Adam Smasher, Level 1 Adventurer, Hestia Familia
Note to self, see about buying some form of primitive teleoptics, because the range on these meatsights was dogshit. He had seen them in pirate movies, he thinks, a long tube with a set of magnifying glasses mounted within. It wasn't as good as modern day anything, but it would probably be the best he could get in ye old fantasyland. The specific name they were called escaped him at the moment.
The change had been gradual between floors, but noticeable with each gradual change. The roof getting taller, the walls beginning to become overgrown with moss, the floor turning from hard stone into packed earth and thick but short grasses. The overall humidity also increased, causing a mist to gradually thicken as he went deeper down.
Here on the tenth floor, the ceiling was a good thirty feet up, the halls were wide enough to drive a tank through, and the rooms were anywhere from a warehouse to a city block in footprint.
It was also annoying him a good bit, because there was enough light to see from, coming from glowing crystals that jutted from the ceiling like irregularly placed lamps. Said light was also apparently good enough to grow plants under, hence the abundance of vegetation. This was all very convenient, but wasn't this supposed to be a murderpit? Humans can't see in the dark, why not have your combat platforms destroy the light sources and put them at inherent advantage?
It's not like ye old fantasyland humans were going to be installing night vision optics, they would have to bring torches or lamps down to see if it was dark, another burden of supplies and thus limiting how far they could go before requiring resupply.
Murderpit was pulling its punches on him, and that was irritating.
Another tool for him though, at least. He could always shatter those lamps and rely on his new visor if he needed another advantage to leverage.
Lumbering in the distance were a handful of green-skinned brutes. Hulks that stood a good nine or so feet tall, with porcine features and laboring under a burdensome layer of fat. One was laying down, occasionally reaching up to scratch at its belly, and the other two were engaged in what seemed to be a staring contest. Assuming normal density of meat, each one was at least two-thousand pounds, probably closer to three thousand or so.
Taking measure of their trodding and occasional jolts of movement, Adam made a decision. "We're going back up." He quietly muttered to the assortment of halfmeats currently with him. The Supporter Squad nodded in acceptance, beginning to adjust themselves to move back up the staircases to previous floors.
"Wha-?" Pipsqueak began to question through her helmet, confused by his answer. She turned to him, before pausing and turning away again. She had again decided to stay with the group through the midshift, even as he sent Scrappy to escort the other two brats back up, so at least she was willing to work. "Ah… Lili is sorry…"
"We're making a tactical withdrawal, Pipsqueak." Adam quietly rumbled, hefting his own gear and beginning his own creeping back. Keeping an eye on his surroundings via the visor's peripheral glows, he stayed in the back to cover their rears in case they were spotted. "Guess why."
"Um…" Pipsqueak thought about it for a moment, visor turning to glance at the distant green figures before turning forwards again. "...Because the orcs?"
Adam didn't respond, because that wasn't a complete answer. Waiting a few moments more, pipsqueak eventually got out a proper guess. "...Because the orcs are too strong…?" She sounded reluctant to give such an answer.
"No." Adam replied bluntly. "It's because they're too fat."
That got glances his way a moment, causing him to glare through his visor and explain. "Each one of them was nine feet tall and several thousand pounds of meat. That means taking one out needs enough power to get through all the ablative layers and hit something vital inside. You know how many weapons we have that can do that?"
"...Um… my magic sword?"
"And my legs." Adam corrected briefly, before continuing. "Which means either we waste a weapon that costs more than a hundred thousand valis on pigs worth a fraction of that, or we maneuver them into a position that lets me kick their snouts in. That takes time to do, which risks more injuries, which risks deaths and loss of profits, which is bad."
"Couldn't we shoot them in the eyes?"
"I could. You sure you can hit one of those squinty eyes with a bolt every time?"
"...No."
"Didn't think so." Adam huffed. "We don't have the firepower on us to reliably take them out quick-like, which means it's a liability to fight them, especially when their little friends show up to add distraction."
He shook his head, giving another covering glance behind them as they left the room. "These crossbows ain't gonna cut it against the pigs. They're too big. I need bombs or guns."
"I've heard gonnes are pretty hard to use in the dungeon." Halflead advised from up ahead, head scanning around him for any ambush as they moved. "Not only do you have to carry them, but their shots, their powder, and you can't reuse any of it afterwards like a crossbow either."
"On top of the reloading time, I've never seen one outpace a good crossbower, and especially not a good archer. Add in the smoke obscuring vision and sound luring monsters?" Halfchain added dryly. "Are you sure you want to use one? It's gonna be tricky down here."
"Your guns are shit here, but the options are slim." Adam gruffly replied, raising his crossbow and shooting a bat hanging from the ceiling in the distance. It plummeted to the ground, landing with a dull smack.
"Ah, that's right. Abandon was the birthplace of the gun, wasn't it? The guns were better there?"
Adam grunted in a vaguely agreeable manner. The guns back home were good enough to kill tanks, damn right they were better.
"Hmm… Normally adventurers just take the time to get stronger, and use really big weapons against things like orcs. But that doesn't help in the short term." Halfred commented.
"Hey ma, don't they make those fancy repeaters over in Solingen?" Freckles asked, scratching at her scalp. Adam's ears focused on that line of conversation as he caught the bolt and loaded it back into the chamber. "Cousin Ted was telling us about them, made by a guy named Kalthoff or something."
Halfred replied. "I think I remember hearing about that. Kalthoff is the surname, a whole family of artisans working on it. Teddy said they cost a… fortune…" Halfred paused for a moment, remembering who she was currently working for. Turning her head back to address him. "You might be wanting to see about getting one of those, Mister Adam. Although I'm not sure who exactly you'd want to talk to about that."
"Hephaestus familia has contacts over in Solingen, Barry told me about it once, where he gets some of his fancier work from." Halfchain commented, turning to nod at an approaching group of Imps.
Adam calmly fired a few bolts with steady rhythm, sending all three to the floor over the course of three or so seconds. It was annoyingly slow, but the Imps weren't quick enough to avoid his shots and get to any of the group in time. The corpses and bolts were harvested as they moved along, the calm withdrawal-pace not slowed by the work.
"...Define fortune." Adam gave a considering hum.
"I dunno… Half a million valis or thereabouts, and you need custom parts to fix them up every time they wear down." Halfred answered, causing Pipsqueak to briefly stumble over herself at the stated price.
"Capabilities?"
"Oh they use the same kind of lever-reloading that these repeating crossbows do, although how they managed it with powder and little pellets I'm foggy on. Teddy said that the one he saw could hold up to thirty shots or so."
That sold him on it. Effectively the same rate of fire and more damage and magazine size for a more expensive gun, maintenance, and ammo? That was an easy bargain to make. Money only mattered if it could let him get something else, and getting more killing power was always worth the money. "We're going back to floors seven through nine." He commanded, giving one last glance back at the foggy floor ten as they reached the stairs back up.
Next time he was coming all the way down here, he was going to be killing pigs. No need to waste time on making stat numbers go up when he could just get a better weapon instead.
"Standing objectives sir?" Freckles asked.
"Nonstop swarms. We're killing more ants until the brats get back. I only got three-hundred and fifty thousand in the account right now and Halfred quoted half a million."
"...Half-red?" The tiny woman questioned, apparently not paying attention every other time he called her that.
"You're half my size and have red hair." Adam helpfully explained.
"I-I suppose that's fair enough?" She replied with a glance back at him. "You give out a lot of nicknames, Mister Adam."
"Yes." He flatly replied.
That ended the conversation, the halfmeats shuffling quite professionally onwards towards ant and therefore money-making territory. Each ant swarm was about twelve per section of wall, he could kill about two ants per second if he was in range…
Adam absentmindedly ran the calculus of how many ants he could kill per hour if he started going a bit faster than the steady advancing that he had been insistent on so far.
The figures he was getting were in the 'many' range. The real question was if it was worth the potential risk of a flank or not.
—
The real answer, as it turned out, was that he was forgetting that the group could only carry so many cores and drops in their various bags. Each of the supporters had a duffle bag sized for them, Pipsqueak had a duffle bag sized for her (purchased to replace the entirely too large one she had previously), and he had a duffle bag sized for him.
His bag had maybe three total cubic feet of carrying capacity. The half-meat bags were maybe a fourth of that at three-fourths of a cubic foot each. Six point seven five cubic feet of overall capacity. The point seven-five cubic feet were reserved for drop items, three of his side-bags. The rest for cores.
Two-thousand one-hundred and twenty-three ant cores in all. That was their capacity with their current amount of baggage. Having to head to the surface early was a disgruntling experience, bags filled with harvested loot and empty of useful supplies.
His meat needed a potion every dozen or so minutes to keep the pace he had decided to set, they were currently out of those. Pipsqueak and Freckles had missed the poison moths quite a few times, so they were out of antidotes. His bolts had finally started showing signs of wear, but they weren't about to break anytime soon at least.
Running out of healing potions had essentially put an end to work for the day. They needed to go buy more before risking another delve, and Blueboy was already closed for the day from what he remembered. Frustrating, but he now had a good estimate for how long it should take to fill up their bags, sans the little fanny-packs Scrappy and the Barnyard Pair used. Those weren't proper bags and shouldn't be considered such either.
He could manage about twelve ants per minute once they were actually there and the fight was on. He had two fists and ants died in one good punch. Accounting for the traveling time between each section, the time it took for them to spawn, the time it took for them to be harvested, and the brief moments where his meat was failing him and needed a pick-up, that dropped to maybe eight ants per minute on average.
About four and a half hours to fill their bags at the rate he could go, assuming they had all the supplies needed.
God, this frame was pathetic.
He ignored its screaming as he forced the steps up into the tower again, bag weighing on his back and internals loudly protesting the load. He'd get another healing potion tomorrow and fix up the microfractures then, until then the only issue was getting the loot out.
"I don't think I've ever seen this many cores in one trip, nor that many ants." Freckles commented, her own bag hefted over her shoulders. "I think we might need bigger bags."
"Or to bring more kin next time." Halfchain responded. "This bag is heavy enough on my poor ol' shoulders, I'm real delicate, see?"
"...Are you okay, Adam-sama?" Pipsqueak muttered out another question. The concern was both annoying and uncalled for, especially because this was the third time she's asked since they started walking back up from where they ended at floor eight. The walls behind them weren't properly exhausted like he would like, that took minutes that he wasn't wanting to waste, but it did end up paying dividends.
He didn't bother responding, both because there was no need and he was fairly confident the lungs on this frame wouldn't currently allow a properly steady response. Rule number one of reputations, never show weakness.
He forced the legs up the stairs at a steady clip, keeping his breathing at a set pace and back straight. Quit your fucking whining, meat, theres only a few hundred more steps left before they're at the exit, then they can drop off their loot, use the shower, and head back for the day.
His meat, proving itself to be a huge fucking baby, continued to wail at him.
Eventually reaching the top, they ran straight into Scrappy and the Barnbrats, who paused at seeing their approach.
"You came back up?" Scrappy asked, reaching up to rub the back of his neck.
"Adam-sama filled up the bags!" Pipsqueak quickly explained, freeing him of the need to do so. "And we're out of potions."
"Ah, makes sense." Scrappy replied, nodding and putting a hand on his chin. All involved ignored the 'wow really?!' from the Barnbrats, who looked entirely too excited about running out of supplies. "I'm not sure if Miach-san is open anymore, so we'll have to wait till the next day or buy from somewhere else… I suppose I'll take them down to floors one through four, give Momiji-san and Kaede-san more practice if you're done for the day?"
Adam nodded, forcing his legs forwards towards Guildmeat's counter, being followed by the others after a moment.
Guildmeat's ears flickered once, smiling politely at their approach. "Welcome back, did you have a successful delve?" Standard, practiced response.
Adam raised a finger to point at the side of her booth, a hatch that could be opened up to pour items inside for secure counting. Her ears flickered again, before she pulled a lever on her side to open said hatch. "Making a deposit then? Would you like to maintain the same ratios for you and your party as yesterday?"
Adam nodded, reaching up and going slowly, making sure to not allow his hand to fumble anything. Hoisting the bag off by the strap, he set it down on the floor vertically. Untying the side, he raised it to the yelling of his internals, and poured the contents down the hatch.
A look of despair began to creep up on Guildmeat's face as she saw the trough to her side begin to fill. Adam stepped to the side, letting the others begin to pour their bags in too, leaned against the booth with his arms crossed, and made sure that his lungs were in order.
After a few moments, he chanced to speak. "Two-thousand twenty-three." He managed to rumble. "Ant cores."
Guildmeat almost sobbed as the trough next to her began to slightly overflow. She would still need to count them all to ensure that the claimed number was accurate. That amount of time was an excellent opportunity for him to stay right where he was, look intimidating, and get his frame back into order.
The Supporter Squad, sensing that this would take awhile, walked over to sit on the nearby benches. Pipsqueak decided that she would also stand at the booth, eyes flickering around occasionally.
"...There's so many…" Guildmeat gave a long moan of grief. "Why… why is there so many…?"
Adam almost gave a growly quip in response, before remembering that his meat was failing him.
—
Three million, one-hundred and eighty-four thousand, five-hundred valis. Ten more chunks of ant bits in the side bags, bringing up their total collection of ant parts to fourteen. Plus whatever else Scrappy and the Barnbrats came back with once they got done for today.
Three-hundred and eighteen thousand four-hundred and fifty went to the Supporter Squad, who took the money with wide smiles and very polite tips of their helmets.
Seven-hundred and ninety-two thousand, nine-hundred and forty went to the Familia account, bolstered by the thirds taken out of the Barnyard Duo's shares.
Four-hundred and seventy-seven thousand, six hundred and seventy five went to everyone getting a full share, that being himself, Scrappy, and Pipsqueak.
Three-hundred and fifteen thousand, two-hundred and sixty five went to Foxbrat and Bunnybrat. There was one valis left over from the percent taken out, which was given as a tip for a crying Guildmeat.
He probably had enough in the account to go shopping again, but with how far into the red his internals are, the smarter option was to go back to homebase and stay on standby until Blueboy was open for business again. So that's what he decided to do.
"We're back, Hestia-sama!" Pipsqueak called out, pushing open the door and holding it for him. What's with all this politeness bullshit?
"Oh?! Welcome back!" Came the call of Tatertits from the back. "You're home early!"
Adam stepped through the door, shrugged off his bag, and started the process of removing his armor again. Removing it and putting it on again to use the showers was a tedious and irritating affair. Pipsqueak closed the door behind them, then hesitated for a few moments, apparently unsure of what to do.
He started the process of stripping off the armor again as the backdoor was filled with the forms of Tatertits and Halfbrat, both in maid dresses apparently. Straps were removed at a steady pace, and armor panels dropping off him as he got them off.
"Do you want to eat anything? Stew won't be ready for a few hours…"
He didn't bother answering, instead focusing on his work. Pipsqueak chimed in with a nervous shuffle. "Adam-sama worked very hard today, he's very tired."
"Like fuck I am." Adam snarled out, fingers fumbling as he turned his full attention from the task to reprimand the brat. She flinched as he glared, before turning back to his task.
Tatertits took in the scene, before huffing and making her way over. Sliding up next to him and starting to work on the straps he hadn't gotten to yet, she called out. "Lili-chan, can you go help Coco-chan watch the stew?"
"Yes Hestia-sama!" Pipsqueak and Halfbrat responded, taking their cues to leave the interior again and leaving him and Tatertits alone, working on getting the armor off his frame.
"Honestly, you don't need to growl at the poor girl. She was trying to help you know?"
"The meat is whining, that doesn't mean I'm tired." Adam growled, working on another plate.
"This is home, you know? You're supposed to be tired after a good day of work, it means you can rest better when you get back." Tatertits countered with a smile. "Here we'll get you out of this and let you get some sleep, I'll wake you up when the food is ready, okay?"
Adam grumbled, stripping off the last plate of armor and moving onto the boots. This place still wasn't secure, they needed stronger doors and locks than the wimpy stuff they currently had.
Tatertits decided to make herself useful by aiding the stripping process, humming as she did so.
Managing to get everything to save his pants and shirt off in a reasonable timeframe, he stomped over to his preferred spot, slowly lowered himself, and leaned back with his eyes closed.
He cracked a furious eye open as his head hit Tatertit's thighs. He glared for a moment, ignoring her humming and smiling face, and closed his eyes again.
You got nothing better to do woman? Buzz off.