out laughing. When it wasn’t me, the sight of that happening to someone else was pretty great. Even so, I couldn’t help but notice his censor bar was normal-sized…
Sync’s blaze-orange strip of hair shifted to a glittery indigo, and her outfit morphed into a pink high-cropped leather jacket overtop a pink-and-black bodysuit, not unlike the white version from when she’d initially stolen my Jonesin’ class. A pair of tight pink leather pants fed into matching knee-high pink boots with a futuristic vibe to them and straps running from the front of her shins down.
A set of gaudy gold chains materialized around her neck, way over-the-top, even considering her quick shift in attire. But, far from looking stupid, as Wizardman Tuck had, overall she looked good.
The drunk orcs had finished their good work on Steelyman, literally having beaten him to death, so he was no longer an issue. His body now dissipated into the light breeze drifting through the tavern, casting glitter everywhere. I wished I had the time to laugh in his face properly.
But when I considered he might actually be dead forever, my desire to laugh waned. I mean, I still wanted to laugh, but not as hard.
Goblin Chick dropped to one knee and fired arrows at Sync, who raised her arm and created a magical barrier that blocked the projectiles. It was fascinating stuff, and I wanted to keep watching, but I had other problems.
The telltale jingling of an oversized clock on a chain sounded behind me.
Dirty Elfman had crept over to me again, and I recoiled.
How long can he stay in stealth mode? That’s so broken.
“Have at you!” Silas leaped at Dirty Elfman with a stealth attack of his own, but it didn’t do anything for the same reason my attack had failed. Silas just swooped right through him, harmlessly, and he landed on the tavern floor.
Then Dirty Elfman stabbed at Silas, but he also missed the attack due to Silas’s Camouflage status.
They both just stared at each other for a moment.
“Hmm, seems we’ve reached an impasse, mate…” Silas muttered.
As if by a miracle—or more likely the duration timer on his stealth skill expiring—the dirt abruptly fell from the Elfman’s body. As it did, he gasped for breath as if exhausted. There must’ve been a stamina debuff that kicked in once the skill’s cooldown period started.
Either way, I was already on the move. Before the not-so-dirty Elfman could react, I clocked him with the same dropkick I’d used on Steelyman. It had worked once, so why not try it again? It connected hard with the oversized clock hanging from his chest and sent him tumbling into the midst of the ongoing Tavern Brawl. More raging NPC orcs kept him occupied.
FLOOM!
I spun around. Sync had blasted Goblin Chick with a DnD-style fireball. Green flesh sizzled, numbers pulsed out of her, and parts of her skin shimmered instead of being charred, but it was still grisly—or gristle-y, if we’d been at a goblin-roast barbecue. I’m saying the Goblin Chick was thick, and not the kind of thicc with two c’s.
Anyway, she writhed on the ground with the “Scorched” debuff hovering over her, and I winced at the sight. It did look painful.
“I’m sorry!” Sync called to her, then she motioned to me. “C’mon. This is our window to get outta here.”
I thought back to Lucretia’s warning that we wouldn’t get any bonuses or rewards unless we stayed until the end of the Tavern Brawl, but I decided not to stick around. Not only was the brawl raging at full-blast, but I also saw GrannySmythe still glaring at me from behind the bar.
I didn’t want to find out how she might react if we tried to claim the prize once the Special Event ended. Better to leave The Green Apple behind and let her figure out the rest without us interfering further.
Silas ended his Camouflage, suctioned onto my leg, and climbed back onto my shoulder while I ran after Sync.
“You’re Level 99,” I accused my deltoid-dwelling companion. “How can you possibly be so ineffective in these fights?”
“Well, excuse the ink outta me,” he quipped. “I’ve only saved your life around ten times now in less than a day, and I don’t smack you nearly as often as I’d like or as often as you deserve. If that isn’t considered Level 99 heroics, I don’t know what is.”
“Then smack away. I need healing,” I countered, and he began slapping me in the face. My health slowly climbed up from about a third. It progressed slower than before, and I suspected I’d eventually out-level the usefulness of his healing, but for now, I’d use it as much as needed and save my precious few health packs for life-or-death scenarios.
We all ran through the moonlit streets of Evervale and eventually reached a more refined area of the fantasy city. That led us to a brick highway between large structures of dressed gray stone and well-manicured trees in courtyards.
Despite the nighttime hour, donkeys, oxen, and several other fantasy-type animals I didn’t recognize hauled carts along the thoroughfare, and plenty of NPCs and Players clad in fantasy gear walked the highway as well. Torches mounted to building exteriors and gas lamp-style street lights lit the night, but the stars and moon shone so brightly that the extra lights weren’t necessary.
A sound rose in the distance that didn’t fit the environment—the familiar growl of big classic car engines.
“Oh, for frost’s sake,” I groaned. “Now what?”
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break--Royal Road. They call us the Critical Hitters.
In the desolate desert of the North American Sector, the government harvests the Soul Energy of siblings Eos and Maxima in secret.
When their powers attract the attention of a dangerous criminal organization, their routine lives are shattered. Eos and Maxima must search for freedom and the truth about their past as hostile forces close in.
The answers they seek lie behind one word—!
Occam's Favor
A grizzled ex-mech pilot is drawn back into the Everwar, a decades-long conflict raging across Jupiter’s moonscape.
This time he refuses to fight alone, bringing a crew of misfits and a mech powerful enough to rewrite the war itself.
is a can't-miss power-scaling mech series. Read it now!
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Dungeon Crawler Carl Audio Immersion Tunnel for Soundbooth Theater, and he's the lead writer for the Dungeon Crawler Carl Role Playing Game.
