We move the heavy desk away from the door, having heard something on the first floor. As we look over the railing of the second floor, we see twenty or so lizardmen. These things look stronger than goblins and even have three archers and bronze weapons.

  I tell Monty, “It's best if we take the archers out as soon as possible. I'll shoot the one on the left and the middle—you take the right one.”

  Monty thinks about it and tells me his plan.

  “I think it's best if you take out all three archers with your bow. There’s only one stairway up to us. I’ll go there and shoot them when they come rushing up the stairs to fight you. It might even save us some ammo if they line up on the stairs.”

  I nod—his plan is better thought out than mine. So we go with his plan.

  I hide behind the stone railing and draw my bow. I stand and release an arrow, hitting the left archer in the side. The arrow goes through both lungs, and it falls to the ground, letting out gasping noises. The other lizardmen stare at their fallen archer—that’s when I release my second arrow, which hits the right lizardman in the upper chest, just below the throat.

  Now they’ve noticed me, but I’ve already drawn my third arrow. Before I can fire, the middle archer releases his arrow—I flinch, missing my shot as his broadhead arrow leaves a deep cut on my cheek.

  I drop my bow, and at that moment, I hear Monty open fire with his rifle on full auto.

  I quickly draw my revolver and shoot the last archer before he can target Monty. It takes three shots to bring him down—my first shot misses, the second hits his leg, and the last goes through his lung.

  I rush to help Monty, but the lizardmen on the stairs are already dead. Only a few are still alive, but they’ll bleed out soon.

  I head down the stairs and retrieve my arrows, plus the ones from the archers. I now have 63 arrows—more than I have room for in my duffle bag.

  On my way back up, I pick up one of the lizardmen’s bronze weapons and use Identify.

  It’s decent enough, so I take one but leave the rest.

  I ask Monty if he wants one, and he answers, “No, I already have something better for close combat.”

  We take our stuff and start moving through the corridors again. I feel the wound on my face and say, “This thing won’t close on its own. It needs to be sewn up. Did the medkit have a needle and thread?”

  Monty looks through the medkit tied to his bag and answers, “Yes, there is, but I don’t think I can help you with this one.”

  “You’re right. It’s best if I do it myself. I have the skill, and I doubt having it will suddenly let you sew it up.”

  Monty nods, and we keep searching. With Scavenger’s Intuition still on cooldown, it’s harder to find a place to hide out, so I stuff some sterile cotton into the wound and tape a piece of gauze over the two-inch-long cut.

  As we roam, we hear a noise—it sounds like an argument.

  Following the voices, we find three people—a man and a woman, who seem ready to tear each other apart, while a girl who can’t be older than thirteen hides behind the woman.

  I pull my revolver, and Monty draws his pistol, as we see the man point his gun at the woman.

  I sneak up behind him, press my gun to his head, and say, “Don’t make a sudden move. Drop your weapon.”

  The man freezes, his face red with anger. He speaks between clenched teeth.

  “This has nothing to do with you. Leave before I—”

  He’s cut off as Monty suddenly stabs his combat knife through the side of the man’s skull.

  The sudden act of violence surprises me. I look at Monty—his face contorted in pure disgust at the man in front of him.

  Noticing my look, Monty says, “He was reaching for this.”

  He crouches down and grabs a pineapple grenade—something I couldn’t see from my angle.

  I give him a nod and turn to the woman and the kid.

  “Take whatever he had, but I need to ask—do you know how to sew up a wound?”

  The woman gives me a distrustful look and says, “I have Level Six Medical Skill.”

  I nod at her.

  “Alright, that’s good. But would you come with us to a safer place to sew it up?”

  She looks unsure and glances at the gun on the floor.

  I kick the gun toward her and tell her, “Look, ma’am, I don’t need you to sew it up, but I’d rather not do it myself. If having a gun makes you feel better, go for it—I don’t care. I’m just asking for help.”

  She stares at the gun, then pulls out her own and tells me, “Alright, I’ll help you. But if you try something, I’ll take you down with me.”

  I nod at her and activate my skill to locate the next summoned location.

  She watches me weirdly as I lead her somewhere.

  “The dungeon should be completely random. There should be no way to know where a summoned location is,” she mutters.

  She follows me cautiously, her hand on her gun, until we approach an entrance.

  It seems to be a secondhand store, and once inside, it’s confirmed—the shelves are lined with random crap you’d find in your grandparents’ house.

  We do a quick sweep of the storefront and the back room, where they restore old furniture.