Reborn: Evolution: A LitRPG Series (Warlock Chronicles Book 3)

by Victor Alucard

  All this time, the Bargolas were staring at us in bewilderment, but when they realized that the “deity” was talking to them, they fell down to their knees, bowing to the ground. All except Ulter.

  “I see their appearance isn’t the only thing that’s lacking. Long ago, they were quite a developed civilization...”

  “Excuse me, sir?” Willow said softly, peering over Ivan’s broad shoulders.

  The Priest looked at her in surprise, making her shudder and hide behind her cover.

  “A... Aren’t you the God of these lands?” she managed to ask.

  “Dear me, did they tell you that? It’s amazing what a few millennia in the Mountain Valley will do to a person’s mind... A God! Haha! Well, I suppose it’s true. At least partially.”

  “Mountain Valley?” I asked.

  “Yes. This place isn’t displayed on any of the maps, which makes it the perfect hiding spot. But only for a short time... This place is very precarious...”

  “Is he saying that there was a glitch in the System at some point?” Amoeba asked over the comm channel but no one answered him. We were all listening intently to the Priest.

  “Once upon a time, I was approached by the players of a faction to lead them to a safe place. In exchange for a couple of favors, I helped them find their way to the Mountain Valley. Here, as you may have noticed, was once my altar, upon which they’ve placed the White Granite. I kept my end of the bargain and told them to call me again in a couple of centuries to open a way back... But... As you see, they’ve forgotten... And told their brethren that I was a God and that this was their haven. Or they just decided to stay here a bit longer without knowing what would happen. Generational degradation.”

  “The elders said that there wasn’t a single mage with enough magic left among them to summon you.” Willow peered from behind Ivan’s shoulder again.

  “Of course there isn’t, too much time has passed. And there won’t ever be one again. It’s their own fault.” He pointed at the Bargolas. “They’re a shell of their former selves. Beings with a mind but without a soul. Useless.”

  Realizing that the Priest was paying attention to them, the Bargolas continued to bow. The mage grimaced and sighed.

  “But... There’s Ulter...” He pointed at the standing Bargola, who was busy looking at his feet. “I don’t know what happened to him, but he’s not like the others. Take a closer look at him, Warlock. I mean... Gray Beard.”

  A shiver ran down my spine.

  “Why did he call me that?! I’m Graybeard! I mean... Gray Beard! A Red Baron in a fancy suit, not a black mage covered in snakeskin!”

  It seemed like the Priest knew from the very beginning but decided to play along. Of course he knew everything! How could I have ever hoped that someone as old as he was would be so easily deceived?! He wasn’t level four hundred for nothing! But I had no other options.

  And now what? Would he tear me apart? Would he punish the black mage that had dared sully his domain with his presence? As well as all those who had come with him?

  I could hear Spider swearing up a storm over the comm channel. I did my best to maintain my composure.

  “When... When did you find out?” I asked with a guilty smile.

  “You think I’m an idiot?” The old man grinned, blinking with all four of his eyes. “Leave those parlor tricks for the kids. I admit, you had me for the first minute... But then...”

  Still smiling, he cracked his long fingers and took a step toward us, towering menacingly above me.

  ***

  I was honestly getting tired of this. I understood that spending centuries on your own made you eager to make fun of someone. But why did that always have to be me? More importantly, why did I always fall for the same trick?

  But this time, being an experienced mage, I didn’t back down. Although I felt cold sweat on my back and running away seemed like the best option... where was I to hide? If the Priest was just trying to scare us, running away would make me look like a coward and he’d definitely want nothing to do with us.

  But I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t have a Plan B. I couldn’t say that it was fair or nice but it was effective. If he did decide to attack, I’d dodge the first blow, stun him with lightning, send Rat on a suicide mission, and tame a couple of Bargolas to attack the Priest while we fled.

  Fortunately, this wasn’t necessary. Approaching me and seeing that I wasn’t afraid, the Priest sighed.

  “This usually makes people run away, screaming in fear...”

  Still, the frightened state of the rest of the group (my people hid behind Ivan and Amoeba, and the Bargolas, frozen with fear, remained glued to the ground) lifted his mood a bit. Chuckling, he moved back and explained himself.

  “I don’t really care if your friend is a black or white magician. Sure, there was a time when I would’ve considered it my duty to crush all of your skulls, but years did their thing... Now I’m more of a gray mage than a white one... Bah, I no longer care about those things... Both sides had already turned their backs on me once... But, that’s a story for another day. Tell me, Warlock, why did you wake me from my slumber?”

  Letting out a barely audible sigh of relief, I replied:

  “The Bargolas haven’t forgotten what their ancestors had done. Or rather, their promise was passed on through myths and legends. To a degree, at least. I was asked to open the passage in their stead.”

  “Really?” the Priest asked, leaning against the nearest wall. “How interesting! Before I can promise anything, tell me: do you have any questions? I rarely get to talk to other mages, you see... And I haven’t had a visitor in half a century...”

  By the sly squint of his eyes, I could tell that he knew more than he was willing to say. It was no wonder: he was probably more than one thousand years old. The Piper was barely a hundred. Still, something about all of this didn’t sit right with me. His reactions were too artificial.

  “What can you tell me about the Steel Giant and Underworld?”

  “The Steel Giant?” he repeated and then laughed. “Oooh, you guys are in big trouble! Ohoho! Sorry, but there’s nothing I can do to help.”

  “Why not?” Willow asked in surprise, peeking over Ivan’s shoulder.

  “I want to live. You may not care about it, but I’ll be around for a couple of more centuries at least. There’s no point in talking about the Underworld either — I know nothing about it save for its name. As for the Giant... Well... Metal doesn’t like high temperatures,” he said with a sly smile.

  I held back the urge to curse. I didn’t expect him to give me a diagram of the thing and point out its weak spots, but I was hoping for something more than a vague hint. Like, what weapon to use against it or how best to fight it. Did it even make sense to engage in close-range combat?

  “Pft, metal doesn’t like high temperatures. No shit, man. It’s like saying that bones don’t like pressure. It’s obvious that it wouldn’t be able to come after us if we turn it into a melted chunk of metal! But what the fuck can we use to melt THAT?! Lightning? Not unless I can summon an entire storm...”

  My thoughts were interrupted by the old man. He smiled (a bit too broadly for my liking) and said:

  “You know, Warlock, I like you. Not everyone manages to stand their ground when a powerful mage threatens to attack them. Just look at your friends... But your disguise is... poor. So, I want to give you a present.”

  Priest wants to give you a [Mental Mask] mod.

  Heavy Disguise

  x10 skill effectiveness

  Attention! The number of available mods has been reduced by ten.

  “Scuse me, what? A skill mod? Do those things even exist?”

  Apparently, they did. But was this mod really that good? It did increase the Mask’s effectiveness by ten times and reduced the number of possible disguises. That is, even if I managed to raise the Mask to a ridiculously high level, I’d still manage to make low-level and quality disguises. Then again, what was the use of h
undreds of different faces and names if any stronger mage (or a player with high intelligence like Leshy) could see through them?

  One thing bothered me, however: the Priest was clearly hiding something. His sly gaze was filled with determination and impatience. Third Eye showed just a little bit of what he was hiding: thirst, anger, and hatred.

  What was he trying to do? Take suspicion off himself by playing a good guy? But why? If he wanted to kill us, he could’ve done so immediately. Maybe he wanted to appease us? But for what purpose?

  On the other hand, I was never the one to refuse a gift.

  I was so lost.

  ***

  “I see the mod works.” The Priest chuckled, looking at my disguise that now had an even better suit and a rich, gray beard. “Any other questions?”

  For some reason, I recalled the Tower and Aslan’s words. Maybe the Priest could elaborate on that? If he was stalling for time, then we needed to take advantage of the moment and find out as much as we could about the Game.

  “What about the Deserted Tower and Heaven?”

  For a moment (but only for a moment) there was something akin to genuine surprise on the Priest’s face. The old mage controlled his emotions well and immediately regained his composure. From the outside, he looked as if he was just squinting because a ray of the setting sun had hit his eyes, but Third Eye confirmed my guess: he was definitely connected to the Tower.

  “You were there?” the old man asked, trying to keep his voice neutral. “How are Aslan and Loris? They didn’t say anything bad about me, did they?”

  “Aslan seemed to have made peace with his fate, but Loris tried to steal Ivan’s body,” I replied, nodding toward the big guy, “and rushed off to the portal. I managed to catch him... So to speak.”

  The old man laughed, glancing at the frowning Ivan.

  “Yes, Loris... He’s like that. Is he still trying to get out? Ah... Aslan used to be the same. Once, they combined their efforts and tried to recreate their former body, but failed... That’s when poor Aslan finally lost hope.”

  “Recreate their former body? Was that the skeleton we saw near the lake?”

  It turned out that they weren’t two-headed apes, but two powerful mages who had spent all their remaining strength to try to flee. And now their failure, the skeleton we saw by the altar, would sit there to mock them for all eternity.

  The Priest nodded, as if reading my thoughts.

  “That’s what happened. The two are a very ancient being, one of the most respected among the white mages... But one day, they betrayed us and were punished for their treachery. I personally carried it out: I cut off Loris’s head and created the Eye of the Desert. Then, the white mages still worked for the light and severely punished all those who opposed it... But the debauchery, lust for power, and hatred that had seeped into Loris’s and Aslan’s souls took possession of their hearts as well. I was exiled, and my brother, Archon, took over. But that’s another story. Are you sure that they didn’t say anything about me?”

  “They didn’t have the time to, to tell the truth. Loris called us idiots, zombified Ivan, and rushed off into the desert. Aslan didn’t even want to talk. Though... I did see something really interesting. A person or creature called Red Monk.”

  The name made the old man grimace in disgust.

  “Archon had fucked up then. The black mages had entered the sanctum and taken the Tablet!” Looking at me, he added: “No offense to your profession, of course. Where did you see this thing?”

  Ignoring his apology, I asked:

  “What’s this Tablet?”

  “It used to be one’s ticket to Heaven. Now, with the degradation of light... I don’t know. Perhaps it’s just a tool for claiming souls... Heaven’s probably no better than Underworld now...”

  Hearing this, I finally understood why Arslan had said that Heaven isn’t what it seemed. A picture immediately appeared before my eyes: several Graybeards eating the flesh of a player they had killed. Creepy. But I still had no specific information about Heaven.

  The Priest, having made up his mind, suddenly pushed himself away from the wall and straightened his back. Boredom had given place to interest.

  “Enough chit-chatting. The original agreement between me and the ancestors of these... individuals,” he pointed discontentedly in the direction of the prostrated Bargolas, “has been fulfilled. I brought them to safety, and received my payment in the form of the soul of a certain woman.”

  I tensed, looking at the old man in surprise. His wrinkled face now looked predatory. Raising his eyebrow, as if to say that he hadn’t expected any other reaction, he continued:

  “Now I request the same payment. A generous offer, exclusively for you, Warlock.”

  “My good sir, I’m sure that the Bargolas would be happy to give you the souls of five of their women,” Amoeba said uncertainly, “especially as they see you as some sort of a deity. I’m sure that they’d be honored to die for you.”

  “Ah, but it’s not that simple.” The old man chuckled, brushing the dust off his robes (in all honesty, it didn’t make them any cleaner). “These creatures have been missing one very important thing for several dozen generations — a soul. They are, so to say, just husks.”

  He was right. The soul remained, perhaps, only in the elders, but the problem was that there were no women among them. But why did he specifically need women? I chose not to think about it... I was afraid that a similar fate would await Willow or Valkyrie if we decided to accept his proposal.

  “Why would we accept such a deal?” I asked the smiling Priest. “Why would we sacrifice a player for the sake of a bunch of husks? In all honesty, we don’t care about the Bargolas. They’ve managed to survive here for dozens of generations, and they’ll continue to do so. There are at least a few other portals here, we can leave through them at any time.”

  “Hmmm...” the old man drawled. “Don’t make me laugh, Warlock. I’ve been around for many, many years. I know that these ‘husks’ have something you need. And that they’ll give it only if you lead them out of here... I can return to my rock at any time and sit there for another century or so but you’re being chased by a very aggressive Giant... So...” he said, smiling, as if he had just signed the death sentence of a very dangerous criminal.

  We really didn’t have a choice. All of us slowly turned toward Willow and Valkyrie, the only ones who fit the Priest’s demands.

  Willow froze, her eyes wide with fear. Valkyrie just shrugged.

  “I think this is a no-brainer,” she said. “A beautiful young girl or an old woman trapped in a body of an ostrich.”

  “Actually,” the Priest said, eyeing them. “Looks aren’t important. I can change them.”

  The tension grew. We all knew that we were screwed without the fragment. One life in exchange for many... The choice seemed obvious, but still, making that decision was everything but easy.

  “I’m an old soul, there’s no changing that,” Valkyrie replied.

  “A-Actually...” Willow said, raising her voice. “I think Loki should decide. Not the two of us.”

  “Loki?” Valkyrie asked, ignoring her. “You and I have been together since day one. We fought together, ate rotten fly flesh together... And she? She only became a member of our faction a few weeks ago!”

  She continued to voice her reasons for staying, but I wasn’t listening.

  What was I to do? On one hand, Valkyrie was right; we’ve had each other’s back since day one. Without her, I would’ve probably died by now. But on the other... Willow. I’d be lying if I said that I didn’t like her. But who was I to decide who got to live and who got to die? No, not even die, but suffer a fate worse than death: eternal servitude to an old mage...

  A flicker of hope lit in my heart when I received a message.

  Transmission pending...

  Sender: Rat (level 89), pet

  Bless the System for giving the rodent such good hearing! He managed to notice something that
none of us had. I looked at the short video he had sent me and smiled. A plan, absurd and bold, formed in my mind.

  “We’re leaving,” I said to the Priest and turned to the exit.

  To say that the old mage was taken aback would’ve been an understatement. He certainly didn’t expect this. No one did.

  “Loki?!” Spider’s voice came over the comm channel. “Are you out of your fucking mind?!”

  “Absolutely. Now, get going.”

  Spreading his arms to the side as if to say that he had no clue what was going on, he went after Rat, who scurried down the tunnel, scratching the stone with his claws. His example was followed by the rest. The Bargolas hesitated for a while, watching us leave, while Ulter hurried to catch up with the main group. Seeing him go, the rest of the hunters followed.

  The Priest stared after us, struggling to comprehend what had happened. To him, this must’ve looked ridiculous. We came all this way to summon him, talked to him, listened to the terms of his contract, and, without a word, went back. He was confident in his success that my sudden refusal to cooperate bewildered and offended him.

  Turning around, I activated Third Eye, trying to read the mage’s emotions. His body had turned scarlet, as if his anger was pouring out of him, losing self-control...

  “Get out!” I shouted and ran as fast as I could to the exit.

  The group rushed to the gorge. The mage finally snapped out of his stupor and ran after us. He really didn’t need any staff or pipe: the old man was incredibly strong. His pupils turned red and a beastly grin appeared on his face. I swear to God, I felt like the devil himself was chasing after us. And all this was going on in absolute silence, so we had no idea just how close he was to us. In the end, against better judgment, I had to turn around, risking crashing into a stone wall or tripping over something.

  The Priest easily pushed off and flew up to make a half-turn, and swung his hand, aiming at where Ivan had been a moment earlier. The hit smashed through the stone as it were glass and not solid rock, sending shards flying in all directions. While he was pulling his arm out of the stone, Ivan, either swearing or paying, I couldn’t hear, yanked a sharp piece of rock out of his hand and hit the ground with his fist. Stone fragments rushed toward his hand, encasing his wounded limb and stopping the bleeding. The skill’s passive effect kicked in, invigorating him, and Ivan jumped to his feet. Whirling around, he punched the mage in the jaw, breaking it, then picked up his club, and ran after the group — all in no more than a fraction of a second.