Sarah's Story Chapter 057 - The Second Floor

The second floor of the Deep Woods Dungeon was the same as the first, but more.

The mists were thicker.

The light was dimmer.

The trees were bigger.

The terrain was even more rugged.

The air was cloying, slightly cold, extremely humid; it clung to Sarah’s skin.

She recalled the information she had received from the Guildmaster, from Scout Benny’s report. Presuming that the floor entrance was ‘south,’ the pitfall trap had activated somewhere in the north-east, between one and three miles from the entrance.

Sarah kept in mind that that information could be wrong: the terrain was extremely confusing, and the Scout had been fleeing as fast as he could, and the floor layout had recently changed and the Guildhall map wasn’t fully updated yet.

A few minutes later, Sarah was close to the top of the tallest nearby tree, and with one part of her mind keeping watch for stealthy monster attacks, she took in the terrain.

The rolling hills were approaching the size of small mountains, blocking any view of what lay beyond. The hills themselves were covered in dense forest, swaddled in mist and fog. Low-lying clouds covered the ceiling, providing only a small gap of visibility before it was blocked by the clouds descending and fog rising to meet it in patches.

The fog dampened the sounds of the forest, and although one might think such a forest would be silent, it wasn’t. There were enough animal grunts and growls, birds chirping and chattering, and squirrels running about and chittering that together, it overwhelmed the sounds of any battle.

She knew she needed to hurry.

Every second counted.

But haste makes waste.

She focused on her Finder Class, willing it to help her find the party she was looking for.

Specifically, her [Tracking] Skill.

She knew Scout Benny had been here, only hours before.

She focused.

Eyes looked for any trace of his passage: footsteps, broken branches, drops of blood.

Her ears listened for any noise outside the norm.

She inhaled deeply, thinking perhaps she’d detect an odd scent.

It turned out to be the air on her skin that gave her a hint.

Where the air wasn’t still on this floor, the flow was smooth. The gentlest breeze, at this height.

But there was some disturbance, in the direction she expected the Treasure Seekers to be.

Finder Class Skill [Tracking] has reached level 8.

Sarah moved, slowly at first, not wanting to lose the trail, but then faster and faster as she grew more sure of herself, and the trail grew stronger.

Next, she detected the scent. Blood, mainly, but also sweat and fear.

Another mile later, she saw the visible signs: footprints in the loamy soil, a broken branch here and there. A fading bloodstain, likely where Benny had gotten cut.

And then she could hear it.

The sound of fighting.

It wasn’t too late!

The air parted for Sarah as she accelerated, racing as fast as she could, only making the barest deviations to dodge Drop Bears. She raced through the mists, ignored the Fog Wardens, and shoulder checked a Grizzly Claw out of her way.

The pitfall trap was devious.

The terrain here was rugged, all hills and overhangs and small caves, infested with more Grizzly Claws, and one of those small valleys had had a false bottom. It fell out, dropping into a large pit, almost a ravine, the top of which was disguised with more forest shrubs and undergrowth. From almost every angle around it, it was invisible. Only looking directly down the moss-covered slope, as Sarah did now, could one see that there was a hole there at all.

It didn’t register as a trap to her Skill.

It was merely a feature of the terrain.

Devious, and incredibly dangerous. There would have been no warning until the loose floor gave out, and the party slid down the moss-covered, slippery stone slope. Sarah moved carefully, making sure she herself wasn’t going to slide down, and at the top of the ravine she looked down.

The party was in bad shape.

They were up against a wall, the ground around them littered with Psycho Moth carcasses with arrows sticking out of them. The Treasure Seekers’ Healer was desperately trying to heal their swordsman, who was unconscious. Next to her was a bow, and an empty quiver. Their mage was channeling magic, standing in place, eyes shut tightly, focusing on only continuing her incantation which was creating the smallest possible barrier that could protect them.

But even that barrier couldn’t stand up to the dozens of Dire Wolves stalking around the wounded party.

If it were attacked directly, it would fall in seconds.

So there was a gap, in which stood the rest of the party.

There was a Tank, wielding a shield and short sword, covered in cuts and bite wounds. He was nearly covered in blood, mostly his own, but somehow he remained standing and continued to draw the monsters’ attention to himself, rather than the flimsy barrier. The party’s Lancer fought alongside him, awkwardly holding a shield of his own, but he looked even worse than the Tank.

Even as she watched, the Lancer’s lance slipped, and a Dire Wolf lunged in, going for the kill.

The Tank covered him, bashing the wolf away with his shield, but that left him open.

Sarah moved.

“Healer! Catch!” She shouted, and with all her skill in throwing, she threw a tightly wrapped bundle of high potions to the woman.

Brawler Class Skill [Throwing] has reached level 18.

She leapt into the fray, falling amidst the Dire Wolves as the Healer woman, startled, fumbled the package and it bounced gently off her chest and onto the unconscious Swordsman, not a single vial breaking.

Just as planned.

Sarah got to work. She landed, toes barely touching the ground before she was lashing out with a kick, and a Dire Wolf was flung away with a pathetic-sounding yelp.

For a moment, the wolves were startled into inaction.

Just long enough for Sarah to inhale deeply, and roar out her challenge.

[Roaring Challenge]

“What are you doing?!” the Tank screamed.

He was shocked.

First, that another Adventurer had found them, trapped as they were.

Second, that that Adventurer would leap into danger like that, right in the middle of the monsters.

And third, that that Adventurer would be so stupid as to use [Roaring Challenge] in this situation.

There were a number of Tanking Skills one could use to attract and hold a monster’s attention.

[Provoke]. [Feign Weakness]. [Anchor Howl]. [Luring Dance].

Any one of those would have been better.

[Roaring Challenge] was a Skill that not only drew monster attention and focus in a wide area, it spread by sound.

And with how loudly the woman had just shouted, it would summon monsters from the surrounding area.

And they were deep in Grizzly Claw territory.

The only reason the Treasure Seekers had survived this long after the Sanctuary Scroll had run out was their clever strategy against the Dire Wolves.

Dire Wolves were cautious pack hunters. They could be manipulated, baited into ineffective hit and run tactics, guided by barriers so weak that if they just made a concerted effort, they could smash through them in moments.

Instead, they had been circling for hours, slowly wearing down the party.

The first to fall had been their Swordsman, Leonard. Distracted by parrying one wolf’s lunge, another took him to the ground, and Stuart, the Tank, had taken a deep wound rescuing him and flinging him to the back.

Kyle the Lancer had stepped up to fill the gap, but he could barely use a shield. The two had been hanging on as the damage piled up, but they were nearing their limit.

And now their savior had just called even more monsters to their position in her suicidal last moments.

The thing was, [Roaring Challenge] was Sarah’s only such Skill. It synergized well with her Air Affinity, giving it extra range, and it tied perfectly in with her Brawler Class.

The Dire Wolf pack leaders, four of them, howled. Signaled to their packs that the target had changed.

Sarah couldn’t help but grin savagely.

The battlefield descended into chaos.

Wolf after wolf yipped as Sarah punched them and threw them away. Dust was kicked up, and rose like a smokescreen, hiding the carnage from the wounded party.

“Stuart, high potion!”

Stuart looked down to see Nancy, their healer, pressing a vial into his hand.

“When did you—”

“Drink! Kyle, you too!” Nancy cut him off, pressing another vial into the Lancer’s hand.

“Wait, what about Leonard?!”

“He’s recovering! Hurry, while we have a second!”

Stuart’s eyes flicked to Jane, their mage, who to her credit, was ignoring everything else around her to focus on her magic, sweat pouring down her face.

“Kyle, get ready. Things are about to get a lot worse.”

Kyle gulped, and then threw back the high potion. Wounds closed, and lost blood was restored. Fractured bones knit themselves back together, and even some of his muscle fatigue was alleviated.

He shuddered. “A high potion? Nancy, were you holding out on us?”

“No! It just fell into my lap!”

Kyle started to turn, to give her an incredulous look, but Stuart’s command snapped him back to attention.

“Focus!”

The two men prepared themselves for the wave of incoming monsters.

Even above the howls and growls and snaps and snarls of the wolves, they could hear the rumble and haunting click of claws on stone as Grizzly Claws approached from deeper in the ravine.

Sarah, meanwhile, was dancing on the edge of a knife.

Brawler Class Skill [Whirling Dervish] has reached level 3.

Every move had implications for the next dozen moves.

Footing. Balance. Recoil. Momentum.

One wolf had to be thrown just so, to block two more wolves lunging in.

Another was leaping in from behind, in her blind spot. But even though she couldn’t see it, she knew it was there.

Nothing was beyond her perception in this fight.

She delicately reached up, as she ducked down, grabbed its skull firmly, jerked and snapped its neck, and then guided the wolf carcass where it needed to go to block another attack.

Dodging. Weaving. Striking when the opportunity arose.

It was nearly a perfect fight.

But there were allies to protect.

Every now and then, a wolf would peel away to stalk the Treasure Seekers again.

When it did, a hiltless throwing knife would fly through the air, pierce its skull, and send it to oblivion.

The number of living wolves steadily decreased, and as room to maneuver opened up at the bottom of the ravine, Sarah again withdrew her longsword.

It was intended as a spare for the Swordsman of the Treasure Seekers, but he was out of commission.

Gracefully, she transitioned from the chaotic Brawler style of [Whirling Dervish] to the serene Swordsman style of [Severing Steps].

It was the Skill she had seen the Immortal-style Swordsman Arthur, of the Golden Swan, use in her very first Dungeon dive.

With each step, a Dire Wolf’s head was severed from its body.

The cut did not begin with the sword.

The cut was a result of the entire body, moving in sync with the sword.

It started in the legs, which placed the feet. From the feet, the cut rose back through the legs, up into the hips. The hips gave the cut power, and that power was increased further by the back and shoulders, while the arms guided that power into the hands and fingers, and only then was the cut given its final form by the sword.

Sarah’s feet moved precisely, as though she was performing a ballroom dance.

And yet her blade whirled around her, each swing taking a life.

She danced around the ravine, slaying wolf after wolf, and as the dust started to settle, the killing field was revealed.

Normally, the Dire Wolf packs would have retreated.

But they had been challenged.

Forced to engage, even the pack leaders dashed in, single-mindedly focused on taking down the challenger.

And Sarah calmly beheaded them, each in turn.

Just in time for the Grizzly Claws to descend.

Some slid down the moss-covered stone above.

Others came charging along the bottom of the ravine.

The average Grizzly Claw, a B Rank monster in its own right, was six feet tall at the haunch, and had a height of ten feet standing on its hind legs. Its fur was just as tough as the Brute Ratels, turning away spear and sword alike, and underneath that was a dense layer of muscle and fat that protected against blunt strikes. They weighed over five hundred pounds each, and their claws were like daggers, razor sharp. Only the strongest chain mail could resist their cutting power, and the Grizzly Claws were cunning on top of all that: they would actively target gaps in their prey’s armor.

Over two dozen Grizzly Claws descended on the Brawler and the weakened party.

Stuart swore.

Kyle paled.

Leonard regained consciousness, but didn’t know where he was.

Nancy bit her lip.

Jane didn’t even notice, all her focus going into maintaining the barriers even as her mana dwindled to unsafe levels. She was prepared to drain herself dry to protect her party even a second longer.

Sarah…

Sarah frowned.

She had wanted to use her rope.