Neverstone: A LitRPG Adventure (The Mad Elf Book 1)

by Ned Caratacus

  In the blue circle, another GU thug—a swordsman, 19, buzzcut, muscle-bound—was holding an over-stylized samurai sword, a replica from some Northeastern Phiscaean anime, the name of which escaped Era. Something about cats and butts.

  In the red circle was a dwarf swordswoman, about 29 years old, with a full head of red-brown war braids. In her hands…Holy crap, is that a pouncer? Never seen one of those up close. Brutal…A pouncer was a traditional Dwarven two-handed scimitar, which was, indeed, death metal as hell.

  The nasally voice of the referee came over the loudspeakers: “Red Circle: Leona, Blue Circle: Orson. Stakes level: Death. Gods protect you and...y'know.”

  The buzzer sounded, and Blue Circle Guy, presumably Orson, lunged forth with his katana. “Die for me, dwarf!”

  [Warrior Orson — Attack]

  [35 DMG to Leona]

  The blade passed through Red Circle Woman’s, presumably Leona’s, chest with a glowing white streak of light. Leona winced as a red flicker of the number 35 appeared over her head.

  Orson readied a second strike, but Leona’s pouncer caught the blade. With a wide circular swing, Leona threw Orson's sword hand to the side and gave him three quick whacks across the face, leaving white slash trails.

  [Leona — Counter]

  [144 DMG to Warrior Orson]

  With that, Orson was on the floor, whimpering, with only 14 HP left.

  Leona stood above him, her sword lowered. “You need to yield,” she said. “I don't want to kill you if I don't have to.”

  Orson gestured to his fellow GU soldiers. “They'll honor-kill me if I surrender. I'll die either way.”

  Leona sighed. “Then they're a bunch of morons.”

  “Yeah. Just...get it over with, but use a really cool attack when you do it, okay?”

  Gripping her pouncer with both hands, Leona grunted in affirmation.

  For a few seconds, her blade quivered, glowing with an unnatural light that darkened the rest of the room. She plunged the front half of the sword into Orson's chest, and for an instant, the rest of the blade took the light and color of a midday sun, forcing the spectators to turn away.

  [Leona — Sun God's Strike]

  [572 DMG to Warrior Orson]

  [Warrior Orson was slain!]

  A white damage mark spread out from Orson's chest until it consumed his whole body. He scattered into glowing white pixels, which faded away a few seconds later.

  Leona pulled her pouncer from the mark it had made in the floor and bowed to her slain opponent. “May the light of Holy Rafeth guide you home.”

  [Victory!]

  [Gained 4044 exp & 500 G]

  But where was the blood? The torn clothes, broken armor, and the corpse?

  Had this been surgery, running with scissors, or some other civilian nonsense, the fighters' blood would have been all over the walls and floors, and poor Orson's body would have needed to be zipped up in a bag for his next of kin to bury. But since both of their weapons were drawn, this was combat, and because the Gods of Luminar wanted to keep the universe rated T for Teen, combat mode had a different set of physics. And sure, a lot of damage at once could lead to some lasting cuts, bruises, and disheveled clothes, but not nearly as much as a nice and peaceful car crash.

  The official scientific explanation for this phenomenon among scholars in Aries was “war molecules,” because of course it would be.

  Leona picked up the prize of her fight, Orson's katana—

  [Acquired Nekokiri Replica!]

  —and hastily stuffed it in her messenger bag. The handful of spectators—Orson's friends in the GU—hurled accusations of cheating at her as she stepped outside the mesh gate.

  Sitting on the bench at the sidelines, Era took a good look at the pouncer again as it sat on a magnetic hilt-stone on Leona’s back. Not bad at all. Been a while since I've seen an honest-to-Gods duel. Kinda missed being in those myself. How long has it been since the last one? Five years? Probably at the academy, before it became an academy-sized crater.

  The stump of Era's right leg began to sting and seize up at the thought.

  Not now. Gods' sake, not now. Deep breaths, deep—

  “You there,” said Leona.

  Just before an intrusive memory could sneak in before the duel—thanks, any distraction is a welcome one from that garbage—Era was startled by the dwarf sitting next to him. She was taking a long drink of a healing potion.

  “Oh, hey,” said Era.

  “I couldn't help but notice that symbol on your Schiavona's pommel. What combat school is that from?”

  THANK YOU. See, Rimsky?! It's not a voggin' rapier.

  “This? Well. Wasn't a combat school so much as the fencing club at a regular ol'fashioned boarding school: Mt. Colibri Academy Hummingbirds.”

  The name of the school triggered a glimmer of curiosity in Leona's eyes. “Can you really lift swords with your mind?”

  Oh no. She thinks I'm cool. Prepare to be disappointed.

  Truth be told, Mt. Colibri had made a name for itself as the go-to place to learn psychokinetic fencing, but whether Era had earned the blade or simply looted it from a fencer's corpse remained yet to be proven.

  From the loudspeakers came the voice of the same jaded referee: “Next up, Rimsky vs. Erasmus.”

  Era smirked. “Guess you're about to find out.”

  He stood up and patted the basket hilt of his sword for good luck. As the new combatants entered the cage, Rimsky was stopped by another GU goon.

  “Cancel the fight,” the goon said. “Now.”

  “Vog off! If I don't kill this Rosie by the end of the day, I'm finished.”

  “Orson was just murdered by that cheating dwarf, and all you care about is your quota? Avenging his death comes first.”

  “Orson was weak, and death is for the weak. He doesn't deserve our sympathy.”

  “Says the guy that couldn't outdrink him three times in a—”

  [Centurion Gaius — Shut Up Shot]

  A shot rang out from the corner. A tall, clean-shaven brute in the brightest and bluest GU uniform of the bunch—“Centurion Gaius Thatcher” on his nametag—silenced the room as he shot into the air with a cheap revolver.

  “Please do not shoot the ceiling,” said the ref.

  “A man shoots where he pleases,” said Gaius. He turned to Rimsky and his rival. “And we are men here, aren’t we? Not schoolgirls. So, quit your bickering; we'll let Rimsky kill the Rosie first. Shouldn't take long. I mean, look at him. One of his feet is already in the casket.”

  Era drew in a deep breath as he passed them both and took his place in the red circle. Teamwork issues, much? On the plus side, if they do kill me here, they'll kill each other at some point. I'll have my revenge—sweet, indirect, coincidental revenge.

  Rimsky stood in the blue circle and strapped a pair of mythril gauntlets onto his fists. They weren't technically supposed to be equipped as weapons, but a significant history of broken jaws would indicate he had a good thing going there.

  [Boss Battle!]

  [WARRIOR RIMSKY ~Brawler, Fanatic, Jerkass~]

  [Bestiary: Warrior Rimsky]

  [Type: Human, Brawler]

  [Weaknesses: Black magic]

  [HP: 740]

  [Description: Rimsky Naismith — 173 pounds of pent-up rage from whatever grudges he had in high school against women and elves. What they were, he can't really remember. Either way, he signed up with the GU from an application link on an anime message board, and has been hooked on their testosterone-fueled ideology ever since. Oh, and he likes punching people.]

  I could really use a nap right now. Era bowed to his opponent. He drew his Schiavona just as the buzzer sounded...

  ...and dropped it five feet ahead of him. “Well, crap.”

  More accurately, he intentionally dropped it five feet ahead of him.

  [Name The 1,042Nd Dark Lord:]

  [M O N T Y _ _]

  “For Lord Monty!” screamed Rimsky.

&nb
sp; [Warrior Rimsky — Shotgun Fist]

  [CRITICAL HIT!]

  [273 DMG to Era]

  As soon as Rimsky's punch connected with Era's chest, a burst of glowing energy shot from Rimsky's glove. Era wasn't sure whether this energy was a martial artist's ki, a hidden gadget in his glove, or magic. Questions for later.

  On a slightly related note, Era was belly-up on the floor and about to die.

  A numb heat filled his chest as he tried to regain his breath. Rimsky towered above, his jackboot ready to crush Era's skull.

  Gotcha.

  Concentrating on the Schiavona behind his enemy, Era flicked his wrist upward.

  [Era — Backbiter]

  [132 DMG to Warrior Rimsky — Era absorbed 34 HP!]

  Rimsky yelped and bent backwards as a blast of white pixels shot from his back. Era's sword, glowing green from the telekinesis, stuck out from between his shoulder blades in a stain of white-hot war molecules.

  Era staggered back up, the stolen hit points more than welcome as they flowed into his body. With another flick of his fingers, his sword flew back into his grip.

  And that, Rimsky, is how we do it at Mt. Co—

  [Warrior Rimsky — Shotgun Fist]

  SERIOUSLY‽

  Era hopped to the right just before Rimsky's blow connected.

  [Miss!]

  “Hold still!” shouted Rimsky.

  Holding his sword out in front, Era shot Rimsky a confused glance.

  [Era — Jimmy Rustler]

  “Okay, but real talk,” said Era. “When has saying 'hold still' to a guy you're currently trying to murder ever resulted in a definitive still-holding? Are you sure you're not new to this?”

  “I said hold still!”

  [Taunt failed —enemy jimmies unrustled.]

  As Rimsky drew back his fist, Era flicked his hand, lifting his sword parallel to the ground.

  [Era — Trap Strike]

  [Warrior Rimsky — Shotgun Fist]

  As Rimsky aimed his punch for Era's face, Era aimed the tip of his sword toward the fist.

  [23 DMG to Era]

  [474 DMG to Warrior Rimsky]

  Rimsky let out a screech as a streak of white pixels made its way down his arm—which had been skewered lengthwise by Era's sword. His teammates cringed from the sidelines.

  (White-pixel censorship truly was the greatest gift of the Gods.)

  Era, meanwhile, found himself on the floor once again, gasping for breath.

  Eight feet away, Gaius, meanwhile, heard a sound on his phone...

  [1 new text message (NUMBER NOT FOUND)]

  Centurion Gaius, come in.

  New phone who dis

  At least pretend you know how to spell, you godsdamn mouth breather.

  THIS IS A NEW PHONE. MY OLD CONTACTS WERE WIPED WHEN I DROPPED MY OLD PHONE IN THE TOILET. WHO IS THIS?

  Voggin grammar orc

  Let's try this again.

  “The wolf mourns not the rabbit...”

  oh vog

  uhhhh

  “he devours”

  oh Gods

  sorry Lord Monty. OMG I wasn't trying to mess with you or nothin'. OMG sorry, sorry.

  “Messing with me” I can understand, even put up with.

  But for apologizing like some kind of scared little toddler, I'm demoting you to Warrior.

  If you're that stoked to lick the dirt off my boots, we could always just cut the middleman and call you a slave.

  understood, it will not happen again

  But that's not why I'm contacting you.

  I'm going full Dark Lord tomorrow, video announcements and fireworks and everything, so we can skip the “staying within the law” crap.

  Where are you now?

  on a train

  we pulled out of Nargeelie a while ago

  And what are you doing?

  overseeing the kill quota matches in the dueling car

  Real cute.

  The dueling car jobs are cancelled. You now have permission to start ACTUALLY doing some damage.

  like how?

  Oh, for the love of

  “BREAKING NEWS! Former Chosen Hero Monostatos Jones is the new Dark Lord! And this is his extra-special henchman Gaius, a useless preteen girl who needs his dainty little hand held the whole time!”

  what do you mean tho

  BLOW UP SOME CIVILIANS OR SOMETHING

  I'M NOT A VOGGIN TUTORIAL LEVEL

  like the dueling car staff or ???

  YES, GREAT.

  DON'T CARE.

  understood blowing up all the things thanks Lord Monty

  NO YOU'RE NOT.

  so like don't blow it up now??

  YOU'RE STILL TEXTING ME.

  FOLLOW. MY. ORDERS.

  STOP TEXTING.

  START.

  KILLING.

  K THANKS BYE

  The buzzer sounded once more, and the door to the dueling area opened.

  Era and Rimsky lay on the floor, both of them with under 10 HP left. Era's sword floated about in the air lazily, and Rimsky pawed at it like a sleepy cat.

  “Time's up,” said the referee. “Remaining HP totals: Rimsky, Blue Circle, 4. Erasmus, Red Circle, 6. Red Circle wins.”

  Era closed his eyes. Thank Argo. And this way, I don't even have to kill him.

  [Victory!]

  [Gained 4,726 exp and 500 G]

  [Era grew to level 8!]

  [HP: 320 MP: 50]

  As Rimsky crawled back to the gate to take a healing potion, Era grabbed his sword and used it as a makeshift cane to pry himself from the ground. Sure, leveling up restored him to full health and MP, but there wasn't a healing potion on the planet that could keep a Rosencracian war refugee from feeling tired.

  Leona, the dwarf from the earlier match, barged through the gate and helped him up. “That was wicked!” she said. “I really thought psychic fencing was just a ghost story 'till now.”

  “Thanks,” said Era. I know you mean well, and I appreciate it, but please stop talking, I am so tired, ye Gods.

  Eight feet away, the celebration was cut short with another bullet to the ceiling.

  [Warrior Gaius — Rallying Shot]

  “The wolf mourns not the rabbit!” shouted Gaius.

  And with those six words, the dueling car descended into an all-out brawl. Three GU goons pounced on Leona. Once he finished drinking the potion, Rimsky leaped over the receptionist's counter and strangled the referee. Others broke a window with a fire extinguisher and threw a screaming security guard into the forest.

  Era stood and watched.

  He would have helped, but the poor boy's brain was running on 1/16th of a tank of fuel, thanks to sleep deprivation and barely surviving a duel with a racist thug. Era couldn't even process that anything unusual had happened until Rimsky stood directly in front of him, pointing a machete at his face.

  Something was off about the machete—the blade had a small iron orb, no bigger than a ping pong ball, crudely duct-taped to the side.

  “That's pretty awful blade discipline, but okay,” said Era. Those are gonna be my last words, aren't they?

  The iron orb on the sword began to shine with yellow light.

  [Warrior Rimsky — Neverstone Discharge]

  There was a blinding flash.

  [CRITICAL HIT!]

  [73,248 DMG — Era absorbed for HP!]

  Wait, wha –

  [The party has fallen...]

  Chapter 2

  The Same Place at the Same Time

  < A cold, unfinished scream am I >

  < A bitter could-have-been >

  < I'll never live, I'll never die >

  < Until you let me—>

  Era woke up with a start from one of the least pleasant nightmares he had in at least a week. The worst part about it was that he couldn't remember what happened in it, or what had scared him. Then, at least, it might be pretty cool in retrospect, right? Come on, Era, think...

  Thinking was useless.

 
; Dammit. Now, where am I?

  A large, slow river, about 500 feet in width, trickled to his left. Clear and clean water, but the jet black sand and mud at the bottom gave it the appearance of an oil slick at a passing glance. He rose from cold dirt on the riverbank to find himself surrounded by bushes, sand, cattails, and gigantic redwood trees.

  Ramblind Forest, banks of the River Galga. Got it. But I was on the train...

  He patted his hands over his body to check for his belongings.

  Phone, check. Wallet? Check. Headphones? Check. Ornithomancer's whistle? Check. Bag? Check. Sword? No. No sword?! Scabbard? Check. Thank Gods. I can still do this...

  [Era — Blade Recall]

  He snapped his fingers, sending a spark of green energy from his hand. His Schiavona, wherever it was, would fly back into its scabbard in a few seconds and/or minutes.

  The sound of a helicopter and a few firefighter and police sirens blared out from the distance. Overhead, the great white trestles of the St. Darius railroad held the track far above the river. Parts of the track were burnt. The hum of a fire crew’s helicopters carried on further down the road, and thin plumes of black smoke rose in the sky.