Starred Tower: System Misinterpret Book One - A Post Apocalyptic Cultivation LitRPG

by Ryan DeBruyn

  “Mother, please, I told you the attack was a miscommunication!” he pleads as he sidesteps my fastest attack, and I wonder if I could beat this elf if I had my God Organ intact. He doesn’t seem to be trying all that hard, but I can still see flaws in his form.

  “Do you not recognize your own quarters in your own Elysium City?!” he cries at me as I continue trying to catch him with a punch or kick. I can even see tears shimmering in his eyes. Idiot! Of course I recognize my quarters. The tears aren’t going to fool me! The fact that I am in my Elysium City only makes this more suspicious. He catches my next punch with a lazy motion, and I can’t move my hand an inch. My eyebrow rises, and I rebalance, preparing to kick.

  “The Sabres Guild is losing patience with me, Mother. You remember how many times you moved our entire family across the world because they said jump. They are telling me to get you to talk about what happened in the Tower, or they won’t heal you.” The tears begin leaking out of his eyes, and his face seems to be in pain. I haven’t hit him yet, but I am going to. I begin to raise a kick. . .

  Huh, heal me? I stop my kick a few inches off the ground, and the Graydon look-alike lets go of my hand, which promptly falls to my side. My leg comes back down and I stare at him, trying to figure out what game the elves could be playing now. They would never heal a piece of property. I learned that early on in that time-dilating tower. I spent nearly eighty years as a slave in that fortress. I’m not going to let them trick me now.

  “There is no way to heal a broken God Organ,” I shriek and go back on the offensive. My captor just dodges out of the way with ease, blinking in surprise. After a moment, he pulls something out of thin air. I’ve seen subspace items often. I even owned some before the elves, so the appearance of something from seemingly nothing doesn’t surprise me, but the object itself does.

  It’s a strange, segmented sphere. I remember it very vividly; it reminds me of the chocolate oranges I used to eat. It’s the first item you receive from your Elysium City Array. It was thought to be unique until the first person who ate it lost six minor ranks and even dropped a major level. This thing is useless—but that mystery around it has always remained. What is its true purpose? It has twelve slices, and some people did try consuming the entire orange, only to die painfully.

  If I can get my hands on that now, I can kill myself. The elves wouldn’t have their captive then. I begin the attack again.

  “Through trials, we’ve discovered that this item can restore cultivation,” Elf-Graydon lies to me as I try to capture the orange. He continues dodging with ease but the pain on his face slowly morphs into excitement. For who is he excited? “You can only take one of them a month, but after a year, your cultivation resets to the first level of F-rank, or in your case, your God Organ will fully heal.”

  His words bring me up short again. Dammit, why am I getting distracted? Is the offer that appealing? I was searching for the Delving Spire, hoping that it might have an answer to that very question. Why are the elves giving me hope now?

  The disguised elf breaks off a single slice and holds it out. I reach out to snatch it before my brain even realizes my hands are moving. He holds it tight, not allowing me to pull it free. He is powerful to be able to manage that, and I wince. What now?

  “I will exchange this for a story. Tell me of your first days on the fifty-first floor.” My wince turns feral, and his face turns back into a mask of pain on my behalf. “Sorry, Mother, but I need to know. Maybe start with a less painful memory of the fifty-first floor of the Tower then?” he suggests.

  I close my eyes and take deep breaths, trying to calm myself.

  “All right, I will tell you of my time as a training dummy for the elven recruits,” I say and watch him reel backward. He lets go of the golden orange slice, and I greedily pop it in my mouth. I feel mild discomfort in my stomach but ignore it. He wants a story, and I will give him one.

  I dodge out of the path of an incoming [Water Whip] and counter with a [Light Flash] in front of the elf’s eyes before latching on to the water with my own liquid and wrestling for control. Mentally, this is akin to a tug of war, but one thing I’ve learned in recent weeks is that the individuals they have me training haven’t worked with spells as long as I have. So, in the focus category, I am their superior.

  Wresting the spell out of the elf’s hand, I turn it back on him, slashing at him with his own [Water Whip]. He manages to get a few shields up before I connect strongly and draw blood. The instant that happens, we’re told to stop the duel. I hesitate for only a split second before I fall to my knees and let the stolen spell splash to the sparring arena floor.

  “You see what the training dummy did there? It captured Jaran’s Ambrosia and turned it on him. This is important to learn. Do not hand strength to your enemy. Jaran emptied his Moon Well, using all of his sia to conjure a spell above his level, but then he had nothing left to fight for control. So, it took his spell away. Fight smarter; strength is not always the solution,” the elven teacher, Galadrik, says before clapping his hands, the clear signal to dismiss the students.

  He approaches me and sneers down at my prone form. Then the air itself lifts me off the ground, straightening out my kneeling body and forcing me to meet his eyes. The elf’s disdain and disgust are written in his features, but his eyes are truly terrifying. They almost glow and pulse with menace.

  “Does the training dummy believe we let it live to better itself?” Galadrik shouts from a few inches in front of my nose. I flinch at each word but am unable to move in my restraints. I’ve already learned the futility of fighting back. “The tool is to demonstrate its spell. Otherwise, it shall be sent to the pillow room, where it will serve a better purpose. Barbacoa spared it to teach our new recruits about its Blood magic, but it refuses and forces me to teach other lessons. Maybe if I force the property to bleed, it will learn.”

  Blood splatters across Galadrik’s face, and my eyes open wide, not understanding where it came from. Then I hear the crack and stinging slap across my back. I’ve just begun to cry out when three more strikes rob me of my breath, forcing it out in jerky puffs. I try to inhale, but the bonds holding me in the air tighten, and the pressure of the air around me presses down on my torso. Reflexively, I grab my liquid and pump it into the intercostal muscles to suck in a breath of air. Then I direct even more to my back to not only begin healing but flood the nerves and block the pain.

  Galadrik releases me from the air restraints, dropping me to the floor, and his mouth opens into a terrible smile. He goes as far as to angle his body to present a smaller target. I recall each humiliating defeat and cringe. I’ve tried to throw everything I have at him and then needed the rest of the day to heal the wounds and broken bones. Today, I fall to the ground and prostrate myself again. I hear a grunt that could be satisfaction or disappointment, but my eyes are on the brick beneath me.

  “The property shall return to the stables,” Galadrik commands with a sneer. I hide my smile before I sit up. There is one flaw in these elves’ current plan. They have placed the human slaves together in what they call a stable. In truth, it’s just an open barn where we all sleep and cultivate our liquid. Like most Tower floors, the fifty-first has a night and day cycle, allowing the people within to cultivate.

  That stable, and my free unmonitored access to the sun, is their weak point. The elves also place the strongest captured humans together in that barn. It’s like they’ve never held prisoners before. They have no locks on the doors and no guards outside, even.

  We’re here to train their students, but they keep us together in one large building. If they are going to let me cultivate, and their students are so easy to beat, I will create as much Blood liquid as I can hold and use it not to help these elves but to help us.

  Why do I believe we can escape after our recent defeat? I’ve come to think there are two types of troops here: Elite troops and weaker ones. The students and troops that they pit against us humans in the training arenas are
examples. We can trounce those elves. The group that captured us and killed so many—I shake off that direction of thoughts. Barbacoa’s group must have been their very strongest members. Soon, we will escape and find a place on the floor to start our resistance.

  I enter the stable and see Max going over the map we’re trying to create. I move closer and state my findings, remembering the fights the previous days and the other powers displayed.

  “They definitely have six types of Ambrosia or liquid or whatever it is. Today I fought an elf with Water liquid, which all but confirms it. Anything new on your end?” I ask, trying to recall if I overheard any other new information today—specifically, anything regarding our surroundings outside of the walls. The interior fortress we’ve managed to sketch reliably. Still, outside of it, we are using pieces of conversations to create a crude map.

  “Let me write that down.” Max adds Water to the list in the dirt. I read the other words in the dirt, three of which are Fire, Air, and Earth elements. The final two have multiple names but Max’s theorized ones are beside them: Sun and Moon. After adding Water, he nods to himself. We’re aware of those four elemental forms of spells on Earth, but could there be a way to attune liquid to them? Lower the cost? Max continues, cutting off my thoughts.

  “And no, there’s been nothing new on our end. We know that this fortress is surrounded by seven enemies. The group to the north, those Lamia, are the ones who raid into the elven territory the most. The ones to the south have already completed their ‘Heavenly Staircase.’ So we think that direction might be the best.” He taps each part of the crude map as he speaks. Then he taps an area we believe we were brought in from. “Do you think we should have built a fortress where we ported in?” Max asks me as he motions with his stick repeatedly.

  The map itself shows an octagon. Each side lines up to an enemy. The octagon is pure speculation by Max, but the more we hear, the more it seems to fit. In only one case, only in the direction we came from, is there not an enemy listed. Max thinks that means we should head back to where we ported in and try to find a way to fortify that location. Then, based on other theories, we’ll build our own staircase, whatever that is. I shrug at him.

  “We aren’t sure that this Heavenly Staircase is even the goal of this floor or a weapon everyone wants.” I turn my head and look through the open stable doors toward the massive tower-like structure at the center of the fortress. It’s made of the unknown glimmering black metal. It holds a place in the very center of the elven fortress. From conversations, we know that this staircase is the elves’ prime goal, supporting the theory. I think back to where we arrived on the floor. There was literally just a circular brick pad, maybe one hundred meters in diameter. I shake my head.

  “I didn’t see anything that would help us build a fortress. Did you?” I let that question hang in the air until he shakes his head. “Then our best bet might be to go to one of the less aggressive groups and ask for aid. Who is to the south again?” I continue. Max shrugs and touches that area a few times with his stick.

  “They call them Gartusk, but we don’t know much about them other than they keep a token force guarding their stairway. Still, the elves don’t attack them. So, they are either powerful or allies.”

  I nod. That would be the real danger if we were to head in that direction.

  “Still, I think that’s our best option. If they leave very few guarding the territory, there is less of a chance of discovery. We don’t have to attack them, right?” I respond as a few others return from their day of forced labor.

  “Yeah, you’re right. It’s either we go back to where we started or to the south. What do you all think?” Max asks the newcomers. I keep listening with half an ear but approach one of my closest friends. She ranked up with me through Sabres Guild adventuring and—I swallow hard at the memory of Nathan and our group.

  “Mia, how did your session go today?” I choke out before clearing my throat and forcing optimism. “Kick some more elf ass?” I add, injecting false tones of excitement into the words. Mia tries to smile, but her face falls, and her lip quivers. She shakes her head and looks at me. There are unshed tears in her eyes. The closer I approach, the more I see. She is shivering as well.

  “I learned something new today,” she whispers when I am right beside her. “The elves have a ranking system too. They use the same letters for major ranks we do, Lee. The elves that train against us are equivalent to their B-rankers,” Mia finishes and reaches for me, tugging me into a fierce embrace. Mia is the only member here that is a higher rank than I am, and to see her this sure of that news causes my stomach to rumble. That can’t be right, can it?

  I remember Barbacoa and his hundred men. A shiver runs down my body, starting at the top of my neck. How do we escape intelligent S-plus monsters?

  Chapter 12

  August 28th, 151 AR

  Jeff Smith

  I just barely finish my final ‘Bulvarian Squat’ as sweat drips from my nose down my lip and off my chin. The taste of the salty sweat makes me rub my head with the damp black suit I’m growing accustomed to. It’s already soaked, but manages to either spread out or sop up a little more of my sweat. I breathe in and out, gulping lungfuls of air; I don’t smell particularly great, but it’s a mild discomfort and is completely trumped by the accomplishment. I watch the quest change to complete. Victory!

  I reach down and touch my toes, performing the stretch to prompt the secret daily. The board chimes and I accept the cooldown quest. I begin following the board, having Crash demonstrate the few that are new. That’s three days in a row of completing the daily workout without trouble. Maybe I can start adding weights soon to increase the reward? I smile as I picture the added weights speeding up my journey.

  I’m in a great mood today. There are some exciting decisions to make today. Over the past seven days, I always selected bitcoins from the completed daily workout quest. This let me save twenty bitcoins, twenty-one actually after the cooldown quest. With that amount, I can purchase food for the next two days and still have some to spare. So, I can choose a different reward today.

  I’ve also saved four free points from the daily cooking quest, thanks to the status effects lasting forty-eight hours. This length of time allows me to alternate my selection for the reward, and today I will even be able to increase the total to six, which is amazing because of the mirror’s progress.

  After the workout, and a shower, that’s where I’m headed. The mirror was still only half repaired yesterday, and I couldn’t see enough to make an informed decision. It only revealed the bottom of the blue box but that did have a statistical representation of my current cultivation levels. But today, I should see what I was missing. Yes!

  I still can’t believe that the pile of concrete is completely gone, too. It was just smaller every time I looked at it. I still am quite shocked that the room can just absorb things like that. I glance at the stairs and landing, which are now hanging firmly attached under a flat concrete part of the roof. Crash says a portal will open at the top tomorrow. The repairs just seemed so fast.

  Of course, the Training Room opening brings up a dilemma, too. Who might be outside? The group that attacked Leah and her mercs are the most likely to be standing there. But I can’t even be sure of what transpired after I was knocked unconscious. If Alrick did stash me down here, then maybe he will be outside. . . Would he have the group with him? Is there a chance that the mercs prevailed against the superior force?

  Until today, I was trying to avoid thinking about the repairs. I went as far as to avoid looking at the disappearing pile of concrete rubble at times, which was probably why it felt like it disappeared so quickly. Yet today, the completion is imminent, and I need to prepare. I think that means I need some sort of weapon because, according to Crash, there is no fast-tracking strength. Or at least, no speedy gains without serious repercussions later. So if I want to begin killing monsters, and collecting monster cores to build a shop, then I better get a
weapon. The one chance I have of that is the small box reward.

  I have waffled on the selection every day since this problem entered my head, but I can’t think of any other way. “Crash, are you sure there aren’t any weapons lying around?” I ask for the fifth time in five days.

  “Yes, Master. We are certain that no weapons remain within the Training Room.”

  “I can’t just take some kitchen knives?”

  “Sire, the application’s items are strictly for use in the Training Room. They will not be able to leave. We can assure you that we know the entirety of the Training Room’s contents, and there aren’t any weapons.”

  I finish my last stretch and go to the workout board to select my reward. When I choose the small box and confirm the choice, the screen flashes. Then nothing. I expected a box to materialize out of thin air or something but realize that is a rather childish expectation. Still, I selected the small box and received nothing.

  “What in the seven Towers? Crash? Where is it?” I demand.

  “The central table of the Training Room distributes all rewards that have physical substance, Master,” Crash responds tiredly. I am starting to hate the bored tone that the AI manages to pull off in these situations. I happen to like the taste of filet and eggs on toast.

  I shake my head and rush to the table to find a circular elevator about three feet in diameter has risen at the center. Upon it rests a cardboard box with an ink design made to look like . . . a smiling face? Once I pull the box off of the elevator, the platform retracts into the table, and the concrete closes over it, the crack seeming to vanish even as I watch. The box is about a foot and a half long, a foot wide, and half a foot deep. The chances of it being a weapon drop drastically, and I groan. Maybe a pistol of some sort?