Chapter 17
"And this… dungeon. Anyone can enter?" Stephan asked after Michael's long, and somewhat confusing explanation. He really needed to get an official version ready for next time, for he knew there would be a next time, hopefully not anytime soon.
"I think so. That's what makes it dangerous. People could die in there."
"Yes, I agree. If you go unawares like you did, a normal person would probably not make it past the second room, let alone this boss you talk about. Then you say it got harder every time?"
Michael nodded. "Although I don't know if it's just harder for me or if the dungeon is permanently harder for everyone. I don't even know what happens if two people go in together, do they get separated or do they keep together."
"If it's like those board games my son plays, a party should remain together. But I admit that I wouldn't want to test that theory on my skin, so I'm afraid it will remain an unknown. Don't look so surprised, Michael, did you think I would be bugging you to take me there?"
"Honestly yes. It's not every day you get a chance to gain magical abilities."
"No, it's not. But your tale, it's gruesome. I don't know how you managed to do that to yourself. How you still manage. I reckon the next time you go in, you're going to torture yourself again, trying to raise the level that healing skill of yours, am I wrong?"
He's not. Especially now that I know that the efficiency is shit when I use it on other people. If I want to use it to heal people in the real world, I need to raise its level.
"I see it in your eyes. You're crazy if you think I'd ever go to such lengths myself. I have a family, a son. You think I want to risk my life? Not a chance. Not everybody is a crazy maniac like you."
"I simply had nothing to lose." Michael said, a touch offended.
"Perhaps. Besides, would you take me if I asked? No, your face tells me you wouldn't, and that's smart. You're naïve, but not too naïve."
"Interesting you say that. You're the second person who did in a short time."
"Who's the other?"
"My boss."
"Well, he's right. I sure hope he said that because he's a good person. Otherwise, he would be exploiting your naivete, so you need to be careful. With powers like yours, and the potential to grow with the dungeon, you need to be careful, paranoid even. I don't claim to know anything about it, of course, but I know enough about the world. Take the whole martial arts scene, for example. It's a shit show, full of assholes and egos so inflated they could take flight. You see half the shit I saw with my 'colleagues', you'd understand what I mean. Better keep where you get your powers from a secret from now on."
After that, they talked some more, but it was mostly idle chatter. Stephan was interested in knowing more about the dungeon, and he even offered his input in regard to the strategies Michael was using to clear the rooms, but with magic in play he was out of his depth, and wasn't too prideful to deny it. In the end, it changed almost nothing about their relationship.
"You think master Taiko could be one of those few who have magic despite the world being so barren of it?" He asked when Michael broached the topic.
"He might be. That's why I agreed to stay."
"Yes," Stephan said, taking a sip of his coffee, "I can see why you would think that you don't need to come to class anymore. With the job and the dungeon, I get it, but I still think you should come. Our training earlier showed me that you need to work on your control, and what better place to do it than the dojo? Just, don't blast Philip with that sphere like you did me."
"Sometimes I wish I could."
"I know. I'm not a fool, I see what's going on in the dojo. I think it's good training for you, you are going to see a lot of stress in the near future, better to get used to it now while it's still easy."
"Speaking of training," Michael said, eyes twinkling with an idea that had suddenly sprung to mind, "I need your help with something."
***
"Are you sure this is safe?" Stephan asked, gingerly holding Michael's gun like it was a bomb ready to go off at any moment.
They were in a field far enough away from anything that they shouldn't have any problems training there. Michael was standing a dozen yards away from Stephan who, despite not being a good shot at all, had been instructed to try and hit Michael anywhere below the knee.
"Perfectly safe!" Michael yelled back, "I have plenty of food and 160 Copper coins here," he pointed at his bulging pockets and his pack, resting in the shade by his truck a few feet away. "Shoot away."
Stephan shook his head, muttering something Michael could not hear, before steeling himself and taking aim. Then pain suddenly bloomed in Michael's leg, which gave out from under him before his brain had even registered the loud boom of the shot. Biting down a curse, Michael immediately triggered his healing ability.
Stephan had rushed over in the meantime, looking worried. "Are you okay?"
"All fine," Michael replied, consuming a coin to top up his mana, and biting into a caloric protein bar. He let his sensei help him up after showing him that he was indeed healed, all proof of the damage being a hole in his jeans and the bloodstain.
"I gotta say. I don't like this," Stephan said.
"Me neither. Don't you go thinking that I like pain."
"You seem to be handling it well enough," Stephan joked nervously. "Are you sure this is helping, though?"
Michael sighed. "It was just the first shot. I was unprepared. We have plenty of bullets, I'm not stopping until we run out of either bullets, food, or I use up more than half the coin."
"Fine," his sensei sighed. "Get ready."
It took five more shots before [Distortion Field] even triggered at all, and while its activation was a major success, it appeared in the wrong place so the bullet still pierced Michael.
"I think it's all about predicting when and where you will shoot," Michael said, "there's no way I can react after you've already pulled the trigger."
Stephan nodded. "I was thinking the same thing. Unless you manage to gain more skills, and improve the reflexes one…"
"Yeah, try to make it obvious you are gonna shoot. I'll keep my eyes glued to the gun and try to understand your body language, see if that works."
"Alright," Stephan said, taking a deep breath and tensing up.
The bubble appeared, and then Michael saw a small cloud of dust being kicked up from in front of him. At the same time, the sound of the gunshot reached him.
"Hey! It worked!"
Stephan was slightly pale, "I think I'll take cover for the next shot."
"Why?"
"The ricochet. What if it hits me?"
It was unlikely, the bullet would have to be reflected just right by the bubble, but it was a possibility. This meant that the next shots all hit Michael before he was able to react, since he could see much less of Stephan than before as he took cover behind the truck, but it also meant that he was learning to watch the trigger finger, and recognize the imperceptible muscle movement that preceded a shot.
What followed was a painful afternoon of training. In the end, his coins were the first thing to run out, ending his training early. 76 coins left. It's still a lot, but I don't want to go lower for now.
"How are you?" Stephan asked.
"I'm fine."
The man snorted. "I can't imagine someone going through that sort of torture and being fine. I shot you so many times that I even got better at shooting!"
"Yep. You hit me in the gut only three times before your aim got better. Then you shot me in the balls. That did hurt, you know?"
"You're crazy."
"Maybe. But I reached a good fifty percent success rate. I'd say not too shabby."
Stephan snorted again. "I guess I too am crazy for going along with your crazy plans. Can we go home now? I have stuff to do."
50% success rate at deflecting bullets, just by carefully watching the trigger finger and the fun. I don't expect to have the same success rate with a stranger, since I probably got used to Stephan's quirks and all that, but even catching a bullet out of three could save my life. I guess I am as ready as I can be for tomorrow. Hopefully I won't need to deflect any bullets.
***
"That Abruzzese guy," Michael listened in while the two men in the back of his borrowed car talked loudly, "I don't like how he runs his business. It's a matter of time before the carabinieri get him, mark my words. You might want to cut ties."
"I see." The other man said. While the first talked with a heavy Italian accent, the other man was American, but not from around here. "I will let the others know. Thank you for the heads up."
"Esposito on the other hand? È un bravo picciotto, he's got a good head and he's smart. Too bad his daddy is behind bars, but that's never stopped them, has it?"
"Indeed it hasn't." The other man said, then looked at Michael's reflection on the rear view mirror. "Aren't you worried that he's listening in?"
The Italian man scoffed. "Who, the bocia? He's just the driver, he won't say a word. Will he?"
Michael felt the sharp gazes of the two men. "No, sir, of course not. I'm just doing my job."
"See?" The Italian man said. "Carmela did say that he's a good boy."
"Old Dave said he's off limits, though. I wonder what he means by that."
"You know the old man. He's gone soft, cagasotto, in his old age. That's why he never dips more than the tip of his pinky in our business, always having plausible deniability."
"I see. Smart."
"Pah," the Italian man spat, "americani codardi. I get it, but trust me when I say it wouldn't work back where I'm from."
The other man shrugged, unfazed. "Too bad we're not there, are we? Anyway, how was the fight?"
"Orribbile," he said, accent thick, "the food at the airport was una merda, but you Americans aren't known for your good food. I feel like I gained three kilos with all that grease I was forced to eat."
The rest of the trip continued in much the same way until they reached the pawn shop. Michael was instructed to remain in the car, where he waited for a good hour before the two men emerged from the building, led by Carmela, who got in the car's passenger seat next to Michael.
"Oh my, what an upgrade." She purred. "Is this beauty yours?"
"I wish, ma'am. Old Dave made sure you had the best ride possible, and that's sadly beyond my means for now."
She giggled at that, eliciting a groan from the Italian man in the back.
"Carmela smettila di flirtare col cazzo di autista." He said, and while Michael had no idea what he said, he felt exasperation in his tone.
Carmela just giggled, making the fuming man stew in his own fumes. Soon after that, they reached their destination. The three strolled inside like they owned the place, escorted by a rather pale-looking pudgy short man in an ill-fitting dark suit and tie who was sweating bullets. They were received in a meeting room by an equally frightened man, sharply dressed but clearly in distress, and that was all Michael managed to see before the door was shut in his face, with orders to watch the road and not let anyone enter.
It was after two hours of boredom spent standing in the barely even cool shade outside of the building that it all went to shit.