Rise of the Crimson Order: A Crematoria Online LitRPG Novel

by Matthew J. Barbeler

  Without hesitation, I activated Split Second, and a whole web of possibility played out before me. It felt as though my mind almost couldn't keep up with how fast the ideas and predictions were running through it. It was different than Inspired Deduction because the action didn't stop. It simply slowed down.

  I saw a ghostly version of myself reaching out and connecting a fist to Gregory's nether regions. I didn't know if the non-player characters in Crematoria Online felt the same kind of pain when they got smashed in the family jewels, but I had to assume that it wouldn't feel like a gentle caress. I watched the ghostly fist connect with Gregory's groin, then saw Gregory's pistol swing down and pistol whip me in the back of the neck.

  A message appeared, floating in front of that projection.

  18% chance of disarming target without taking damage.

  42% chance of disarming target while taking moderate damage and suffering a wound.

  40% chance of being knocked out, then executed.

  No, that possibility wasn't a good one. And a 40% chance of being executed? Really? No thank you.

  I saw another ghostly projection of my own body tackle Gregory and push him back into the corridor behind him. Doing that would ensure that his pistol shot would fly harmlessly overhead, but it meant that I would be dealing with a Bone Thief in hand to hand combat. The ghostly versions of us were entangled on the floor, and I saw the Bone Thief tear violently free from Gregory's body. It sunk its insectile fingers into the flesh of my back. A similar information panel appeared over that ghostly apparition.

  26% chance of neutralizing target

  37% chance of neutralizing target while taking moderate damage and suffering a wound.

  30% chance of receiving heavy damage and suffering multiple wounds.

  7% chance of being executed.

  No, that still gave me a high chance of receiving near-fatal damage.

  Time was moving slowly, but it did not stop.

  The slug exited the barrel of the flintlock pistol as the powder ignited.

  It was heading right towards my face.

  I needed to decide! Immediately!

  Another ghostly projection showed me kneeling in front of Gregory Albrecht and slashing in an upwards arc with my sword. The ethereal sword passed through Gregory's arm just above the wrist, severing his gun arm. The projection of Gregory grasped the stub of his arm in pain.

  74% chance of disarming the target.

  24% chance of disarming the target and taking minor damage.

  2% chance of executing the target.

  Well, well. The tables had turned in my favor.

  Even at the lowest chance, this option gave me the highest chance of success. And I had a 2% chance of executing the target with my chosen move. Even if I could not get lucky enough for a coup de grace upon choosing the outcome of Split Second, finishing off the Bone Thief that lived inside of Gregory Albrecht would be easy enough once it was disarmed.

  There was no time to waste. I began kneeling in front of Gregory, choosing the outcome that gave me the highest chance of success. My body moved, assisted by the ability. As quick as lightning, my sword flashed out and severed his hand from his wrist. A spurt of crimson blood splattered the wall and ceiling following my sword's path. The pistol slug whistled harmlessly overhead, burying itself in a stack of books on a shelf in Gregory's study. Pages and splintered wood exploded from behind me, peppering my back.

  The Bone Thief wearing Gregory's skin howled in pain. I hadn't executed the damned thing, but at a 2% chance, I wasn't willing to count on it happening. I didn't let it launch a counter-attack, though. I stood from my prone position, driving my shoulder into Gregory's sternum. The momentum caused the unspeakable terror to tumble backward. When it landed, I introduced the tip of my sword to Gregory's heart and the Bone Thief's face. The creature fell silent, and a mixture of red blood and viridian ichor leaked out onto the floor beneath the unmoving body.

  I turned and grinned at Empyria.

  I loved everything about playing an Investigator.

  "Take me back to character creation. I know which class I want to play as," I said.

  "I knew I was right in choosing you," Empyria said.

  Chapter Five

  Flintlock

  Back in the character creation environment, I saw myself again.

  The scarf, the flowing coat, the pistol and sword hanging from my hip, the worn leather boots. I appraised myself and liked what I saw, but I still felt like I could make some tweaks to how I looked. There was no escaping the face in the mirror. It was mine. But I wondered just how much I could change.

  "Do you find your appearance acceptable?" Empyria asked. "You have been given features as close to your actual physical body as possible, while also ensuring your own personal perception of yourself was also catered for."

  "You did a good job, but can I make changes?" I asked.

  "To your facial structure, no. It is important that you remain identifiable in Crematoria. If you choose to commit crimes in the game world, these deeds may have effects in the real world. Crematoria was not created to be a playground for anonymous players. It is a second layer over the real world, and your actions here have consequences. But when it comes to hair, beard, eye color and whatnot, you have free reign to decide."

  I grinned. The face that I saw in the mirror was covered in a five o'clock shadow, but I'd always wanted one of those big bushy beards with the curly mustaches. As I thought about how I wanted it to look, the hair sprouted from the chin and formed the perfect rounded beard. My top lip similarly overgrew, and the edges curled up. My natural brown hair looked good in that form, but I'd always wondered what I would look like as a ginger.

  The color shifted from brown to red, and I could not contain my grin. I looked bad-ass. My short, balding hair looked like it fit too. I decided not to change it, as it might give me an air of maturity and trustworthiness. I looked over to Empyria's light-borne form and saw her smiling back at me.

  "You certainly look the part!" she said excitedly.

  "This is awesome. So awesome," I said.

  I turned around in front of the mirror and looked at myself. I really did look like an Investigator.

  "Now, the servers are due to go live soon, but I'm sure we have time for a short demonstration of how firearms work in Crematoria Online. Would you like me to load up the tutorial?" Empyria asked.

  "Yes. Please," I said. I wanted every advantage that I could get.

  The character creation environment disappeared, and I appeared in some kind of enclosed alleyway. There was a wooden target at the end, held up by a plank of wood.

  "Draw your flintlock pistol," Empyria said.

  I did. The wooden stock felt comfortable in my hand.

  "That is your default gun, the Antique Flintlock Pistol. If you have no side weapon equipped, this default pistol will be available for use. Try it out."

  I raised the pistol and aimed down the rounded sight. I aimed for the body of the target and pulled the trigger.

  I was expecting a loud bang, but nothing happened. I let my aim down and looked at Empyria.

  "What did I do wrong?" I asked.

  "You're not going to shoot anyone without ammo loaded into your pistol," she said.

  "You mean I have to manually load the gun myself?"

  "Yes. Almost everything in Crematoria Online has been modeled to reflect the real-world application of effort required to achieve an outcome. You cannot shoot a gun simply by pressing a trigger, just as you cannot simply press a button to swing a sword. You must expend the effort. That is the truth of all life. Effort must be expended to achieve a result. Now, take out a paper cartridge from the ammunition pouch on your belt."

  The pouch was small, and when I opened it, I found six cylindrical pieces of paper, each folded over at the end. I pulled one of the cartridges out and looked at Empyria with a confused look on my face.

  "This is a bullet?" I asked. I didn't understand.

&
nbsp; Empyria laughed. "No. The bullet is inside, but reloading is a process. First, tear the top of the paper cartridge off. Most gunslingers do it with their teeth, as their hands are often full."

  She was right. With the pistol in my right hand and the cartridge in my left, I had no extra hand to open the cartridge. I tore the end off with my mouth and spat it into the street.

  "Good, now retrieve the slug. Don't put it in your gun yet. Keep it in the opposite hand to the one holding your gun."

  I took the imperfectly spherical piece of metal out of the cartridge and curled it against my palm, holding it in place with my ring and pinkie fingers.

  "Perfect. Now empty most of the gunpowder into the barrel, but keep a small amount to place on the pan. Raise the frizzen and place a small amount of gunpowder into the pan now."

  "What the hell is a frizzen? Where is the pan? Am I frying an egg?" I asked.

  "If you do it wrong, you might. The frizzen is this piece, and it swings forward like this. The pan is underneath." Empyria touched a small flat piece that stood almost vertically next to the stock of the gun. She then swung the hinge forward, which revealed a small flat piece of metal. The pan. There was a small hole that led from the pan into the chamber.

  "When you cock the hammer and pull the trigger, the flint will hit the frizzen, and cause sparks to travel down onto the gunpowder on the pan, and into the chamber."

  She made it sound so simple.

  As I followed Empyria's instructions I began to realize why my pistol hadn't been an option with having Gregory earlier. It took so long to load it that he would have killed me before I had a chance to load the slug into the barrel! How many more steps would I need to take to make this damned thing shoot?

  "Okay, now hold the barrel at a forty-five-degree angle. No, not like that," Empyria said. "Not straight up and down, but at an angle! Okay, now take the rod from under the barrel and pack the gunpowder in tight!"

  I packed the gunpowder as I had been instructed, and there was some part of me that expected the damned thing to go off in my hand.

  This was way too complicated!

  How was I supposed to be able to use something like this in battle?

  "Now, put the slug back into the paper cartridge and use just enough paper to cover the slug. Tear off and discard the rest. Then, pack the wrapped slug into the barrel. You're almost ready to fire!"

  "How am I supposed to use this gun in combat? It's ridiculous!" I said, frustrated.

  "There was once a time when firearms were unreliable and unpredictable instruments of killing. They were not the reliable and easily used weapons that they have become in today's world. A talented gunslinger could fire once every ninety seconds. If you wish to follow the way of the gun, you can practice and take perks that increase your reload speed and your accuracy."

  "So how do I fire it?" I asked.

  "Cock the hammer," Empyria said, showing me how to do so. "Then when you've aimed, pull the trigger."

  I cocked the hammer, aimed the pistol at the target at the end of the alley and pulled the trigger.

  A flare of bright flame burst from the pistol, and the crack of sound that followed deafened me. There was a hell of a kick, and I couldn't see a single mark on the target at the end of the alleyway.

  Empyria giggled.

  "What happened? What did I do wrong?" I asked.

  Clearly, I had gotten something very wrong.

  "You did it perfectly. I'm actually a little impressed. But that's the thing about low quality flintlock weapons. They're not very reliable. Can you see where the bullet hit?"

  I tried to find the spot at the end of the alleyway and was shocked to see that the bullet had taken a chunk out of the alleyway wall to my right. It hadn't even made it to the end of the alleyway.

  "It's there," I said, pointing at the impact site. "How the hell did it veer all the way over here?"

  "Flintlock weapons were unreliable, and even the best marksman could not do anything more than hope once they pulled the trigger. Your default pistol is of low quality, but with better equipment, you may find that your efficacy improves. Combined with training in your skills, you will find that you do improve over time, but to begin with, I would not recommend relying on your flintlock unless you can ensure that you will hit your target."

  "What if I pulled the trigger next to someone's head? Would that do the trick?"

  "Yes, it would. But be careful. There are laws in Crematoria, and most people in charge look down on murdering innocents in cold blood."

  A shock of indignation rolled through me. "I would never!"

  "I know, but perception is just as important as the truth in this world," Empyria said with a knowing look.

  "Right. Noted."

  "Time to practice. I want you to use the last five paper cartridges in your ammunition pouch, and I want you to see if you can hit that target."

  I went through the motions again. I took a paper cartridge out of the ammunition pouch, bit the top off, took the slug out, packed the barrel with gunpowder with the ramrod, lifted the frizzen, filled the pan, closed the frizzen, wrapped the slug in paper, stuffed it down the barrel, cocked the hammer, aimed, then pulled the trigger.

  The shot went wide again. Through the smoke, I saw it spiral through the air, then swing to the left. I winced as it slammed into the bricks to the left of the target. Tiny pieces of broken brick flew back at Empyria and me. They passed harmlessly through her ethereal form, but the debris peppered my skin.

  "That was better," Empyria said.

  "No, it wasn't. It was trash," I said. It was rare that I couldn't master the mechanics of a video game, but I got the feeling that Crematoria Online might be more like living in another reality than a video game. I was never really all that great at navigating the real world, and now I was thinking about logging into an alternate world with most of the same rules, but with creepy things that could wear your skin like a meat puppet.

  "It really wasn't." Empyria's voice was reassuring, but I still wasn't happy with myself. "Using flintlock weapons is almost like a brutal and violent art form. You must know how all of the pieces fit together, and move together, to create something new entirely. The power to kill."

  I looked down at the pistol in my hand and pondered Empyria's words. They didn't quite make sense to me, so I had to question her.

  "You talk like the act of killing someone is beautiful. But it's not. Taking someone else's life is a horrible thing."

  "I agree with you completely, but isn't it sometimes necessary? The Bone Thief that wore Gregory Albrecht's skin did something far worse, and killing it brought justice to Gregory. It took Gregory's life, and you took its life. The scales were balanced. You could have dispatched the fiend in any way that you wished to. It did not have to be by the pistol. You chose the sword. But the destination remains the same. To bring balance, a life taken paid for a life taken."

  I realized that I had Empyria pegged all wrong. She wasn't about truth, justice and the rule of law like I had foolishly thought. When she meant balance, she meant it. Not just in the frame of the rule of law, but in true justice. The kind of justice where violence was justified to right a grievous wrong.

  "Try again," she urged me. "You have three more bullets. You can do this, Lucas. I know you can."

  I took another paper cartridge out of my belt and went through the motions again. This time, I began to feel a certain rhythm to the act of loading my pistol. Each motion flowed into the next until I aimed the pistol at the target at the end of the alleyway.

  "Relax and stay focused. The gun is not just a gun, but an extension of your own hand. You can feel it, can't you?"

  "Not really," I said. I was being honest. It still felt like a warm iron and wood contraption in my hand. It didn't feel like it was a part of me at all.

  "It comes with practice, Lucas. If you treat it like it is a part of you, and you come to know the way your weapon moves as intimately as you know the way your hands move, you
will find synchronicity there. It just comes with practice."

  I relaxed. I stayed focused. I tried to feel like the weapon was a part of my hand. I exhaled as I pulled the trigger.

  A piece of the wooden target splintered as the bullet passed through it. It nicked the side of the target's shoulder, but it may as well have been a direct hit. Empyria clasped her hands together with glee.

  "I knew you could do it! Think of every missed shot as a chance to improve. It's all training for the next battle."

  My resolve was steeled. "Let's try that again. I have two more paper cartridges, and I'm going to hit that target two more times."

  "Yes, you are. Believe in yourself!"

  I followed the motions again. Tear the cartridge. Ram the powder. Load the slug. Arm the pan. Cock the hammer. Aim. Pull the trigger.

  The bullet followed my aim true and struck the target in the meat of where its shoulder would be. The wooden splintered with a sharp crack.

  Without missing a beat, I reloaded my gun. It still took over a minute to get it right, but I was getting better.

  I cocked the hammer, aimed the pistol, then pulled the trigger.

  The bullet slammed right into the place where the target's heart would have been.

  Chapter Six

  Terms and Conditions

  Empyria clasped her hands in glee.

  "Well done! I knew you could do it!" She sounded as though she was overjoyed. During the time I had spent with her so far, she felt less like an artificial intelligence construct and more like a real human being. She had individual mannerisms, and her accent sounded flawless. I mean, I've never actually traveled to England, but she sounded legit to my American ears.

  The software that was running Crematoria Online must have been leagues ahead of anything else available on the market. It was no wonder that they were being so tight-lipped about the engine that ran the game.