"So, what do you do, Sir Inigo?"
"Inigo would do just fine. So what is the question specifically?"
"I an I don't see any weapons on you. Are you a mage or sothing? But typically a mage would have a staff or a magic to..."
"Ah so you were curious about my weapons and abilities huh? That's understandable, given that we are undertaking such a dangerous quest. I am a marksman."
"Marksman?" Lyra tilted her head to the side. "Similar to mine? I am an archer and am related to marksn but the weapons. Where are you hiding it?"
"It can't be helped, you are too curious about my weapons. Very well, I will show you," Inigo sighed before materializing a desert eagle in his right hand.
"That's your weapon?" Lyra's eyes scanned the pistol on Inigo's hand, and couldn't quite picture what it could do. "How does it work?"
"You might want to cover your ears," Inigo said, raising the Desert Eagle slightly, finger resting safely along the fra—not the trigger.
Lyra arched an eyebrow but did as told, cupping her hands lightly over her pointed ears.
Inigo turned to the open field beside the dirt path they were walking and aid at a half-rotted wooden signpost in the distance, maybe twenty ters out.
BANG!
The shot echoed through the still morning like a thunderclap. Birds scattered from nearby trees. The signpost splintered into pieces, the top half spinning through the air before crashing into a bush.
Lyra flinched at the sound but quickly removed her hands and stared, wide-eyed, at the damage.
"That was... loud," she muttered, blinking.
Inigo smirked and lowered the weapon. "Loud, but effective."
Lyra stepped forward and examined the remains of the post, her expression serious. "It pierced clean through. No arrow I've ever loosed did that kind of damage at that range." She looked back at him. "What kind of bow is that?"
Inigo chuckled. "It's not a bow. It's called a gun. From where I co from... it's fairly common. This one's called a Desert Eagle. Fires high-caliber rounds. Hits harder than it looks."
Lyra tilted her head slightly again, curiosity flaring behind her calm deanor. "From where you co from?"
Inigo realized his slip and cleared his throat. "Let's just say I'm not local. Long story."
"Another realm?" she asked plainly, as if that kind of thing wasn't impossible in a world where elves and kobolds existed.
"...Maybe." He shrugged, neither confirming nor denying.
She didn't press. "I see. Well, I suppose that explains the weapon. Still—what about ammunition?"
"I have enough," Inigo said simply. "And if I run out, I have other ans." He flipped the gun once in his hand before de-materializing it back into his inventory. "Let's just say I'm equipped for prolonged combat."
Lyra nodded, seemingly satisfied. "Then we should work on synergy. I take it you'll be covering from mid-range?"
"Correct. You keep to the flanks and high ground. I'll suppress anything that charges us. You pick off the ones I don't see."
"Understood," she replied without hesitation. "My arrows are enchanted—minor elental tags. I can alternate between fla and wind."
"Good. That ans we won't be relying solely on raw firepower. That kind of utility can make a difference in tight spaces."
"Do you have explosives?" she asked, glancing at him as they began walking again.
He chuckled. "You're asking all the right questions. I do. Flashbangs, frags, smokes. Not in large quantities, but enough to cause a stir."
"What are those?"
"It's going to take long to explain—"
"Please explain to how those functions! I need to know so that I can prepare for it."
Inigo blinked, a little surprised by her insistence. Lyra's tone wasn't demanding—just earnest, clear, and direct. She didn't want to be impressed by the tools he carried. She wanted to understand them.
"Alright," he said with a small nod. "Makes sense. We'll be trusting our lives to each other in there."
They continued walking along the dirt path, the outline of the hills and the mine beyond just visible in the distance, shrouded in mist. Inigo reached into his inventory and materialized three items, holding them in his gloved hands.
"Let's start with this one." He held up a small, cylindrical tal object with a pin and a spoon lever. "This is a fragntation grenade. Frag, for short. You pull the pin, throw it, and after about four seconds, it explodes and sends shrapnel flying in every direction. Lethal radius is roughly five ters. Dangerous up to fifteen. It's great for clustered enemies."
Lyra narrowed her eyes at the device. "So it's a delayed blast trap."
"Exactly," Inigo said. "The mont you hear the pop of the spoon, it's go-ti."
He then held up another one—white casing, slightly smaller.
"This is a flashbang. It's non-lethal. When it detonates, it emits a blinding flash and deafening noise. Disorients anyone in the blast radius for several seconds. I usually toss this first when clearing enclosed spaces—blind the enemy, move in while they're stunned."
e flipped the last canister in his hand—it was dark and looked almost unremarkable. "And this is a smoke grenade. Pops out a thick screen of smoke when activated. Great for covering a retreat, ambushing, or breaking line of sight."
Lyra considered all three. "So noise, shrapnel, and concealnt. Your world is very... direct."
"Efficient," Inigo corrected with a faint grin.
She gave a small smile. "That too."
He reabsorbed the grenades back into his system with a soft digital shimr, then turned his gaze toward the narrowing path ahead. "Kobolds like to dig in and defend choke points. I'm guessing we'll encounter traps before we see the first actual fighter."
"Probably tripwires or pits," Lyra agreed. "Maybe even magical alarms. They have shamans among their numbers sotis."
"Great," he muttered. "Just what I needed—kobold mages."
"Relax," she said dryly. "Most of their magic is rudintary. Smoke screens. Minor curses. Sotis illusions to lure enemies into dead ends. But nothing that can't be handled with a sharp eye."
"Sounds like you've fought them before."
"I have. But never in a place this deep or this quiet."
The trees thinned, and the mist grew heavier as the dirt path turned into cracked, overgrown stone slabs—remnants of an old mining trail long forgotten. Brambles clawed at their boots, and the distant call of crows echoed above, growing fainter with each step they took into kobold territory.
Soon, the silhouette of the mine entrance erged ahead—an arch of timber beams half-swallowed by the hillside, their supports rotting but sohow still standing. The air here was cooler, damp, and heavy with the scent of earth and decay.
"There," Lyra said, pointing to faint tracks in the dirt—small, clawed footprints crisscrossing near the entrance. "Kobolds. Maybe a dozen have passed through recently."
Inigo knelt by the trail, eyes narrowing. "So are dragging sothing. Could be materials. Or bodies."
"Let's assu both."
He rose, brushing dust off his knee. "Well then. This is it."
Lyra took a deep breath, adjusting her quiver and nocking an arrow loosely on her bow. "You ready?"
Inigo materialized his M4A1 with a quiet shimr, checking the magazine and sighting down the barrel once. "Ready."
Reviews
All reviews (0)