Chapter 136 (Book 4 Chapter 13) (Patreon)

Author's Note:

Shorter chapter today, some of the stuff that was planned for it ended up being cut/moved in the writing process.

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In the distance, thousands of Dwarves walked among crowded streets, going about their business as if it was any other day. Vevrandi gestured wildly as she introduced Dhalerune City to the Party, eyes sparkling with pride. By the animated way she was moving, the Dwarf seemed legitimately excited to show everyone her homeland, regaling them with the history behind such and such monuments.

Rob didn't hear a word of it. His attention was laser-focused on the goddamn RIFLES held by the Dwarven soldiers. Out of the eight Dwarves guarding the entrance to Dhalerune City, four were equipped not with axes, not with hammers, but with literal fucking guns.

Not A Scratch, Rob thought, activating the Skill. Not A Scratch. Not A Scratch. Jesus tapdancing Christ, Not A Scratch.

"Pardon my interruption," Zamira said, raising her hand to forestall Vevrandi's impassioned ramblings. "What might those be?" She pointed at the rifles, what the fuuuuck. "Identify's description merely refers to them as a particularly deadly projectile weapon."

"I see you've taken note of the Thunder Rods." Vevrandi smirked. "Its specifics are classified, I'm afraid, but I'm sure the Stonewarden will be more than happy to share his knowledge now that we are to become allies." She paused, considering how much to say. "For the sake of sating your curiosity. simply know that they are new military developments that you would be well-advised to exercise caution around."

'NEW' DEVELOPMENTS, MY ASS. Even if Rob assumed that the Dwarves had secretly advanced their technology by centuries while the rest of Elatra lagged behind, it didn't explain their rifles' appearance, which were identical to World War II-era guns that Rob knew from Earth. He couldn't recall the model name off the top of his head, but he'd definitely seen that exact type of gun in documentaries and video games.

Which made absolutely zero sense. Due to cultural differences and the existence of the System, any Dwarven interpretation of conventional gunpowder-based firearms should have resulted in unique design aesthetics. At the very least, they should've appeared a little different from their Earth counterparts. But no, it was just a freaking rifle, lifted straight from the early 1900s. Looking at it filled Rob with an overwhelming sense of bitter nostalgia, as if he'd been reminded of unpleasant memories long since repressed.

Elatra's lack of weapons that could pop his head from fifty meters was supposed to be one of the few things it had going for it.

Rob's panic soared like a rocket to the sky as Vevrandi and his Party chatted, unaware of the dangers they were in. While the rifle-toting Dwarves were at ease, thankfully displaying proper trigger disciple and with the ends of their weapons pointed away, that could change in a heartbeat. Even now, they were eyeing Vul'to and Faelynn with open contempt. Rob almost moved to position himself in front of the Dwarves' line of fire, but that would put them on edge and raise questions he couldn't answer.

Naturally, Diplomacy took that moment to rouse from their slumber. <Good afternoon,> the Skill remarked, yawning. <I see that we've reached Dhalerune City. Did I miss anything importa– is that a fucking gun?!>

"This is all very riveting," Elder Alessia interrupted, in a tone that wasn't even attempting to be genuine, "but the Stonewarden awaits. We'd be delighted to hear more of your people's history after the Blight has been dealt with."

"That is true," Vevrandi answered, with mild disappointment. "I suppose the grand tour can wait."

"A tour sounds pretty nice, actually."

The words were out of Rob's mouth before he'd finished thinking them. As everyone turned their gazes towards him, Rob mind kicked into high gear, cobbling a plan together on the spot. "Obviously, we can't parade ourselves through the city, but maybe you can still take a scenic route?" he continued. "Whatever scenic route is available to the back streets, anyway. If we can impress the Stonewarden with our knowledge of Dwarven culture, it'll help...uh...foster positive relations between our respective sides."

He'd pulled every bit of that out of his ass. To Rob's shock, Vevrandi nodded, her disappointment instantly reverting to excitement. "We are pressed for time," she began, "but having a friendly first meeting with the Stonewarden will pay off later when we join forces to slay the Blight. Those who trust each other outside the battlefield will trust each other on it."

From behind Vevrandi, Elder Alessia was staring at Rob, her eyebrows perched at the top of her forehead. After a few seconds, her expression reset to Politically Amicable as she went to accompany Vevrandi at the front of their group. "I won't turn down a chance for more information. Lead the way."

Translation: "Whatever you're doing, Rob, I trust you".

With an air of triumph, Vevrandi shepherded them away from the hustle and bustle of Dhalerune City's main thoroughfare, leaving the gun-toting guards behind. Vul'to and Faelynn donned large hooded cloaks to obscure their horns and skin. While their height would still draw the attention of any curious Dwarves that happened to be passing by, it was better than no disguise at all. That wasn't a risk Rob would've taken under normal circumstances, but this the only way he'd been able to come up with to stall for time.

As Vevrandi walked and talked, Alessia receiving the brunt of her enthusiasm, Rob kept an eye out for any riflemen that might be lying in ambush. Streets passed by them, nary a Dwarf in sight. When he was 100% certain that Riardin's Rangers weren't in immediate danger – more like 80%, if he was being honest – Rob finally allowed himself a moment to breathe.

Message Started Between All Party Members
Rob: listen
Rob: just...just listen.
Rob: I need to tell you some things. You will be surprised.
Rob: Don't let it show. At all.
Rob: You're going to have to act like nothing is wrong.
Rob: Follow Vevrandi. Stay silent.
Rob: Pretend as if her tour is the most interesting thing in the world.
Rob: And don't interrupt me until I'm done.

"Dhalerune is the oldest and largest city in Dwarven territory," Vevrandi said, lost in her own little world as Alessia nodded along. "It has great symbolic meaning among our people. If it were to fall, I shudder to think of the ramifications that would have for the rest of Dwarven territory."

Message Continued
Rob: Those new weapons that the Dwarf guards had?
Rob: The 'Thunder Sticks' or whatever?
Rob: I recognize them. They're called rifles.
Rob: And they're from Earth.

He paused. Every member of his Party kept up their poker face, even Malika.

Message Continued
Rob: Good. Keep acting natural. This is only going to get worse.
Rob: Vevrandi was significantly underselling how deadly those weapons are.
Rob: Imagine an Archer. A high-Level Archer. Using Power Shot.
Rob: Take the speed of their shot and multiply it. The arrow is moving so fast you can't see it.
Rob: Now compress the strength of their shot into a small bead of metal.
Rob: That's what happens when a rifle is fired.
Rob: And those particular rifles can be fired almost once a second.

Keira's neck muscles bulged with suppressed exertion.

Message Continued
Keira: Why didn't Danger Sense alert me?
Rob: Because they weren't planning to shoot us.
Rob: A rifle goes from safe to dangerous very quickly.
Rob: And please, hold on. I'm still not done.

"Would you look at that," Vevrandi said, directing their attention towards a hanging light fixture that was clearly electrical. "Can you believe it? Light without magic. Yet another marvel of technological development. I'd heard rumors that the book-lovers were working on it, but to see it with my own two eyes..."

She raised her fist in approval. "Manaless light and the Thunder Rods are just the first of many changes to come. Mark my words – once the Blight has been expunged, a new era shall dawn for all of Dwarven territory."

Message Continued
Rob: ...Can't focus on that right now. Guns first.
Rob: Look.
Rob: I've seen what rifles can do to people back on Earth.
Rob: It isn't pretty.
Rob: But you guys, with your added HP and my shared Vitality Skill buffs...
Rob: And maybe throw in a Bullet Resistance Skill if we live long enough to learn it...
Rob: Hard to say. I think you'd be fine taking a few bullets in non-vital areas.
Rob: Although getting shot in the head is probably still lethal for anyone except me.
Rob: So, uh, don't.
Vul'to: Apologies for interrupting, but did anyone else notice that the Dwarves who were wielding Rifles were all Utility Class users?
Vul'to: I used Identify, and none of them seemed to possess a Combat Class.

Rob barely suppressed a grunt of surprise before it could escape his mouth. He glanced at Vevrandi, but she hadn't noticed his slip in demeanor, too busy explaining the fine arts of Dwarven masonry to Alessia. In the back of his mind, Rob vowed to make it up to the Elder – she was really taking one for the team.

Message Continued
Rob: Okay that's...good? I think? One sec.
Rob: Hmm.
Rob: Yeah. No reason for them not to have Combat Classes.
Rob: Unless they can't.
Rob: I'm guessing there's a conflict between the system and the guns.
Rob: Wouldn't be the first time it's had arbitrary restrictions.
Rob: So no Gunslinger Class with homing bullets and infinite ammo or some shit.
Rob: Small mercies.
Rob: With that said, don't let yourself get overconfident.
Rob: There's a reason why the Dwarves were fine with having Utility Class users guard the city entrance.
Rob: Guns are...an equalizer, in a lot of ways.
Rob: It isn't possible to dodge a rifle shot. Bullets move faster than anyone, even people with high Dexterity.
Rob: Either get behind cover or get out of the way before they shoot. Don't count on blocking. Your eyes and reflexes aren't quick to deflect bullets.
Rob: Consistently, anyway, which is what matters.
Rob: It only takes one shot to pierce your heart.

Belatedly, he noticed that his fingernails were digging into his palm. Rob forced his arms to relax and stapled an interested expression onto his face as Vevrandi peered his way. The Dwarf, mollified that he was 'paying attention', went back to conversing with Alessia.

Message Continued
Rob: You get what I'm saying, right?
Rob: The problem with fighting guns is that what happens largely depends on their users, and not us.
Rob: If they can aim well, we lose. If they can't, we win.
Rob: It depends on the scenario, but...yeah.
Rob: This isn't an enemy you can defeat on equal terms without getting lucky.
Rob: So...please. Listen to me when I say this.
Rob: If Dwarves start pointing guns at us, do one of two things.
Rob: Surrender immediately.
Rob: Or kill them all before they can pull the trigger.
Rob: There's no in-between.

"We're almost at the Stonewarden's quarters," Vevrandi said, turning to face everyone. "While my tour may have been truncated, I hope it was informative, nonetheless. Do you have any questions you've yet to ask?"

Hahahahahahahaha. "I'm good," Rob answered, in a cheery tone. "Bring on the Stonewarden."

As soon as Vevrandi turned away, Elder Alessia sagged with relief and shot Rob an unamused glare. He mouthed 'sorry' to her, unable to do much else. The rest of his Party had somehow kept up their poker faces the entire time, although some were understandably strained.

Several side streets later, they arrived at a large building in the center of Dhalerune City. Rob couldn't get a good look at it from the angle they were approaching, but based on the forty-foot statues of heroic Dwarves parked at the entrance, it was either the Stonewarden's main headquarters or his bachelor pad. Vevrandi shuttled them into a backdoor entrance, away from any prying eyes, then led them to a cozy little waiting room.

Where they...waited.

Message Continued
Keira: So, you're done, right?
Rob: Huh?
Rob: Oh. Yeah. Go ahead.
Keira: Okay.
Keira: Rob, what the fuck?
Rob: Hey, don't act like this is my fault.
Keira: It's not. But still. What the fuck?
Rob: Fair.
Faelynn: I think I may be regretting my position as official Fiend liaison.
Faelynn: It sounded so important at the time.
Malika: Don't worry, everyone!! You heard what Rob said, I'll just set anyone holding a gun on fire as soon as we see them.
Orn'tol: That is a flagrant misinterpretation of-

"Stonewarden Grant will see you now," a messenger Dwarf said, poking her head into the room.

Riardin's Rangers exchanged glances, drawing strength from each other's support. This was it. The moment of truth. Their first parlay with an Elatran Leader who – presumably – wasn't out to kill them. If they nailed this meeting, both the Deserters and Fiendland would gain a legitimate ally, one whose influence could assist them with uniting Elatra's disparate factions into a cohesive whole.

So no pressure.

They followed Vevrandi to the Stonewarden's audience hall, Elder Alessia taking point at the front of their group as Diplomacy fed Rob some last-minute advice. Aside from general negotiation tips, the Skill advised him to expect the unexpected, a sentiment that Rob wholeheartedly agreed with. The last few weeks had thrown enough curveballs at them to strike out a major league player, and there was no sign that things were getting saner anytime soon. Before taking that final step into the meeting room, Rob mentally prepared himself for anything and everything.

His diligence was rewarded. Because the first person that Rob laid eyes upon when entering wasn't the Stonewarden. They weren't even a Dwarf. A middle-aged Elf was sitting at the conference table, his arms crossed as he scowled at nothing in particular. He seemed tall, by Elf standards, with a severe face marred by chronic lines of worry. A lance was strapped to his back, pristine except for one or two errant scratches to serve as proof that it had ever been used.

Rob blinked, then shook his head, recovering from his surprise faster than anyone else in the Party. "Hi there," he greeted, offering an exuberant thumbs-up. "No idea who you are, but my name is Rob, and it's nice to meet you."

The Elf glanced over.

Rob's blood turned to ice in his veins. He flinched back like he'd been punched, nearly buckling under the weight of the Elf's sheer, unbridled loathing. "You," the Elf spat, putting more venom into the word than a snake puts into its bite.

All too late, Rob realized that he probably should have cast Identify from the beginning.

Name: Seneschal Kiirion Sylpeiros, Leader of the Elves
Level: 76
Race: Elf
Status Effects: Anxious, Distressed, Apoplectic
Description: Good luck.

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