Reincarnation Trials: A LitRPG Apocalypse (Systems of Salvation Book 1)

by Han Yang

  “They did. It was horrible.”

  He nodded and said, “The town will certainly be more receptive if this is the route you go.”

  I could feel a quest prompt hitting my linker, telling me I had a decision to make. While I wanted to see what the options and rewards were, there wasn’t a pause button. I simply had to make a decision.

  I smiled and said, “Ya, let’s do that. It’ll help my standing once the word gets out, and I have nowhere else to go in the meantime. Do I need to tell anyone about how I watched their kin get ripped to pieces?”

  The burly man sadly shook his head. “I don’t see the point of reliving the events. Here’s your bank token, here’s your key to your room, and Mrs. Kimi, my sister, Keb’s Ma, runs this saloon. She’ll be the one you owe crowns to going forward.

  “Assuming you stay here. As to what you hauled in with ya, we liquidated everything at a fair price,” Sheriff Barno said, and Keb eyed him with scorn. “Fine, cheap. We didn’t know if the big-city gypsy-tonic would save ya. If it didn’t, you were as good as dead. Some folks might sell you your stuff back but expect to pay more.”

  “I only need some guns, a horse, a carriage, and a purpose,” I said.

  “You need to see the mayor about the last two, but I got this Uncle Barno. I’ll show him around,” Keb announced.

  “Glad you’re doing well, Mr. Karo,” Sheriff Barno said.

  “Keb, I’ll meet you downstairs,” I ordered, and he nodded.

  When the door closed, I noticed my sailors outfit hung on a hanger. The sweat stains and muck that coated it when I had passed out were gone, meaning they had been cleaned. I flung the covers back, seeing my ribs and arm without any sign of damage.

  “Well, I just might have to keep killing narocks if they do wonders for healing,” I said to myself.

  Before I left the bed, I tapped my linker.

  Main Menu:

  Stats

  Inventory

  Quests

  Options

  Stats selected.

  Name: Theodore Karo

  Race: Human

  Age: 21

  Strength: 22

  Fitness: 19

  Aim: 12

  Survival Skills: 6

  Melee Combat: Novice.

  Weapon Combat: Novice.

  Western Proficiency: 9/10

  Health: 10/10

  Thirst: 8/10

  Hunger: 2/10

  Weapon Rating: Basic

  Gear Rating: Basic

  Points: 6558

  Ranking: 307th out of 121,007

  Inventory Selected:

  .31 caliber short barrel revolver

  .22 repeating carbine

  Basic outfit.

  1706 Crowns.

  93 Silvers

  89 Chips

  2 keys

  Quests selected. Completed Quests Selected.

  Quest: Safely convert or store all your gains into a secure facility. - Completed

  Reward: Minimum 1 point, Maximum 2500 points assuming everything is locked away safely without loss or theft. - 1200 Points awarded

  Quest: Travel to Laro. Warning this town is inside the invasion ring.

  Reward: 300 points. - 150 points awarded.

  Quest: Hoard or distribute your narock baby kills that were birthed on the shore.

  Reward A - Select Yes to give away the stillborns: Earn favor that increases over three days. Rates will be reduced, hosts more receptive, and a bonus to quest rewards will be given.

  Reward B - Select No to sell the stillborns: Earn 300 Crowns.

  I saw a ton of other quests completed that ranged from receiving healing to paying a tab to even just living each day. None of my hard work had amounted to a single death yet, and that was very telling.

  Almost as telling as my reward was about 40% from the maximum I could have earned.

  “They fleeced me, and I lost points for either arriving unconscious, or losing Jenny. Well, not much I can do about it,” I grumbled, exiting the bed.

  After quickly getting dressed, I hung the repeater back on the hook. I didn’t really need my first impression with the town to be one geared for war. I did find it a bit odd they had left my weapons but sold my horse. I guess Binky was the only horse I’d grown attached to.

  I bet the ornery bastard had already escaped too. Maybe Binky wasn’t what I wanted. A horse that could still kick a man after taking two to the chest seemed to have merit. Binky ran from a fight, nipped at a hand trying to control him, and hated humans.

  The town probably had other horses for sale, and I’d add it to my to-do list. My mind wandered to the sudden windfall of coins I had.

  The way I understood inventory was that when you died, you lost it. That meant a rich man should die poor, and I guess that made a whole lot of sense. It was time to spend some money, or crowns in this case.

  Having a purpose, I laced up my boots and headed downstairs.

  I smelled lovely, even sticking my nose in my armpit as I clomped down the stairs. The outfit smelled of roses and my skin of lavender.

  When I entered the barroom floor, the unwashed scent of nasty sweat-soaked clothing assaulted my nose. I tried my best to hide my gag reflex and wrinkled nose by pretending I had an itchy cheek.

  A pianist stroked keys to a lovely melody, maids darted between packed tables, and three bartenders worked the bar. On the back wall, a card game garnered the interest of a few players and a dozen observers.

  The packed venue clearly was a fire hazard, not that anyone cared. A few folks glanced up, looking at me funnily. I guess I had foreign traits, making me stick out from the all-white town.

  A waving Keb caught my attention by the door. I dodged a waitress, avoided a collision with a wandering child, and felt my boot want to stick to the floor with each step. A bouncer opened the door for us, and I stepped out to see an evening sun edging toward the horizon.

  The din of the bar died off while I inspected the town from the middle of the road. The first thing I noticed was that a wall surrounded the entire town. Guards played cards while a few roamed the parapet.

  A single sniper stood in a tower that rose from the top of a church. On each of the sides, spy glasses rested for them to inspect the flat terrain at a distance.

  Along this street, all the businesses were neatly lined up, each having an awning to provide shade and shelter from rain.

  A brothel rested across the road. I knew it was one because of the scantily clad gals and guys dangling legs from balconies. Beside the nice balconies, a small casino wafted out cigar smoke. The clacking of gambling chips spilled onto the street.

  A second bar butted up against Beer Heavenly, the joint we had exited. A wagon shop, haircutter, carpenter, smith, general goods for food, a general merchant, a gunsmith, a bank, and other such shops continued on down the line.

  The big, square-shaped city expanded off this street. Alleyways led to residences; nothing rose higher than three stories tall. I’d need to explore that section of town to see it better, but right away Laro was far better than Lornsto.

  “Where to?” Keb asked.

  “I’m going to ask some questions. You just pretend I hit my head real hard.”

  “Well, ya did.”

  “Keb, when will it get cool?”

  “Uh, Sir? When the sun goes down.”

  He gave me a crazy stare while opening the door into the store.

  “I mean for winter.”

  “Oh, a few moon cycles at least. The big heat is still yet to come. The Keeton River, the one you fought the monster on, well, it normally is half that level come peak heats,” Keb said, and I deflated.

  I stepped off toward the bank. “All that loot was worth more than this token is going to say. Cheap is an understatement. I don’t want any trouble, but I’m not sure I want to stay in a town like this. You saved me after you robbed me.”

  “You got all that stuff from other folks,” Keb rightly countered. “And you leaving is not real
ly up to you with the invasion ongoing.”

  “True, true. I’m sounding ungrateful. I need gear, better weapons, and a fine stallion. If I can afford it, I also need a wagon I can camp in,” I said.

  “Camp? Where? Travel outside the walls?” Keb asked in dismay.

  I shrugged. “I like to have options.”

  “The beasts have moved in. Anyone caught outside the walls isn’t living very long,” Keb said.

  “Ah, excellent. I need to do some killing. A man can always use more crowns,” I said with a smirk.

  “Ain’t that the truth.”

  We stepped over the clean road; the cobbled stones were neatly connected to provide a smooth surface. I could tell the townsfolk of Laro took pride in their home, giving me a smidge of insight that they might be willing to fight for it.

  We reached the bank, and a burly guard extended a hand to Keb and I. I produced my bank token, was ushered inside, and an hour later hauled out a big sack of coins. A crown was a golden coin with a brass crown stamped into it. The heft it held spoke of real metal, and the sack of them would be too much to carry around for long.

  Thankfully, I had some shopping to do because this sack was less than ideal. I marched right over to the general merchant shop.

  I knew going to the biggest one meant higher prices, but I didn’t want to waste time.

  The door rang a chime upon our entry, alerting a shopkeeper who stared down at a notebook atop a counter.

  “Welcome to Laro’s Outfitters. I’m Zed. Best shop in town. Mind you, the mayor said no selling stuff to desperate folk who are trying to run,” Zed said.

  I absorbed the chaotic shop, not able to tell any theme to the madness. The front aisle had boots, pillows, and whistles. The gun rack on the right wall had rifles, oars, and those torches you stuck in the ground to keep bugs away.

  “Where the hell am I?” I blurted.

  “Start with what ya need,” Zed said.

  “I need summer gear that has some protection. Although, my research into this region told me to just avoid bullets instead of trying to protect against them,” I said.

  “Well, as a general rule that is a good one to follow. I have jackets with metal sewn in. A .46 punched clean through it. It’s mostly fixed now and should stop smaller bullets, but you never know with gamblers. You’d die from the heat, but who cares if you just wear it at the card tables,” Zed said.

  Keb asked for the sack of coins, and I hesitantly gave them to him.

  “He won’t rob you,” Zed said while Keb headed to a bench, sitting down while I shopped.

  “Am I paying you?” I asked.

  “Already have, Master Theo. I have four more days of local service,” Keb said. “Nothing too dangerous. Ma promised.”

  Zed snapped for my attention. “Ignore the hired help. Do you want to risk the heat or the bullets?”

  I came to a decision. “If I’m destined to die in a hail of bullets, I might as well die in something comfortable and refined. The fewer layers the better. The higher the quality, the more I approve. Nothing with rips in it like this shirt on the arm. Oh, and at least a few pants for walking through brush.”

  He led me down an aisle, sizing me up with a series of long-sleeved shirts. The odd style didn’t have collars and still held buttons down the middle. He picked out four, then four vests with pockets down the front and inside. He flung a few hats toward a counter, along with a half dozen scarfs and a bag.

  None of it landed on the counter. All of it scattered to the point it lifted dust off the floor that had probably never seen a broom. He led me to tan pants made of loose fabric.

  “The bottoms are two crowns for two, two crowns for an adventuring set. The town ones will rip on exposed nails, wood, twigs, and such, but me oh my, do they breathe. Use the drawstrings to keep them from falling, and I’ll toss in a set of suspenders as well. I see your pistol is a relic. You wanna upgrade?”

  “It depends. How much were the outfits?” I asked.

  “Ten crowns, and only that much because it's all fancy clothes. Mind you, we may all die in the coming weeks, so I’m feeling generous on my pricing. The scouts are saying there’s hundreds of these monsters hitting every outpost and isolated farm between here and the ocean,” Zed said.

  “And a horse?” I asked.

  “Prices vary drastically. A decent mare, with nothing special about her, will be thirty to fifty crowns. We just so happened to get a large influx of horses recently.” He snickered at his joke. “But yeah, a nice stallion can set you back. Want my advice? Spend on the guns and then the horse.

  “You want a .44 with a longer barrel. Shoot a demon spawn, and it’ll still knock them over, but the bonus is you can hit them from a distance. Follow me,” he said. “Do you know the difference between single action and double?”

  If this was a test, I passed when I said, “Yes. Double I can cock the hammer back and drop it with a single pull of the trigger. A single action, means the trigger only drops the hammer when I squeeze.”

  He accepted this as we shifted to a random aisle, and he opened a kid’s trunk that I expected to have toys.

  Inside rested at least a hundred revolvers. “These are the cheap ones.” He opened a camping bag. “Wrong one. Ah, here it is. These are the expensive ones.”

  He offered me the bag and I peered in. His method was pure madness. I couldn’t tell the difference between any of these. It was clear, he was a volume dealer.

  “How much?”

  “This bag is fifty crowns. I got some collector pairs under my bed. They’re .45s, though, but still have a nice barrel to them. Double action and the cylinder holds eight. A husband and wife hawked them before leaving town some years back. They have silver and gold handles with either dragons or unicorns.” He saw me grin. “Three hundred for the pair, five hundred for both sets.”

  “Sold, and I’ll split the pair for now, but I want the second set to sell for two hundred if I buy it,” I said.

  He bobbed his head, mulling over the option before nodding in agreement.

  “How much does he have, Keb?” Zed hollered.

  “More than this store’s worth,” Keb said in a snarky way.

  “Ya shit, but fair. Go gander at the rifles that are about five hundred. The best ones are behind my counter lying on the ground,” Zed said.

  I didn’t even question this comment. Instead, I walked around the counter while Zed vanished in a back room. I had the repeater already. I wanted something that could reach out and -

  I picked up a six-foot rifle with a rudimentary long scope on the top. The thing looked like it’d snap my collar bone. Yeah, the last owner managed to attach a small pillow for where the shoulder connected to the buttstock.

  The bolt action shined as if cleaned recently. Silver plates near the trigger well displayed bison engraved in them. The buttstock was a cherry redwood, and the long barrel extended further than I liked.

  Keb shouted, “It needs custom ammo, and Marvin ain't cheap.”

  I ignored the lad, getting a feel for the weapon. On a hunch, I slid back the lever a smidge, seeing the rifle was loaded with a round.

  “Good thing I didn’t squeeze the trigger,” I muttered.

  “Ah, Henry’s rifle. He died in a draw over someone calling him a cheater. Fact was, it was his wife who set it all up to have him out of the picture. She was the real cheater, but I bought that rifle for a smidge of its worth,” Zed said with a grin. “Ammo’s tough to find for a caliber that size - .50 if I remember right, yeah. Henry served in the Horma War, and the bolt action was standard issue for long range shooters.”

  “This thing seems great for shooting narocks,” I said in dismay.

  “Most want lever action. The thought process is the more bullets in the air, the better your chances. Henry’s rifle is for a professional soldier, which we don’t have. And no one wants it after they pay to test it.”

  “Too much kick?” I asked.

  “That and its burdenso
me to carry. But that was before the invasion. You're a young, stout fella too, you can take the punishment if I were to guess. Four hundred for the rifle, three hundred for the dragons, and I’ll toss the clothes in for free,” Zed said.

  “Can you handle this Marvin fellow to get more ammo?” I asked.

  “Yeah, I can do that. Seven twenty, and you’ll have five hundred rounds,” Zed said.

  Keb shot him a gaze, and I picked up on it. “Fine, fine. A thousand rounds. It came with a load pre-made. The dragons take any .45. You want a few thousand of those?”

  “And holsters.”

  “Son, these come with custom hip holsters. They’re one of a kind, but in a pair so a pair of a kind. Eh, doesn’t sound the same. Just be happy you happened into a load of crowns. Now, I'm gonna warn you. You need to talk with the mayor if you want to buy a horse and a wagon, no if ands or buts,” Zed said.

  I opened the box that held the pistols, and they were everything a man could dream about in his sidearms. Twelve-inch barrels, eight round revolvers, and delicate triggers meant to be squeezed.

  I carefully picked one up, knowing they’d be loaded. The handle depicted a silver dragon over a golden background. Tiny rubies pretended to be red eyes, and I grinned with head nods of approval.

  “Keb, pay the man. Zed, I’m going to need a changing room before I see this mayor,” I said with a chipper tone.

  “Eh, you should get them washed. This place is filthy. Just change right here, it's normal in this town.”

  “Way to kill the mood, Zed.”

  We shared a chuckle, and I changed into the fine new clothes. I stood in front of a mirror and finally felt like I fit in. I just had to hope the mayor was a reasonable fellow.

  10

  Snagglewood Day 10

  Laro

  Keb slung the bag over his back. He grunted from the effort, mostly because it was stupid heavy from the coins, gear, and ammo. I even had him carrying the rifle. I didn’t trust this town, deciding to keep my hands at a moment's notice from the .45s at my hips.