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

by Ryan DeBruyn

  The man seems to bristle at the treatment, and his body clenches as his face flushes, but then all the tension bursts like a balloon, and he falls to the ground crying. My heart goes out to him as two Church enforcers gently carry him to some of the pews to continue sobbing, but out of the way of business. I feel tears threatening in my own eyes. I can’t help but think Leah wouldn’t do the same as this father did for his son.

  The next in line approaches the attendant and begins discussing commissioning a quest to retrieve rare herbs from a C-rank dungeon.

  Taking my eyes off the weeping man, I look over the much larger crowd today and realize that the Church functions much like a guild. Each individual who approaches has business, and the attendant accepts requests, denies absurdities, and takes status reports as I watch. I wonder why today, of all days, it’s so busy. Maybe it is the time of day? I usually come in the late afternoon, almost evening. The nun is different from the usual mothering one I meet as well.

  When my turn to approach the attendant arrives, I step forward and hand over the one mithril coin. After the nun asks my name and what account I’m paying out, I clear my throat before stepping away.

  “Is there anywhere I can inquire about what area of the city lies nearest the water?”

  The woman gives me a look that seems both motherly and patronizing. “You are that new to the city but already a criminal?” she asks, the inflection in her voice sounding pitying to my ears. “The rankers and their families own the sky-rises in that direction. You need a special pass to even enter.”

  I bow my head and swallow the lump in my throat simultaneously.

  Rankers! Each ranker inevitably belongs to a guild, but they are also separate from them. Rankers are the strongest individuals who travel up to the fiftieth floor in the Tower. That means they all own their own Elysium Cities and countless other items, which earn them huge profits and prestige.

  Alrick often would say that the ranking list of the strongest in the world was based on what floor you conquered, and that’s where the original name for this group came from. But now, since no one ever returns from the fifty-first floor, this list is somewhat stagnant. Still, the names on it carry the same weight. That area is by far the most dangerous in the Suburb, and I won’t be going there.

  Bowing my head, I retreat from the attendant and go back out into the streets. Perhaps I will need to use food to replenish my circulating qi like Mur. I look in the direction of the Star Bucks Guild and remember the piercing green eyes of Veronica. It isn’t like she told me to never come back. . .

  Fists clenched, I make my way to their smaller high-rise. The way I figure it, this all comes down to a decision. Either I can use their rooftop and hope they are agreeable to it, or I can waste money. The latter should be my last resort, and despite my fear of Ride or Die, they shouldn’t be the deciding factor either. Which doesn’t mean I don’t sneak my way to and then up the fire escape. Just because I decide to be courageous doesn’t mean I need to be stupid.

  Once at the top, I find myself already in Veronica’s company. She sees my head poke over the edge, despite my attempt to duck back quickly.

  “Jeff, there is no point hiding now. You saw me see you,” she calls. Sighing, I pull myself over the lip of the roof and walk over to her garden.

  “Well, I wasn’t sure how you would respond to me coming back here,” I say as I walk through the gate she holds open for me.

  “Well, the leaders wanted to ban you from the building, but I convinced them there isn’t any harm in you using the roof,” Veronica admits as she sits down. I blink stupidly at her.

  “Why would you do that?”

  “Well, truthfully, there aren’t many in the Northern Territory who attempt non-Church-sanctioned cultivation methods,” Veronica begins explaining but stops when she sees my mouth hanging open. “What? You thought we didn’t recognize someone attempting new cultivation? Come on, Jeff, we looked into you after you left. You were an F-rank when you entered the Adventurer’s guild a week ago. Then you spent several days and multiple hours cultivating on our roof without breaking through a major rank. If that doesn’t scream oddity to someone, they would have to be stupid,” Veronica finishes, and my cheeks heat at her bluntness.

  “But I thought the Church persecuted people who don’t follow their cultivation method,” I counter, feeling the rug sliding out from under me.

  “That’s mostly true, but other Territories don’t prescribe to the Church’s teachings as rigidly. For example, the Asiatic Territory doesn’t even have the Church’s influence. It is almost entirely cut off from the rest of the world. The Star Bucks have tried for centuries to get our members inside, but they are entirely insular. The other territories all follow their own prescribed methods too. A few of the regions even outright denounce the Church’s teachings. Still, because the Star Bucks are more worldly, we recognize that their Northern cultivation, while producing S-rank fighters quickly, doesn’t provide any of the strongest S-rankers.”

  I want to ask her about her cultivation method, but the question feels extremely rude. My cheeks flush, and my stomach tightens at the thought. I can’t even meet her eyes, and my expression must tell her all she needs to know because she coughs politely.

  “Just spit it out, Jeff,” Veronica says, her voice a little annoyed.

  “Uh, well. . .” I begin trying to think of another topic or a way to ask my question that doesn’t give away my secret. “On my way out of the guild with Jacque, I overheard some people talking about your low cultivation. . .” I mumble sheepishly after a pause.

  Her eyes narrow until they’re slits, and I can just barely see the green irises. For a moment, I think I have upset her, but she takes a deep breath and exhales loudly.

  “I hate that the others can’t find something other than my rare condition to talk about, but can’t deny that I feel their stares everywhere I go,” she says after she opens her eyes again. I hold back a sigh of relief, barely. Veronica continues, “I’ve got a type of condition that stops me from being able to cultivate using any method I’ve tried so far. It all started with my inability to cultivate using the Church’s method, which led me to discard multiple options. That’s why I am so keenly interested in people who cultivate new styles.” She looks at me directly for an uncomfortably long time.

  “My father has some connections in the Northern Territory. He actually used that influence to get me a place in the Star Bucks. To help me. He asked the chapter heads here to find me a healer or cultivation method that works despite my weakness.”

  I scratch my chin, never having heard of illnesses that affect cultivation. “I don’t understand. Shouldn’t cultivating heal your condition?”

  “It isn’t an illness, Jeff. It’s more on par with a hereditary disease or mutation,” she begins, and I reach up to massage my ears as she continues. “I have the Ice Crystal Body, according to numerous Infusers. This mutation causes any liquid cultivated to turn icy cold. The more liquid I hold within me, the colder my body becomes, and the more chance I will freeze to death. So far, the only method to deal with it has been maintaining low levels of liquid and hoping to find a cure. We’ve tried quite a few methods, but unfortunately, none have worked. I guess I was just hoping. . .” She fades off, and I see the direction of her thoughts.

  “I have never even heard of hereditary diseases or mutations, Veronica. I don’t think my experimental cultivation method is going to help you much. . .” I let my final sentence fade off and hang in the air as I consider the Training Room and some of the options it might provide her.

  But I can’t really invite her into the space, can I?

  Her eyes study me as I ponder my options, and I begin to blush again. I wave off her curiosity as I debate options that leave her out here. Could the auction house have something that would help? And if not that, perhaps the cultivation journal has some information.

  “Sorry,” I mumble as she continues regarding me.

  “I n
ever expected it to help, Jeff. But did you have a thought about something that might?” she pleads and, seeing my mouth twist, presses her advantage. “My father has looked everywhere and asked everyone within the Northern Territory. Last year, after what happened to my mother, he left and has been searching abroad! Please, if—” I cut her off with a raised hand.

  “I don’t know anything myself, Veronica. I’m sorry. I was just considering if somebody I know might have some answers. Still, I don’t have any idea how to even get in touch with them,” I partially lie. There is a chance I will find something, but I doubt I can just tell her. Not without inviting a great deal more questions that I can’t answer. “Sorry, but I don’t have a ton of time to talk. I really came up here to cultivate. Would you mind if I did?” I say sheepishly while rubbing at my neck hair. She sees the gesture and forces a weak smile. Now that I really look at her, I consider if her pale skin and frail body are not symptoms of her disease.

  “Of course, I shouldn’t have dumped that all on you. I just feel so confined here. My whole life, I haven’t been able to do anything but dream of the stories others have told me.”

  My heart stutters as I take a seat, and meditation refuses to come for several minutes as I chew through her words. The same words I still feel in my soul. The same words I would probably be saying today if not for that attack on the mercenary group.

  Chapter 37

  September 4th, 151 AR

  Jeff Turle

  Vulpe Dungeon

  Rank: F-1

  We stare at a mound of brown dirt. It came out of nowhere. The bulge in the earth isn’t far into the ruins, and I can swear we went by this exact same area the night before. Glancing around, I even see some of the rotting, broken timbers of houses I definitely recall. There is a yawning dark hole in the pile of dirt, its shadows deep under the moonlight, making it appear ominous. I shiver and see Mur glance in my direction, waiting for a decision. The ranking of this dungeon is like hitting the lottery. But I am not ready to dive in just yet. I turn to Mur.

  “Mur say Chief get summon-point, summon goblin. Dungeon weak? No minion?”

  Mur nods emphatically but then scratches his ear. “Mur not know how know this. Mur think Chief have choice. Increase self power, increase tribe.” He begins scratching his head much more vigorously as if digging for the piece of information so he can examine it. I touch his shoulder to interrupt his fit.

  “Mur strong think. Jeff thank Mur for sharing,” I say to him. Truthfully, more rather large questions come to my mind, thanks to his answer. Where do summoned minions come from? Are they real creatures or new once summoned? Mur has no memories from before his summoning, and I wonder if that answers the latter. Then why would he have an innate understanding of how the dungeon works? I scratch my own head and realize I am acting the way Mur was. I shake off the questions.

  “If we attack boss, then no minion? What Vulpe? Should tribe fight?” I ask.

  “Chieftain of Green Peace Clan wear Vulpe.” Mur indicates his shoulders and head, indicating a nonexistent hood or cape. “Vulpe have red-white fur, soft, sharp tooth.” Mur points at his own arrowhead-like teeth.

  I feel my esophagus close down. This boss is a carnivore? For some reason I can’t explain, that makes it terrifying like a nightmare above and beyond the Leporid or Rodentia bosses. I can feel my hand trembling, but my thoughts of the previous night return to me. Does each boss have a strategy that can be used to kill it?

  Something in my gut agrees, or perhaps wants desperately for it to be true. If the dungeons each contain a strategy, then suddenly, the monsters aren’t all just out to get us. Do I believe that the monsters won’t wipe out humanity?

  No. The other races that are waiting to invade definitely are out to destroy humans. So then why do I believe that the other dungeon monsters aren’t?

  Despite searching my mind, I can’t find a good reason. It is just a feeling. Like I am missing something crucial but am glimpsing the edges of it, remembering it vaguely, or about to find the word for it. My feeling doesn’t overcome my fear, but a gentle tugging by Mur forces me to make a decision.

  “Come, Jeff. Basement Tribe need mantle! Basement Tribe not lose like Green Peace Clan,” Mur grunt-states emphatically, nodding his head along with his Gartuski.

  The tone of his voice gets my blood moving, and we approach the den. The deep shadows peel back as the mound hides the moon from view above us. My head tilts down, and then my eyes track deeper. The entrance falls away almost like a dirt slide and dives down into the earth. A faint blue glow emanates from the bottom, and I know that entering means we will face the boss—there is no climbing back out on this soft soil, at least not easily. It’s still the same decision from ten steps ago but somehow larger.

  It’s time to test my theory, face a new unknown monster, and get another quest item. If I truly want to become strong, this is the only way.

  Mur leaps onto the slope just as I firm my resolve. Actually, before I actually do firm it, which goes a long way to helping me overcome any fears I feel. I follow his action and allow my heels to touch down on the soft soil and then lean back into a sitting position. The loose dirt and gravel shift under my bottom, and I slowly descend with a soft whoosh of both air and sliding earth.

  Once at the bottom, there is a room with an eight-foot ceiling and minimal space around the portal. There isn’t even enough room between the portal and the wall for a Leporid minion to fit. I wonder if the portal somehow absorbs the area to gain summon points. It would explain how older dungeons have more minions and are also larger. . .

  Then again, a minion could shape the area once summoned. . .

  Mur shouts, “For blue man!” and jumps into the portal.

  I shake my head and leap in after him. I am really going to have to correct Mur one of these days.

  Entering the portal is like walking outside in the winter while wearing minimal clothing. The air itself isn’t frigid, but cold emanates from all around me. I look around the change of scenery, finding myself and Mur in a long, seemingly never-ending tunnel. At least in one direction I am correct. A glance behind me shows large cages with field mice the size of Mur inside a stone cave.

  The entire tunnel is white and appears to be carved from snow but has a warm yellow glow piercing through it, suggesting that this tunnel isn’t very deep. That theory would suggest sunshine is penetrating the ice through to us below. I close my eyes and attempt to cultivate that sunlight and find it impossible. Is there another light source then?

  Mur steps forward, also looking around. The crunch of snow under his feet sounds loud to my ears, echoing back to me as it ricochets down the tunnel. In unison with the echoes, an area of the tunnel falls into darkness. I look down at Mur’s foot to see if there is a trap below him. It would make sense, especially with the field mice behind us, but his bare foot is on bare snow. The shadow continues to grow, and I worry that we won’t have any light to guide us on our trek deeper into the tunnel.

  The shadow darkens near us instead, and I feel my heart stop as I realize it’s something above us blocking the light. I reach forward and manage to grab Mur by the back of his neck. Infusing qi into my muscles, I yank with all of my might and hear Mur cry out in alarm. I use the momentum of my pull to rock back onto my heels and crouch. Then I push as hard as I can with both of my legs to leap horizontally backward across the snow, just as the ceiling caves in and snapping jaws click together a few feet from us.

  The head of the Vulpe that crashes into view is easily the size of an entire Leporid, and my legs spastically continue to push back to gain more distance from the monstrous creature. My eyes won’t leave the beast, and I can feel Mur shake slightly in my grasp. My fixation triggers [Identify].

  Zerda

  Rank: F-3

  Boss Vulpe

  The head promptly vanishes out of view. A small cave-in occurs in the wake of the Vulpe’s enormous head retracting. Large chunks of dense snow begin to fall from above
until they clog the hole. A dusting of snow falls from the area, and I shiver, my butt extremely cold in the ice. There is some rumbling as the top fills in some more before the area returns to silence.

  Well, relative silence. Both of our breathing is far heavier than usual as we pant out the extreme stress. My leap back brought us very near to the transition from snow to the stone floor of the cave. I release Mur’s neck and motion behind me before I scuttle onto the stone area. A quick glance up tells me that there is also stone above me and that we are probably safe from another surprise attack with its protection.

  “Mur say Chief wear Vulpe pelt on back!” I complain to Mur, partly thinking about how huge his former Chief must have been but mostly thinking about the lack of information in that earlier statement.

  “Mur think minion Vulpe. . .” my friend claims in a slightly shaky voice. “Chief swear kill boss!”

  I can’t help but roll my eyes. I can’t be sure why the Chief would exaggerate, but I assume a bit of embellishment. Or were the Chief’s memories even his own? If Mur was created when the dungeon had sufficient points, are the bosses also made?

  I stand up and dust myself off. The rock surrounding us gives me a sense of security. In fact, the mouth of the cave likely isn’t big enough for the boss to enter. Blinking, I realize this strongly supports my theory of boss fights having strategies that promote victory.

  Each cage has a field mouse inside shrieking bloody murder. Almost like the attack was a signal to them. There are hundreds of pens spread throughout the room, and I can’t find a back entrance out of the cave. Each of the mice is probably three feet long, nose to tail, and their shoulders are maybe a foot and a half off the ground.

  The strategy here seems clear. Let a mouse out and attack the boss as it attempts to catch the noisy thing. In the back of the cave, I can hear dripping water, and I call to Mur.