Dungeon Sniper

The situation was more brutal than I thought. When Nasty said there was a 'farm' to provide Human meat for their kind, I knew the place was not going to look pretty.

But this, this was just a scene taken out of one's disgusting, abhorrent nightmare. There was a smell of rotting flesh mixed with feces scattered everywhere. Dead bodies were chained right next to those still alive in a packed, unsanitary cell. Even the live ones seemed dead for all their stillness and lethargic slumber. The pale, emaciated n.a.k.e.d bodies were more pitiful than arousing. There was simply no life in them. Nothing. Zero.

I counted twenty bodies, but only five were alive inside that Farm. The sight was too horrific for me to shed tears at first. It did make me puke violently, and with the vomit came the enraged tears.

I wanted to kill the Goblins. I wanted to kill them so bad. Back when I met the four of them at the raided village, I fought them to just save my life and keep on living in this strange, alien world called the Dungeon.

But now, things were different. I wanted to bash their ugly red faces and slit their thick, unsightly necks out of pure, genuine hatred for them.

I stepped closer to the barred cell and watched the corpse-like bodies piled like some kind of sacks over each other. My Echolocation skill did not help me diagnose how the five surviving women were doing medically. There were some bruises and cuts on their body, but I was more concerned with how they were doing internally.

The truth was, I did not think they would last for another day, let alone the next few hours. I had no idea how long they had been locked up in a cage like this, but based on the relative freshness of dead bodies that had just begun to rot, I guessed it would not have been more than a couple weeks. And a long, miserable couple of weeks for the innocent women, I could only imagine.

The smart plan was to escape the cave unnoticed and hopefully get some help to come back and rescue the captives. But I did not know where to get help. How far away was the nearest Human settlement from here? Would other races help another race escape from the Goblinic treachery of farming and eating the prisoners? Were there Human allies in this ongoing interracial war? Questions after questions popped up in my already confused, rage-driven mind.

And I had come to a decision. I was not thinking clearly, but that was okay. It was probably better for my sanity that I was focusing on rage and nothing else. I looked over at the shallow-breathed survivors for the last time before resolving my determination firmly.

The war was already out there. It was time to start another one, down here.

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There was no guarantee that I would make it out of this cave unnoticed, let alone alive. So I scrapped the escape plan. Instead, I scurried in the dark silently and walked along the corridors for the next few hours to gather more intel of the area and its inhabitants.

The cave was not huge, but it had many tunnels. There were two large rooms with various caved-in spaces like the small-sized cell I was in and the medium-sized cage where the Human females were kept. Most of the dozen other caved-in hollows were empty, but there was one important spot that I came across: Treasure Room. To be precise, it was more of a junk room, but I could find some useful junk to help aid my cause of taking down a Goblin Den single-handedly. It was still a long shot, but I was going for it regardless.

Acquired:

Hunting Bow - Human-made

Quiver - Ten arrows

Dagger - Serviceable

Leather Helmet - Bloodstained

Leather Jacket - Human-sized

Damaged Pants - One hole away from being a rag

Fur Shoes - Fur on the soles

All of the junk, untended and poorly handled, seemed to be trophy loots from raiding other settlements. Most of the items were Human-made, and only a few Goblin-sized gear were present, most of them broken and out of shape.

My best find was the shoes with fur soles. I had no idea why anyone had made them in the first place, but it was perfect for such an environment. The fur soles not only cushioned my feet from the rough, rocky floor of the cave but also muffled the sound of footsteps that echoed around the walls and ceiling.

Before I left the Treasure Room, my eyes caught a pile of broken 'Slingshots.' They were mostly wooden toys with simple designs, but there were some that seemed to be made of brass—and broken—and with leather grips wrapped around the handle in a manner too serious for either a toy or a typical bird shooter. The image of broken slingshots lingered in my mind long after I headed out of the room.

I reached one of the bigger rooms in the cave and hid in the shadow at the first sight of light coming from the open. My Echolocation picked up twenty Goblins ahead—and of those twenty, half of them were sleeping. The other ten were talking among themselves in three groups of circles, playing some kind of game by throwing Human bones—skulls, ribs, and whatnot—onto the ground and babbling excitedly after the sickening hollow clanks of the bones. Naturally, I did not want to know what they were playing. I only wanted them dead.

I assumed this was the Living Quarters for the tribe. No one was standing guards, and those that were asleep were sleeping quite peacefully. The awake ones also seemed carefree in their revelry. I watched them in silence, in the dark, trying my best to come up with the way to effectively take them out.

I considered visiting the other large room located north of the Living Quarters when a Goblin walked into the quarters from the opposite tunnel and called the crowd for attention.

"Is Dasagi here?" growled the newcomer Goblin.

The other Goblins, at least those who were awake, looked around them, calling the name 'Dasagi,' but it was obvious that this Goblin was playing hooky.

"Dasagi is missing. He was supposed to report back from his patrol an hour ago."

Oh. I had an idea who they were talking about. The Goblin guard I killed was not a guard but a patrol, and I had just learned of his name now.

"I figured he would be lying down here, being careless and gluttonous as ever."

No, Dasagi was lying on the pool of his own blood back at the cell.

"See if he is munching at the Human meat by the Farm again. We found him there last week, almost ate two whole Humans by himself," suggested one of the Goblins.

"What about the fresh Human Karuchi brought in earlier?" asked another Goblin.

"That was a male. Male Humans taste like trash."

"But the t.e.s.t.i.c.l.e.s."

"Oh yes, the t.e.s.t.i.c.l.e.s."

What was with these monsters and their love for the t.e.s.t.i.c.l.e.s? I almost let out an exasperated m.o.a.n but kept my mouth shut as I peeked the ugly red faces conversing casually with each other.

The Goblin in search of a missing brother went back the way he came from. The rest of the Goblins resumed their games with the sleepers still in deep, unworried torpor.

And here I was, crouching in the shadow, frustrated that there was no way I could take these hideous bastards down without ending up getting killed. There were too many of them, and who knew how many more were there in the other large room?

Just as my resolve weakened and I was subconsciously longing to track the scent of fresh air to the outside or even 'dig' my way out of here, an epiphany popped up. It was not a revelation, nor was it a solution to the stymie at hand, but it was the first step to eradicating these red-skinned c.o.c.kroach-equivalent race.

I recalled the first time an interface to the Skills list popped open. With some effort, I summoned the transparent panel with the list of Stats, Perks, and Skills. I perused through the short lists, remembering for sure that I had one.

And there it was. The Skill I was looking for: Burrower.

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The Goblins were not refined architects, but they were good diggers. I could see that they were neither miners nor smiths as I passed along several unmined rocks and the poor quality of their arsenal. Their best weapons and armors were obviously Human-made, with some that looked foreign and exotic to be belonging to some other races. Almost all of the looted items were tailored to fit the Goblin size and physique.

The Goblins were unsophisticated, barbaric bunch. There was no getting around the fact. They lacked furniture and slept on the grounds. They ate while sitting on the ground. They never bathed, and thanks to the unhealthy custom, my Human stench was also being masked effectively. Unless the Goblins could pick off the less offensive Human scent among their unbearable counterpart. Would I smell like a flower in a pile of trash and pass off negligible, or would my odor stick out like a perfume or a fragrantly roasted Thanksgiving turkey seeping through the door of a teenage boy's bedroom?

I did not want to take risks, so I made sure my scent went unnoticed by the ugly but well-functioning noses of the Goblins. I had kept the late Dasagi's leather armor, reeking of his smell and also of fresh, unmistakable Goblin blood. The leather piece was worn like a vest under the shoddy Leather Jacket, and I indeed looked like a hobo, but at least I was a safe, careful hobo for the time being.

The Goblins' lack of detail and care made me realize that this cave was probably unplanned, and the rooms were being built constantly and randomly based on exigent, abrupt needs. The tunnels were long and interconnected, and had it not been for my Inner Compass and Vivid Memory, I would have lost my way a long time ago. But I did not, and here I was making a new way, my way, inside the Goblin Den.

The first thing I did was getting back to the cell I was in and hiding Dasagi the Testicle Lover's body out of sight. The Burrower Skill I got from headshot-ing one of the Goblins probably meant that I was just as a good digger as any Goblin. And it turned out I was. So I dug a hole in the wall, threw in the body there, and covered the spot back to look almost as if nothing was hidden under. One had to look really hard to spot the difference of the layer, but I did my best for now. The whole burial business took only a few minutes. I also stripped n.a.k.e.d and placed my items in another hole, except for the Dagger and Fur Shoes that I hid in the corner behind a few rocks.

I had lost track of time, but I guessed a full day had passed when a new Goblin patrol passed by, throwing me a hungry look just before leaving. And I played my part too, crouching in the corner like a scared sheep and looking at him with horrified, hopeless eyes.

The patrol passed, having no idea that the cell door was unlocked and that I could sneak out of the cell with a sharp enough dagger in my hand anytime I wanted. For instance, right now. The Fur Shoes thudded softly against the ground as I approached the unsuspecting Goblin from the back.

I did not think I would gain much traction by stabbing from the Goblin's back and through the leather armor while standing. I considered charging at him, but that was too risky.

But I had the height advantage, and I figured I could swing high and drive the dagger right through the top of the Goblin's bald head. Lucky for me, the new Dagger I had dug out of the Treasure Room seemed sturdy enough to withstand striking against a rock. I tested it once, and I did not dare try a second time in fear of losing it forever. I named it 'Dapper,' because it was the finest weapon I had come across until now.

Another luck for me was that the Goblin patrol was not wearing any helmet. Most Goblins dispensed with helmets, as I found, and for a good reason: most Human-made helmets were too big and clumsy for them. The bumpy, unsightly horns on the forehead that seemed to sprout in the most random pattern for each Goblin probably did not help with the snug fit either. I remembered Nasty was wearing a helmet, and only a few others fashioned the headgear.

I aimed the angle of swing carefully. It had come down to the game of Rock-Dapper-Skull. Dapper beat the rock, once. Could it also beat the baldy back head of a Goblin?

It did.

[Skill gained: Goblin Cry]

Two down, twenty-plus to go. But this was hardly the time to pose for a meaningless victory.

I carried the lifeless Goblin body with a crushed back head to my cell and threw it into the same hole with the Goblin with a crushed face. There was something almost poetic about their causes of death, the symmetrical, balanced justice to it. I stared at the pathetic bodies for a full second before covering them up with dirt as unceremoniously as I could.

I had more work to do, namely setting up traps and getaway passages for the long, exhausting guerrilla warfare ahead. Sentimentality was the wrong mentality needed at the moment.