Accidental Healer-Chapter 48 - The one that got away

Two level-ups. Not bad.

I pull up my status screen, assigning my points to Wisdom, hoping to snag a title for breaking 100 in another stat.

Nothing.

Damn. Guess I wasn’t the first this time. Not surprising—there are billions of people in the world. The fact that I’d even gotten two titles already was insane.

Still, a win is a win.

I switch tabs to check my dungeon progress.

Checkpoints Cleared: 1/3

Camps Cleared: 0/4

Good start. I wasn’t sure why the system called them “checkpoints,” but at least now I had a feel for what to expect.

I glance back at the palisade, the wooden walls standing stark against the fading firelight. Smoke rises from behind the barricade. A reminder of the lives left behind.

My hand rests on my stomach where the arrow hit. It’s easy to remember the pain from being shot. It had been a while since I last felt this exposed. It's a sobering feeling.

I am lucky to be alive. My own negligence nearly cost me everything. Adrenaline carried me through the fight. The silence after the fight betrays me, leaving me with my thoughts.

It’s still night. The smoke mingles with the smell of the fight. Inside the fort reminds me of our village. Rough shelters, signs of life. But it’s not home. Not even close.

There is a rough dirt path that leads out of the walls away from the way we entered. My eyes trace the path. No more mistakes. I’m in a dungeon, these dark elves are dangerous. They have skills that counter my barrier.

One more glance down the path, there is more work to do before we can leave.

Mischief and I loot everything of value, piling up common-grade weapons and leather armor.

Total haul:

Enough weapons to arm at least 20 of our people.

284 UBC.

The second we clear out the last body, I feel that pull. The urge to move. With nothing left to do at the fort we set off–following the path to the next objective.

The next camp is much easier. Unlike the checkpoint’s log palisades, this camp is barely fortified—just a few squat wooden bunkers. Ten dark elves. Dead in under a minute. The first three die before they even know they’re under attack.

It's intimidating watching Mischief work. Our strategy has been simple. I call the plan “the Mischief surprise special.” It fits. He slowly prowls through the grass silent as a whisper and before anyone can blink two bandits lie dead with another nowhere to be seen. Carried off somewhere into the dark.

Once the panic sets in, I swoop—Dash skill active, blade swinging. These ambush attacks teach me a valuable lesson. Surprise is a brutal advantage. One that Mischief leverages to deadly and terrifying efficiency.

I don’t pray often, but if I did, I’d thank every god there is for putting Mischief in my corner.

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The next camp is much the same. Then we hit the second checkpoint. For the bandits the nightmare that is Mischief continues. Even with his bright orange fur he moves through the night like a specter. One second he’s there the next he’s tearing through the throat of an enemy.

By the third camp, I’m not even feeling a challenge.

The dungeon's path winds through a scenic mountain valley with gently sloping hills. Through the pine trees I can see the last camp coming into view.

Something is off. The same squat shelters, but no fire. No smoke. Nothing. I’m starting to feel uneasy.

Because this camp?

It’s empty.

I freeze at the entrance to the abandoned camp, scanning the area.

Mischief does the same. His ears flick, his muscles tense. But he doesn’t growl. Doesn’t sniff the air. Just stands there.

Waiting.

“Where is everyone?” I whisper.

Mischief tilts his head. Shrugs.

I frown. “Can’t you smell them or something? You’re supposed to have crazy senses right.”

He snorts. Shrugs again.

I roll my eyes. “Real helpful.”

Still. Something is off.

I check my status again.

Camps Cleared: 4/4

Checkpoints Cleared: 2/3

Four out of Four? Then where the hell are they?

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I lower my screen and glance back at the empty camp. My gut twists. There’s only one explanation.

Somehow—one of them got away.

And that meant they were waiting for me. The element of surprise was gone. How much would that matter though at this point? With nothing more to do at this camp we just head off toward our third and final checkpoint.

I chat with Mischief as we walk. Mostly just to ease my mind of the turmoil. Silence hasn't been my friend the last couple of days.

Looking over to Mischief who is nearly eye level with me at this point, I ask. “Do you ever feel guilty when you kill something?”

He glances at me and cocks and then cocks his head.

“You know, when you ripping out someone's gut or biting off their head?"

"Which by the way…that has become quite a favorite for you.”

I know he can understand me but I don’t get any response. I’m fine with it though, Mischief doesn’t seem annoyed, content to simply listen.

“Well…anyway…sometimes…I do.” I kick a rock on the trail as we walk.

“Honestly lately it's been more than just sometimes." We catch up to where I kicked the rock before. "I guess not so much in this dungeon.” I kick the rock ahead again.

“I mean they are murderous bandits. Allegedly." It still seems suspicious that the system labeled them as "Murderous" to me.

"They can’t all be murderers though can they?” We reach the kicked rock again this time I lean down and pick it up.

The rock is small in my hand. Round but no bigger than a nickel. I give it a little toss in the air and then snatch it on its way down.

“It’s easy to kill these dungeon monsters." I hate the words but it's true. It has been so easy to kill these Elves.

"I just imagine they killed the Guildian boy I couldn’t heal the other day.” I open my hand and examine the rock in my hand.

“Do you want to know what really makes me sick though?" We stop briefly and Mischief gives me an inquisitive look. My first closes and I squeeze the small rock.

"I know it’s bullshit.”

I cock back and throw the rock as far as I can. It sails into the night. I don’t hear it land.

-

The sun is just beginning to rise when we arrive.

We move through the trees, creeping up the hill that overlooks the last checkpoint.

And that’s when I see it. Compared to the other checkpoints this is a fortress.

The other two checkpoints? Laughable. Thin walls. Narrow ramparts. Barely worth calling defenses.

This?

This was something else. A triple-wide palisade—fortified with sharpened stakes, built for actual siege defense. Large enough to house at least fifty fighters. More than twice what I expected. A true stronghold.

The ten or so who should’ve been in the last camp would also be adding to the numbers. I look to the east. The sun is climbing the mountain and the night is fading quickly. Light was not my friend in a surprise attack.

On top of it all? They would be waiting.

“Yeah,” I mutter. “A frontal assault is suicide.”

Mischief gives me an incredulous look, which seems very unnatural on his furry cat face.

“Don’t give me that,” I say. “I like fair fights.”

He huffs.

“Fine, I like slightly unfair fights. But this?” I gesture to the stronghold. “This is a slaughter waiting to happen.”

I glance back at Mischief.

“It seems like our only option is the sneaky way.”

He bares his fangs. In the daytime I know I'll be basically no help in a stealth attack. But Mischief? His stealth is uncanny. We are in no hurry and the men in the fort would be easy pickings for my furry friend.

Attacking head on would be foolish which leaves only one option. This will just have to be a game of attrition.