Azure: Gunner

The fact that the System assigned administrative privileges to governments based on the size of the territories and populations under their control was fundamentally a recipe for conflict. Whether between Earth’s many nations, or between humanity and the other worlds existing under the System, it is more likely than not that strife of some kind awaited us.

I am compelled to raise this point by those who accuse me of being a blind optimist regarding the System, or even an apologist for its mysterious creators. In reality, the true optimists are those who believe that the System was sent to empower us in order that we might protect ourselves from some great, unnamed evil.

There is, unfortunately, simply no evidence which supports this theory. Monsters, dungeons, mana corruption, the dungeon races – these are all frequently cited as dangers that we can only protect ourselves from with the Classes, Skills, Spells, and Attributes provided by the System. It is infrequently acknowledged, however, that none of these dangers existed on Earth prior to the arrival of the System. It is as yet impossible to say whether these dangers were benevolently foretold by the System’s creators or instead, a consequence – intended or not – of its arrival on Earth.

- Rufus Veres, Level 37 Verbose Historian, A Brief History of the System

[CONGRATULATIONS ON DEFEATING YOUR FIRST OPPONENT, GUNNER! LET’S – ]

“Stop,” I protested weakly, then spat to try and get the horrible taste out of my mouth. To my surprise, it actually shut up. “I just need a few minutes. Um… is there a time limit or anything?”

[NO PROBLEM, CITIZEN! YOUR TUTORIAL IS NOT TIMED!]

“Great,” I murmured mostly to myself. I staggered back to where I’d dropped my gun, scooped it up, and made my way to the corner furthest away from the corpse. I leaned into the corner, my gun dangling in my right hand for a moment before I carefully set it down within easy reach. Wasted hells, it smells awful in here now!

The goblin wasn’t the first monster I’d killed – Sister Mercy had given me a cudgel and sent me after the occasional ratling that tried to nest in the church. It was merely much bigger, much more dangerous, and way… grosser. Not to mention the stench.

Also, when you hit a ratling with a club it just… squishes a little bit. It doesn’t get torn open and bleed everywhere like this! Shit, I need something to wash my mouth with.

“Ugh,” I groaned. I closed my eyes and focused on the spellform for Conjure Water. I’d been practicing hard and could normally cast just fine with my eyes open, but at the moment I needed to make it as easy as possible. I carefully visualized the Cantrip’s spellform, tracing the figure in my mind, just a simple teardrop traced from the point, down to the left and around the drop, then back up to the peak.

As basic as it gets, but the shape still had to be just right or the Cantrip would fail. I felt it when the mental brush strokes connected and the spellform snapped into place in my mind, then I pushed mana into it, following exactly the same path, down, around, and back up. The whole process usually took me about five or ten seconds at most.

When I opened my eyes, there was a small ball of water floating in the air in front of me. I cupped my hands below it, then leaned forward and stuck my mouth in, managing to get a good sized gulp before the ball came apart and dropped into my hands, at least half of the remaining water splashing onto the floor in front of me. I shivered as some hit my bare feet, then did what I could to rinse my mouth with the remaining water before spitting it carefully to the side away from my gun.

It would be gone in ten minutes, even the bit I’d swallowed, but at least my mouth didn’t taste so much like vomit anymore. I wiped my damp hands off on my thighs, then carefully knotted my hair up into the tightest bun I could manage, hoping it wasn’t going to keep getting in my face when I needed to fight.

I sighed, then forced myself to pick up my gun and move back over to the corpse. I couldn’t afford to have that reaction again! What if there’d been more than one monster? I spent an eternity moving slowly closer, pausing to gather my courage, then forcing myself to look at the brutal wounds my shots had made.

This is what I wanted, right? I have a combat Class now, an Advanced Class! I did this. I did this. It was going to kill me, it’s just a monster anyways. I have to do what I have to do to get out of the Tutorial and out of this Wasted town! Fuck, look at those claws, I doubt my baselayer would protect me from those.

The claws were easily an inch long, with curving, almost hooked points. Its skin was a mottled green-gray, and the gunshot wounds were oozing a thick, dark blood. Finally, I was almost close enough to reach out and touch it, but there was no way I was going to step into the slowly growing puddle of dark, reeking blood in my bare feet.

I decided that I’d done enough for now, and carefully backed away towards my ‘safe’ corner. The goblin was nearly naked and armed only with its teeth and claws, there was nothing useful for me there anyway.

“OK System, what’s next?”

[LET’S PROCEED WITH THE SECOND COMPONENT OF YOUR CLASS WEAPON! WHILE IT’S CALLED THE OFF-HAND ITEM, IN YOUR CASE IT’S MORE OF AN ACCESSORY! WOULD YOU LIKE A POUCH OR A BANDOLIER?!]

The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

“What’s a band-o-leer?” I asked, trying to feel out the strange word as I said it.

[A BANDOLIER IS A STRAP WORN OVER THE SHOULDER AND ACROSS THE CHEST WITH LOOPS IN IT TO HOLD SPARE AMMUNITION!]

I tried to picture that in my head for a minute before asking, “And the other option is just a pouch? Like I’d tie it to my belt?” As the words left my mouth I realized that I had no belt and no way to carry anything while using my gun.

[CORRECT, CITIZEN!]

“Fine, give me the bandolier then,” I said, holding out my left hand.

A long dark leather belt, about two inches wide, with five thick loops side-by-side, appeared and I grabbed it. Each loop held what my Shotguns Skill told me was called a ‘shotshell’, the ammunition I needed to reload my gun. Each one was maybe two and a half or three inches long and a bit thicker than my thumb. One end was shiny metal and the other some kind of red plastic. Placing my gun on the ground gently, I slipped on the bandolier, putting it over my left shoulder with it running down around the right side of my waist. Inspect.