Endless Dungeon: The Misadventures of a Gunslinger Who Can’t Shut Up [LitRPG/Dungeon] Chapter 9: The Art of Not Dying Stylishly

The air stirred as the two wolves vanished, their bodies unraveling into streams of wind that scattered like mist.

Noah's fingers curled tighter around the flintlock, knuckles pale as his eyes darted across the treeline. Every twitch of a leaf, every whisper of grass, carved itself into his awareness.

A faint shuffle brushed against his hearing—barely there, like a secret trying not to be heard.

"Left side."

Dimitri lunged before the words had ti to settle, his shield swinging out in a swift arc.

A dull thud echoed as sothing solid crashed into the wooden barrier—fur against wood, breath against steel tension. The impact rattled through Dimitri’s arm, but the shield held firm.

Noah’s boots hit the earth just as the second wolf surged from the shadows behind him. It ca fast—too fast for most eyes to follow—but Noah was already moving.

He twisted sharply, letting the montum carry him just out of reach. The wolf’s claws sliced through empty space.

It hit the ground. Its form scattered like breath in winter, dissolving into wind the mont it touched the grass. One second, a predator. The next, a whisper.

"Took a minute, but I’ve cracked their little trick."

"Knew you’d break them down like a puzzle box. Your mind’s a damn scalpel, my friend."

Noah darted across the clearing, boots skimming over the flattened grass as he moved farther from the shelter of tall stones and shadowed thickets.

The openness offered little in the way of cover, but that was the point—he needed space, and he needed it now.

Behind him, Dimitri moved like a seasoned wall of steel and muscle, his shield lifted, ready to intercept whatever threat dared approach.

His steps made no hesitation, only purpose.

"This pack's getting smarter,"

"They've seen too much of how we fight. Stick to the usual and we're not walking away from this one."

"Then what now, my genius friend?"

"We're going full Tower Crane."

"That’s the best idea since fire and bread!"

Dimitri tightened his grip on the shield, drawing it close to his side with steady hands.

The sword, still warm from recent use, slid back into its sheath with a low scrape, the sound swallowed by the tense stillness between heartbeats.

His eyes narrowed, body low, prepared for the next strike.

Across from him, Noah fished around his pouch with practiced flair, pulling out a small glass vial that shimred faintly under the dim light.

"Oh no, I'm critically low on health. If a wild, totally-not-foreshadowed wolf decided to leap at right now, that would be such a disaster."

He held up the potion with one hand like a magician unveiling his final trick, twisting it slightly to admire the swirl of red liquid inside.

The underbrush quivered. From the shadows, a wolf lunged, its growl low and guttural. Eyes locked on Noah, it sprang with jaws wide, its fangs glinting—an instant from sinking into flesh.

The wolf lunged, claws bared, teeth wide, a low growl pulsing in its throat.

It was a blur of motion—feral and fast. But as it closed the final breath of space toward Noah, a hand shot out.

Thick fingers clenched around Noah’s collar, yanking him backwards just as the beast's jaws snapped through the air.

Dimitri’s arm swung wide, pulling Noah aside with surprising ease, as though he weighed nothing.

Noah twisted mid-motion, body leaning with practiced grace as he raised the flintlock.

The weapon clicked with familiar weight in his hand, eyes narrowing as he tracked the beast’s montum.

"I just realized you can't pull off a second dash mid-air unless you’re actually touching sothing. Kind of kills the parkour vibe."

The trigger snapped—One sharp crack echoed.

Then another.

A third.

And a fourth.

Each shot landed squarely against the wolf’s skull. It crumpled mid-stride, skidding against the dirt before stilling in a tangle of fur and silence.

But even before the air had settled from the first kill, a second wolf erged—silent, sudden, and swift.

It darted forward with frightening precision, appearing right at the spot where Dimitri had just tried to pull Noah clear.

Its eyes locked onto Noah. Its limbs coiled. It leapt.

"Dimitri."

"I catch faster than falling apple, my friend!"

The wooden shield moved like an extension of Dimitri’s will. It ca down with a jarring thud, colliding with the airborne wolf just as its fangs aid for Noah’s throat.

The impact rang out—a dull, splintered sound. The wolf yelped, a brief and broken cry that faded into the snap of air.

With a grunt, Dimitri shoved the shield upward, lifting the beast with raw force. The wolf flew, limbs flailing, weightless for a mont before the descent.

Dimitri lifted Noah with ease, setting him upon his shoulder like one might adjust a bag of grain. Noah landed steady, balanced without thought, already raising his flintlock with calm precision.

Above them, the wolf hung in the air—its body caught between montum and gravity, weightless for one fragile breath.

"Hasta la vista, baby."

The flintlock roared. Again. Again. Again.

Shot after shot lit the air, each flash carving through the silence with tallic rhythm. The recoil was sharp, but Noah didn’t pause. His mana thinned with every pull of the trigger, draining fast, burning like a wick near its end.

The wolf twisted mid-air, its limbs flailing as the bullets found their mark. Tiny bursts of mana-infused fla danced through its fur. Flesh gave way. Holes opened, fresh and raw.

It scread—high, unnatural, half-choked. And then it dropped.

The body landed on the grass with a dull thud, twitched once, then again, weaker the second ti. After that, it didn’t move.

Noah lowered his arm, exhaled slowly, then brought the flintlock to his lips. With casual grace, he blew across the barrel, as though sealing the end of a performance rather than a battle.

"You’re ssing with a stylish gunslinger, little wolves. Try harder next ti."

But the confidence in his voice couldn’t hold up the weight in his limbs. His body, worn thin by the strain, gave out without warning. He slipped from Dimitri’s shoulder, the strength in his legs gone in a blink.

Before he could hit the ground, Dimitri’s arm moved like clockwork. He caught Noah with the ease of soone used to lifting more than weight—soone used to catching falling things before they broke. A grin lit his face, warm and steady.

"I knew you had spark the mont I saw you, my friend. But this? This is full fire."

"If every fight turns into a drama like this... I’ll be six feet under before I’m old enough to legally raise a glass."

A low, hearty laugh rumbled from Dimitri’s chest—rich, unhurried, and oddly comforting, like a fire crackling through silence.

"In my motherland, the law smiles at you when you turn eighteen. That’s when the drinks begin to flow, my friend. You’d thrive there. You’ve got the spirit for it. Even around here, I’ve seen a few reckless souls younger than you already tossing back bottles like it’s a festival."

Noah chuckled under his breath, the sound thin but real, a spark flickering beneath the weight of fatigue.

"That's the best thing I’ve heard all day."