Solomon's Crucible 77. The Community (1) (Patreon)

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Solomon took a little extra time the next morning to make himself look presentable. He borrowed a razor from his dad and took off a few days' worth of stubble. He also borrowed a t-shirt and pair of sweatpants. They more or less fit and they weren't covered in blood, which was a big step up from the rest of his clothing.

All in all, by the time he stepped out of the bathroom he'd cleaned up to the point that he wasn't going to send people running at the sight of him. He'd noticed that the water pressure in the shower had dropped quite a bit. He'd been wondering just how long the plumbing would keep working after the system did a number on everything electronic.

He'd miss the creature comforts. It was easy enough to buy drinking water through the dungeon store, setting aside whatever his parents might have stored away. And hopefully in his new settlement the system would make indoor plumbing available for purchase. It certainly had seemed to have everything else on offer. He'd just have to suffer through some grime until then.

Well, his parents had said that they were having trouble convincing people to leave town. Maybe losing easy access to water would help convince them of the danger they were facing.

In any event, Solomon was looking somewhat professional as his dad introduced him to Hank. He did his best to reinforce the impression by looking Hank square in the eye and giving him a firm handshake. He wanted to make a good first impression. His settlement could badly use a gunsmith. 

Hank returned the handshake with surprising vigor. He looked to be a good decade or so older than Solomon's father. He was also bald save for two puffs of gray on the side of his head. His eyes were sharp, though, and he was carrying a rifle over his shoulder that looked to be over four feet long.

"So you're the one with a line on some working gunpowder?" Hank asked, not wasting any time once the introductions were complete.

Solomon nodded. He was happy enough to get straight to business. "Controlling territory comes with some special treatment by the system."

Solomon didn't mind letting his family know where the magic powder had come from. He didn't want the information spread far and wide, though. There were plenty of people out there who knew how to build a gun. If Solomon was the only source of powder, though, it would go a long way to keeping his holdings secure.

The cover story he and his dad had come up with was that being a territory owner let Solomon buy the stuff through the dungeon store. They might go so far as to set up a fake system-bought powder mill at some point.

"Well, if you have some extra for trade," Hank said, slipping the rifle off his shoulder and holding it out to Solomon. "I think you'll be interested in this."

Solomon gave it a look. As far as he could tell he was looking at a well-preserved, very old-fashioned, bolt-action rifle. Otherwise he couldn't say much about it. Fortunately, Hank was in a sharing mood.

"A while back I got the chance to buy a genuine Dreyse needle gun. Only ever put a few rounds through it," he said. "Some of the guys like to get together and show off our black powder guns every now and then."

He opened the bolt and gestured for Solomon to look closer. "That needle would pierce through the paper cartridge to hit a blasting cap and fire. I replaced the original with the 'magic' metal your dad gave me. Should work just fine, once you change out the black powder in the cartridge for purple."

"You have one ready?" Solomon asked.

Hank smiled, then reached into his pocket and withdrew a paper cartridge. "That little cannon round your dad gave me had more than enough powder. I only have the one. I haven't done a test fire yet, I figured you'd want to see it."

He slid the cartridge home and closed the bolt. Solomon held out his hand, gesturing for him to wait.

"You shouldn't take the shot," Solomon said. In response to Hank's curious look, he continued. "If we party up and I use the gun you made to kill something, you'll get a skill for gunsmithing."

Hank raised an eyebrow. "It won't work if I shoot it?"

Solomon shrugged. "Maybe, maybe not. The system only gives you credit for the highest skill shown. If it's more impressed by your marksmanship than your engineering then you'd get that instead. You'd be able to spend points to help you shoot better, but not to help make better guns."

Solomon paused to let Hank digest the video-game like rules that now governed their lives. A moment later, a possible problem occurred to him. "Did you get access to the party system?"

"I got part way through the tutorial after some critters tried to get into my garage," Hank said, nodding. "The park down by the school has a lot of little nasties running around. If you want a live target, that's where I'd go."

Solomon looked to his dad, who nodded and gestured for him to take the lead. It certainly sounded like a better idea than trying to snipe raccoons out of somebody's yard. The three of them didn't take long to walk the two blocks needed before the school came into sight. They stopped about half a block away from the park. Even from that distance, Solomon could see suspicious movement in the tall grass.

"You sure you're going to be all right to take the shot?" Hank asked, glancing down at Solomon's hook. "This is really a two-handed weapon."

Solomon smiled. "Don't worry. Those abilities you can buy that help you shoot better? I picked up most of them."

Hank still looked a little skeptical, but he handed the rifle over nonetheless. It did take a little maneuvering for Solomon to steady the rifle using his hook. Fortunately, nothing was trying to kill him at the moment.

Eventually he worked it out and was looking at the park through the iron sights. He could do a little better than that, of course. A moment's effort provided him with a magicked up telescopic sight, and had the gun enchanted for a temporary boost in accuracy and stopping power. 

With his newly enhanced view, Solomon could make out the shapes of squirrels, amped up to the size of small dogs, racing around the tree line. They were moving too quickly for him to be sure of getting a hit.

He waited.

Finally, one of the little vermin dropped down out of the tree and started digging. Solomon hoped it was just looking for an acorn, but he wasn't going to wait around and find out. He took aim and pulled the trigger.

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