“You mean one of two magical suitcase dealies? I put it by the stairs with your bag.”
CONCLUSION: BUG MAN IS AFRAID OF THE BELLS OF MIRACLES.
[Era — Descend Staircase]
[Era — Grab Suitcase]
[Era — Open Suitcase]
< ... >
[Bug Man successfully silenced!]
[For now.]
Until then, it hadn't occurred to Era what the Bells might have looked like, or what they even did. But there, as he looked over the magical device, cradled in black foam and ancient Myth Archive documentation on typewritten onionskin paper, only one thought could form in his mind:
Is that a voggin' lunchbox?
Truth be told, it was the size and shape of an old timey collectible metal lunchbox, and the iron handle at the top further reinforced that thought. The rest of it was made of solid carved wood, likely mahogany since it was deep reddish-brown.
The front face of the device was laden with a pattern of weaving curves and knots of carved wood. Through the gaps, an empty, intimidating darkness was hidden within.
Protruding from the left and right sides was a leather shoulder strap, clumsily glued to the box by Myth Archive researchers decades ago.
“So, this thing is 70 thousand Caliber?” asked Liv, leaning over Era's shoulder.
Era nearly jumped, not seeing her there at first. “Apparently. But I don't see any bells, or miracles. Maybe they're in here. You got a flashlight?”
Liv held her index finger out in front of her. “Pew pew!”
[Liv — Finger Torch]
A steady beam of white light shot out from her fingertip.
Era raised an eyebrow. “Seriously?”
“Like you wouldn't if you were a Mystic.” Liv aimed the light toward one of the holes. “Slasher, you seein' this?”
“That is...” Era rubbed his eyes, in case fatigue had already turned his senses into boiled asparagus. “That is not a small amount of bells.”
It was, in fact, a big amount. Thousands, if not hundreds of thousands. From the single ray of light, they could only see a hint of the expanse within. The opening of the box was merely a window to a nigh-infinite tunnel of metallic tubes and chimes. Though the device was only a lunchbox on the outside, the interior may very well have been the dimension of infinite bells, or at least the multiverse's largest cathedral to all things dingish, dongish, and otherwise tintinnabular.
“Bigger on the inside. Huh,” said Liv. “Must be some kind of space chime paradox.”
[Era — Glare of Judgment]
[No effect!]
“Is she making puns again?” whined Noah, stirring in his bed.
Era giggled. “Liv, what have you put that poor boy through?”
“Eternal punishment, that's what,” said Noah.
“Noah'ne could have guessed,” said Era.
“Come on, it's not such a bad thing to Liv with,” said Liv.
Era felt a faint rustling in his hair, and when he looked at the lock in question, he saw a small pink ribbon in a bow, planted by Noah in the past few seconds.
“Okay, what's this?” asked Era.
“We're gonna hunt monsters tomorrow,” said Noah. “We'll need a bow 'n' Era.”
[Steve — Pump Shotgun]
There were no puns whatsoever for the rest of the evening.
Chapter 10
Not Much, But It's Honest Work
That night, Era had a vivid, violent nightmare, in which he was captured by a cruel and despotic tribe of talking raspberries. He was flogged in the town square with a whip made of fishhooks, led to a bloodstained altar, and sacrificed to the raspberry god.
But thanks to the Bells of Miracles strapped onto Era's hip, the Bug Man wasn't involved in the nightmare. What a relaxing dream, thought Era, as he opened his eyes.
The intense wind scrambled his hair and assaulted his eyes. Below him were the narrow no passing lanes of Route 27, as the Doomwagon sped past the rolling hills and farmlands of the South Tarlynn suburbs. Era was still in the crow's nest, meaning he had fallen asleep during guard duty. Dammit. Trust me to leave us unprotected.
He hobbled down the staircase. How likely is it that we're gonna get ambushed by monsters in a Cheeseburg parking lot, anyhow? Maybe GU goons. Nah, they'd avoid Cheeseburg like the plague. “Processed meats are for beta males! Real men eat unseasoned raw steak! Food isn't supposed to be enjoyed, it's supposed to be DOMINATED!”
[Noah — Laundromancy]
A concussive wave of cleansing energy came over Era from within the Doomwagon's interior. Grime shuffled out of his skin and his clothes in a cloud of grey miscellany. His tangled mess of hair became a flowing stream of black velvet that smelled vaguely of strawberries.
Looking into the hallway, he saw Noah, panting from the aftermath of a particularly difficult-to-cast spell.
“Morning, Era!” said Noah. “You look lovely today.”
“I know, and that shouldn't be physically possible. What happened?”
“I cast Laundromancy just now. A healer has to know how to heal and purify the body and the soul, but also general personage, garments, hygiene, furniture—”
[Doomwagon — Slam on Brakes]
The tires screeched.
In less than a second, Era got a point blank view of how much Noah's laundromancy had cleaned the carpet. Liv fell from her bed and landed on top of Era, who, for the time being, was technically a form of clean bus carpeting himself.
Mischa, still in his underwear—and from the state of it, Noah's Laundromancy still had its limits—sprang from his toppled recliner. “Steve!” he shouted, Liv's silence spell long since having worn off. “Argo's sake, what did I tell you about doing that?”
A skeletal paw tapped Mischa's foot. Steve, no longer in the drivers' seat, was hogtied at Mischa's feet.
From the driver's seat, his legs hunched over the pedal stilts, came Prince Raphael. As he brushed a few CBC crumbs from his cape, he bowed to the heroes. “Now that I have your attention, Chosen Three, I do hope you didn't think I'd simply abandon you with only a list of goals, and no instructions. If I did, what kind of a mentor would I—”
[Mischa — Buckshot as a Coping Mechanism]
“Gidda Vog Outta Mah Bus!”
Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang.
Reload.
Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang.
Reload.
Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang.
[Hit 25 times!]
[0 DMG to Prince Raphael]
By the time the firestorm was over, Noah was ducking under his bunk and screaming, “Stop, he's already dead!” over and over, and Raphael held the barrel of Mischa's gun in his firm grasp.
At long last, Mischa opened his eyes. “How the hell are you alive?” he asked.
“Mr. Gulatieri, while you were asleep, I took the liberty of replacing your ammunition with blanks,” said Raphael.
“Why's that?”
“For a prank.”
“Prank? I don't see you laughin', jackass.”
“Pranks are not 'funny,' they are a means to enforce the development of mature character and to establish a sense of social hierarchy. That's why they're called 'practical' jokes. Now, are you going to behave, or are you going to fail at assassinating the Prince of Celsior 25 more times?”
The gun relaxed in Mischa's grip. He looked over the Prince from top to bottom, his eyes wide in realization. “You're one of the Koscheis?”
“I am Prince Raphael Koschei, yes.”
Mischa dropped his gun and threw his hands out to the side. “Damn...I had no idea. I'm so sorry, sir.”
“Quite all right.”
“I mean, I thought you were only stealin' my bus. If I woulda known you were the Prince�
�”
“Simple misunderstanding. Apologies aren't necessary.”
“—I'd never shoot ya. I wouldn't dream of shootin' ya. No, if I knew you were a Koschei—”
“Knock it off, Dad,” said Era. Aw geez. Here we go.
Ignoring Era, Mischa grabbed a half empty bottle of whiskey. “ —I woulda gouged your eyes out first!” He broke the bottle against the edge of the fridge, splattering brown liquor all over the freshly cleaned carpet, and charged for Raphael's face with the broken end.
[Mischa — Attack]
Raphael rolled his allegedly soon-to-be-gouged eyes, and pulled a silver dart pistol out from under his cape.
[Interrupted!]
[Raphael — Hypno Tranq]
[Mischa fell asleep!]
Mischa's war cry became a war moan, then a peace snore as he fell back onto the couch, with a tiny aluminum ampule on a needle sticking out from his chest hair like a wart.
“Holy crap,” said Liv. “And I thought I was touchy.”
“You still are,” said Raphael.
[Liv — Flip Off]
“Sorry about this, Your Excellency,” said Era. “My dad lost everything in the Fall of Rosencrace.”
“And how, exactly, does that excuse this outburst of his?” asked Raphael.
“I'm not 'excusing' anything. Just giving you some insight into why he's so anti-Koschei.”
Raphael sighed. “That's fair, I suppose. Fortunately, I can reassure you of this much: I'm aware that my father is homicidally insane—” Hey, we have something in common! “ —and I have no intention of following his example of succumbing to Lich Syndrome and losing sight of House Koschei's dedication to the preservation of life and freedom. So, you'd do well to bear in mind that I'm not my father, and to leave your grudges at the door. Are we clear?”
“All right, cool,” said Era. No promises.
Kneeling next to the recliner, Raphael untied Steve's twine restraints. “Now then, Erasmus,” he said. “Please put some clothes on your father so that I can digest my breakfast without interruption. Then, we'll meet at Skinny Pete’s Pick Your Own Soybean Farm directly out—”
[Steve — Bite]
“—side, in fifteen minutes, for your team's introductory seminar. Bring your weapons and equipment.” Grumbling, he shook Steve's skull off his right index finger and exited the bus.
Liv caught the flying monkey skull before it shattered against the window and held it in her hand. “All the work and no respect, huh?” she asked, and gave Steve a little kiss on the forehead. Steve's head rocked from side to side in approval.
“Well, hot damn, it's Prince Raphael himself!” said the skinny fellow, presumably named Pete, at the front counter of the entry shed to the bean field. “What can I do you for?”
“I need to use your farm for about three hours,” said Raphael.
“Do you, now? What's in it for me?”
“I, Prince Raphael of Celsior, will have been standing on your farm for about three hours.”
“Fair enough. Come on in!”
Raphael turned to the three heroes behind him. “Shall we, then?”
They entered the field at the back of the shed, under a wooden arch that read “Soytastic Times Are Here Again!”
The sound of a cocking shotgun came from behind.
“Now just hold on a sec!” said Pete.
Era rolled his eyes. Oh, great. Lemme guess. “Your kind ain't welcome here, Rosie.”
“Your kind ain't welcome here, kid-chomper!”
?
“Excuse you and your soon-to-be-disembodied spine?” said Liv.
“You heard me right, kid-chomper. I don't want no Mystics messin' around with my soybeans, turnin' 'em into witch poison. Now get outta my field!”
Liv growled under her breath, clenching her fists.
She's holding back? Must be because Raphael's here. Otherwise, that guy'd be dead by now.
[Raphael — Atomic Blackmail]
“Have you ever noticed,” said Raphael aloud —very aloud —“that for a soybean farm, there seems to be a distinct lack of soybean plants here?”
The farmer's face turned ghostly white.
“And while I understand the appeal for apples and blueberries,” continued Raphael, “who in their right mind would go and 'pick their own', as it were, soybeans? I can't say I see the appeal in a simple bean for recreational harvesting. That's less ‘Mommy, let's stop here and pick stuff’ fare and more ‘less than minimum wage laborer’ work, if you ask me.”
Even whiter.
“Could it be—and this is just a theory that I'm throwing to the wind, merely to see if it flies—that this isn't a soybean farm at all, but a front for a black-market arms dealership in your—”
“Name your price,” said Pete.
“Apologize to the Mystic, and I'll consider keeping my silence.”
Ha! Straight out of Lutero Gualtieri's playbook. Even if he is a Koschei, this Raphael guy is growing on me.
“R-really sorry, ma'am. I know you ain't really...chompin' kids or whatever.”
“Damn right you are, Vog for brains!” said Liv. “Call me a kid-chomper one more time, and I'll saw your nose off, stitch an extra-long argyle sock in its place, and everyone's gonna know you as 'Socky the Mystic Hatin' Elephant'! Then, you'll die of gangrene, because I didn't sterilize any of my equip—”
“That's quite enough, Liv,” said Raphael. “Now do run along, 'Socky.' We're about to start training.”
Skinny Pete skulked back into his barn, mumbling something to the degree of, “Maybe I wanna be an elephant...”
Indeed, the “soybean farm” was little more than an open field strewn with knee high weeds, with the barn and farmhouse long since behind the heroes as they trudged to the middle, led by the Prince.
The soil was damp under Era's foot; he swore he could even feel the dampness under his prosthesis. The air was crisp with a late spring breeze, and a thin layer of clouds had just rolled in from the North. Stray too far from here, it's probably mud all the way down.
Era took in a long breath through his nose, and grinned from ear to ear. I can still smell the rain.
Raphael came to a sudden stop, and Era nearly bumped into him.
“Lesson One,” said Raphael. “You will remain at this farm for three weeks.”
Era cocked an eyebrow. “Pretty sure you said three hours,” he said, and quickly turned to Noah “Wait, was he lying?”
“I did not lie; I changed my mind.”
“Ah. So, what do we do here?”
“You stay,” said Raphael.
“Anything else?”
“In addition, you are also not to leave.”
“I'm just gonna assume there's some secret lesson you're gonna put us through.”
“You may assume that, Erasmus, so long as it does not interfere with your remaining here. Any other questions?”
“Like hell I'm gonna stay!” Liv interjected. “Lord Monty and his goons could be out there blowing up another hospital, and we're the only ones legally allowed to stop him. Every minute we sit here mowing Skinny Pete's lawn, innocent people could die.”
“I do not recall asking you to mow his lawn. Only to stay here—”
“Figure of speech, also, that's not the point!”
“Do you dislike being on this farm, my dear?”
“Do not call me that.”
“Would you prefer kid-chomper?”
“How about my name?”
“Miss Olivia-Mae Sandrine Matapang.”
Liv cringed at the patronizing tone of her full legal name, but kept silent, figuring that asking to be treated with respect would only make the prince whinier.
“You are here because you don't want to be here. None of you have the healthy, mature attitude to properly face the GU, and the only cure for that is character building isolation in a dangerous environment.”
“How dangerous are we talking about?” asked Era.
[Raphael — Te
leport Self]
And Raphael was gone.
Not that knowing would have been much consolation to Liv, or the other two for that matter, but the more relevant reason behind Raphael's plan was that they needed to reach level 30. Level 30 required experience points. Experience points required—
“Braindeer!” screamed Noah, pointing to the horizon.
[Bestiary: Braindeer]
[Type: Beast, Psychic]
[Weaknesses: Physical attacks]
[HP: 250]
[Description: The braindeer, also known as “exactly what it says on the tin,” is a purple stag connected to a floating, oversized human brain through wire-like veins in its antlers. Its psychokinetic attacks and resistance to magic can quickly overpower lower level adventurers. Though they're relatively weak, they hunt in herds of several hundred.]
Specifically, a herd of at least 500 wild braindeer, each one foaming at the mouth for human flesh. Their brains bobbed from their antlers up and down as the deer bounded toward the farm in a sea of purple and green fur.
And the leader of this stampede was only ten meters away.
Era drew his sword. Okay, Era my boy, don't panic. These guys can't fly, as far as we know. We need to get to higher ground—
Liv interrupted with her own plan: “I'mma mow the VOG outta this lawn!”
[Liv — Tornainbow]
Seriously?
Channeling the anger she felt towards Raphael earlier, Liv let loose eight streams of light from her fingertips that converged into a five meter high swirling vortex of wind, lightning, smoke, and death in front of the party.
Neverstone: A LitRPG Adventure (The Mad Elf Book 1) Page 13
