Realistic Dungeon Conquest (1)
“I remember seeing this rumor online that bows aren’t agility weapons, they’re strength weapons~!”
I raced down the wooded hillside path at full speed.
“Huff huff! Bows are agility weapons! Right?! Shit~~~!!”
Ahead of me, a rabbit with an arrow lodged in its ass tumbled down the slope like it was rolling.
About a month ago, I’d started seriously hunting with a bow to prepare for adventuring.
But actual hunting was nothing like the game version I knew. It was way different.
Sure, drawing a bow takes strength.
The problem? Nothing dropped dead from a single arrow.
That rabbit hit by my arrow fled for its life with every ounce of strength, diving into its burrow.
But the arrow stuck in its rear snagged on the entrance.
“Gotcha!”
I whipped out my dagger and slit the struggling rabbit’s throat.
Six months in the village now.
I’d gotten used to sword, spear, bow—and killing game.
Now, even if they tossed me into these mountains, I could probably survive a few days.
“Haa… In games and movies, a little rabbit like this would drop dead from one arrow. What’s with this shitty, hyper-realistic world?”
It wasn’t like I’d never landed a one-shot kill in real life.
“Just how badass were the archers in the old days? Our ancestors were something else.”
A fleeting thought crossed my mind: that arrow had been special somehow.
I’d test it out later when I had time.
“Went pretty far from the village today, huh. Alright, where exactly am I?”
Hunters always taught me to check your position.
Hit animals don’t just keel over—they bolt in panic with all their might.
Then they tire out and stop, you hit ’em again.
If the bleeding’s bad enough, they drop. Otherwise, you track again.
Easy to get lost that way. Another big reason to track your spot.
“Phew, good. Doesn’t seem like predator territory here.”
Most animals stick to their territories.
Monsters too.
If you stumble into a nasty monster’s turf while hunting? Drop your fresh kill and run.
“Huh!?”
Turning to head back, I spotted a loop of rope tied neatly—rabbit-sized.
No mistaking it: a primate-made snare.
“A trap out here!?”
Hunters claim territories too—competition, friendly fire risks.
And snares like this could catch other hunters.
No humans around here but Agnes Village folk.
If a human didn’t set this…
Fantasy world, remember? Primates aplenty—ran into ’em my first day.
Gotta report this to the village ASAP.
A few days later.
“Now! Everyone, attack!!”
Ferio burst up from the bushes, barking the order.
“Waaaaaaaaah!!!!”
Then fifty-odd soldiers erupted from the underbrush in unison.
Their target: a goblin den deep in the woods.
“Kieek!?”
The goblins panicked at the momentum and assault—some crumpled, others fled into the cave.
But they were already surrounded. Nowhere to run.
Soldiers methodically cut down the flailing goblins, tightening the encirclement on the cave.
“Squad 1, encirclement complete!”
“Squad 2, encirclement complete!”
“Squad 3, securing position!”
“Squad 4, starting supply transport!”
The soldiers moved with practiced efficiency, holding their posts and kicking off tasks.
While twenty heavily armored troops blocked and guarded the cave mouth, the rest hacked brush and piled supplies to build a forward camp.
Seeing these well-drilled soldiers was reassuring, but…
Vertigo incoming.
Korean reservists would shudder at the sight of pitching tents. Trauma from service.
Times and worlds change, but the military? Same shit.
At least it’s not winter. Small mercies.
Thus, Ferio and her troops finished prepping to assault the goblin den—a minor dungeon.
“Ferio, wouldn’t charging in with that initial momentum be better?”
Her adjutant—a Brit-gentleman type with a curly mustache—grimaced, tugging one end while squinting at me.
Ferio casually blocked his view of me.
“Liard, this man’s the village chief Agnes’s official rep. Ignore his speech.”
At her words, Adjutant Liard switched from ‘scolding the clueless rook’ to ‘welcoming smile,’ offering a handshake.
“I see. Liard here. Squad 1 leader.”
His grip was iron. A warning, maybe?
“Your point’s valid, but caves aren’t flat or lit. Crafty goblins might’ve rigged traps inside. Better to encircle and grind it out.”
“Kirgil, you and I join the vanguard. Chief said to work you hard.”
Real combat experience in a beginner dungeon. Grind time.
“Trained for this day. Leave it to me.”
I checked my gear, prepping for my adventurer debut.
The mustached gentleman—not squad leader—shouted at his men.
“Shields forward!”
“Forward!” “Forward!” “Forward!”
Three shield-bearing soldiers slammed their big shields ahead, taking point.
“Huh? What’s this?”
“Rear ranks, position!”
“Position!” “Position!” “Position!”
Spear- and dagger-wielders formed up behind the shield wall.
“Advance!”
The troops pushed forward in a mini-fortress formation.
Ferio, Liard, and I followed.
“….This is dungeon conquest?”
Unknown cave. Ambush foes. Loot hidden chests. Slay the mighty boss with your party for epic loot.
Heart-pounding exploration… this ain’t it.
Not dungeon adventure. This is dungeon clearing ops.
Bulldozing with shields and spears instead of machinery!
“…This adventure??”
This world clashes hard with my fantasy tropes.
Vanguard: six soldiers plus Ferio, Liard, and me—nine total.
Narrow passage limited us to minimal formation size.
Inside the cave, I asked Adjutant Liard.
“No mages in the unit?”
“You think brainiacs come to dumps like this? Oh—sorry. Not dissing your chief.”
“Healers or priests, then?”
“Healers are precious everywhere. Priests don’t move without divine call. That’s why we’re always grateful to Lady Agnes.”
No room for other classes, apparently.
No balanced warrior-mage-rogue-healer party.
Shield soldiers, spear soldiers, dagger-and-torch soldiers, soldiers, soldiers…
At least mixed gender—kinda fantasy. Ferio proves it.
No rigid ‘men do this, women that’ BS. If you can, you do.
Men probably can’t get pregnant, though.
Wait, don’t assume—could be bias.
My take on real dungeon assault, straight from games/novels:
“…Stable.”
Soft-pedaled it. Dull, boring, zero adventure vibes.
But gripes about ‘cool’ or ‘fun’ don’t fly when lives are on the line.
“Yes. Minimize casualties, ensure the kill. Best way.”
Pragmatic as hell. Had to nod.
Tunnel narrowed; one shielder fell back, leaving two up front.
Natural cave—ups, downs, varying widths.
Clang! Clang!!
Goblin alarm echoes from within.
Attack incoming—soldiers gripped shields and spears, tensing.
“Kiaak!!”
Threatening cry from the dark. Then—
Thud thud thud thud!!
Something battered the shields mercilessly.
“Stones!!!”
Big shields handled the rocks fine.
A rearguard hurled his torch beyond, spotting the throwers.
Long corridor-like passage. One oversized shadow wound up big.
“Orc!! Axe!!”
Thwack!!
The hurled axe chipped the shield edge, ricocheted into a shielder’s helmet.
The female shield soldier staggered, dropping her guard from the impact.
“Piana, fall back! Kerry, front line!”
As the wounded swapped, stray stones grazed the squad—bruises and cuts.
Meanwhile, the orc grabbed a fresh axe from a minion.
“Axe! Incoming!!”
“Damn!! This ain’t some ’88 demo riot!”
I’d brought personal gear—not army issue. Hunting bow handy.
Silly in tight quarters, but no one to hand it off to en route.
From relative safety rearward, I nocked and loosed rapidly at the orc.
Dark shots, but hey—delivery guaranteed!
“Kyak!!”
A goblin minion beside the orc screamed, arrowed.
Orc flinched—didn’t expect arrows in pitch black.
Ferio seized it, torch high:
“Now! Charge!!”
Two shielders shoved forward dual-handed, sprinting.
Spearmen followed, lances ready.
One tripped a leg-snag trap—pro training shone; she rolled aside, shielding without blocking the rush.
The other shielder slammed two goblin throwers into the wall, crushing.
One-two seconds later, three spearmen skewered scattering goblins left and right.
The orc boss dodged the charge, raised axe for a flank smash on the exposed shielder—
Arrow thunked its face, freezing it.
“Haa, crap! Still missing!”
Damn, needed that headshot flair.
But Ferio and Liard lunged, spearing and shoving the orc down.
“Gurrk!! Urk!”
Like a baton-subdued beast, the orc thrashed under knight spears—couldn’t rise.
Soon, blood poured; couldn’t breathe. It shuddered, slumped.
Liard confirmation-stabbed the neck, drew sword—both scanned for next foes with Ferio.
“Kiaak!! Kyak!!”
Orc dead—goblin screams echoed everywhere.
Survivors bolted deeper.
Chase tempting, but dark, jagged terrain—no match for small goblins’ scamper.
Short skirmish over.
“Phew, done?”
“No. Village-adjacent spot. Open plains? Chase ’em off. Caves? Kill all.”
Liard reclaimed his spear from the orc.
“And other orcs possible.”
Ferio scanned torchlit surroundings.
“Rotate here. Liard, take wounded to base. Rest, hold till relief.”
“Roger.”
Liard patted a guarding shielder’s helmet.
“Kerry, without that bow, orc axe splits my skull before I thrust.”
Thanks, but my shot missed; yours crit.
Mustache man, compliments burden introverts. Hits different post-prime.
Plus, army life lesson: excel, get more crap.
Can’t say that—play nice.
“Nah, don’t say that. Squad helps squad. Everyone does.”
“Hahaha! Thought you some idle armed vagrant. Proper camaraderie, eh? Drinks after?”
Liard handshaked exit-bound. Opposite arm light on my shoulder, whispered:
“…Take care of Captain Ferio.”
Imagination? His grip now felt trust, warmth—not the first squeeze.
What’s this guy expecting from me?
Hey, wait—
I don’t want more work!