Rogue Online: The Devil's Gate: A LitRPG adventure

by E K Baxter

  He stretched his arms over his head and then made a few circuits of the circle, trying to work out the aches and pains. As he walked, he thought. He’d automatically used the bow against those bad guys because range weapons were always his weapon of choice. Had that been a mistake? Should he have done something differently? He didn’t think so. He was fighting a greater number of opponents and didn’t have the strength or the skill with the blade and ax to overcome them in a melee fight. So what was he missing? What had he done wrong?

  He concentrated, replaying the fight in his head. There was no way he was going to get killed again—it was annoying and painful—so he had to get it right this time. Then he thought of something. He’d assumed his odds were five against one but he’d been wrong. It was five against two—if he’d enlisted the help of the prisoner before he attacked.

  Feeling his old confidence returning, Max ran from the stone circle. He retraced his steps, fighting the snake and then the rats, following the trail from the woodsman’s hut to the clearing where the mercenaries were camped. This time Max approached even more carefully, using the cover of the trees to creep as close as he could without being seen. He waited and watched, taking in every detail.

  Over on the far side of the clearing was a wagon. He’d barely noticed it last time as he’d been too preoccupied with the mercenaries. The wagon was piled high with barrels and as he watched one of the soldiers got up, approached the wagon, and hefted one of the barrels onto his shoulder. Setting it down near his comrades, he broke it open and poured an amber liquid into his companions’ cups. They all started drinking.

  Booze! Max thought. By the looks of it a spirit of some kind. And spirits burn!

  He looked again, taking in the scene. The prisoner was still slumped against the tree, head hanging. The wagon was opposite where the prisoner was tied. It would make a perfect distraction.

  In a flash of inspiration Max realized what he must do, what he’d missed last time. He ducked behind the wide trunk of a tree and took out his flint and tinder. Ripping a piece of material from his tunic, he wrapped it around the head of one of his arrows and then lit it. The arrow head went up in flame. He darted out from behind the tree and took aim, pulling the string back until the arrow’s fletching touched his cheek, and then let fly.

  Even with his limited skill with a bow, it was an easy shot. The arrow thunked into one of the barrels. The flames bit into the alcohol-soaked wood and caught. With a whoosh, the barrels went up in flames.

  As Max hoped, the mercenaries yelled, sprang to their feet, and went pelting over. Max equipped his knife and slipped from his hiding place, hurrying over to the prisoner. He began sawing at the man’s bonds. The prisoner’s head came up.

  “What...what are you doing?” he croaked.

  “Getting you out of here,” Max replied, flicking his gaze at the mercenaries. They were busy dousing the flames. The distraction wouldn’t last much longer. “But I’ll need your help if we’re to get away. Can you fight?”

  The man’s eyes lit up. “I’ll bloody well fight them, that’s for sure.”

  Max nodded. With a final effort he sawed through the prisoner’s bonds and helped the man stagger to his feet. He was taller than Max expected and broad-shouldered like a football player.

  “You have my thanks,” the man said.

  “Don’t thank me yet,” Max replied. “We still need to get away.”

  “Hey!” one of the mercenaries shouted. “What are you doing?”

  The men had managed to douse the burning wagon and they’d all spotted Max and the prisoner. Expressions of rage swept their faces and they drew weapons, charging across the clearing.

  “Here we go,” Max muttered. “Stay at my back, make sure they can only attack from one side. Do you have a weapon?”

  The man grabbed a fallen branch and hefted it like a staff. “Don’t worry about me.”

  They stood back to back as the mercenaries approached.

  “Think you could outsmart us, did you?” one of them, who Max guessed to be the leader, snapped. “I’ll enjoy teaching you the folly of your ways.”

  He sprang, sword swinging at Max’s head. Max caught the blow on his ax, as he had the previous time he’d fought this man, then punched his knife into the man’s belly and ripped sideways. The man’s eyes flew wide as his intestines spilled onto the floor. He collapsed, his life leaving him in a long gurgle.

  Behind him, the ex-prisoner was fighting one of the mercenaries with his makeshift staff. The branch moved quickly, blocking the sword-blows and then snaking out in a counter attack to land blows to the man’s mid-riff. The mercenary doubled over and the ex-prisoner smashed the staff into his head like a club. There was an audible crack and the merc collapsed.

  Max didn’t have time to check if the man was dead as two more attacked him. Now that he had the ex-prisoner at his back though, they could only come at him one at a time or risk getting in each other’s way. Whilst his companion fought the last merc, Max took these two on. He stepped inside the first one’s attack and head-butted him right on the nose, feeling a flood of satisfaction as the man’s nose cracked and he staggered backwards. Max followed with his knife, punching it into the man’s chest and then kicking him backwards. That left only one for him to deal with. This one grinned, showing a row of crooked teeth.

  The merc managed to score a hit on Max’s shoulder. Pain flooded him and his health dropped. Growling in annoyance and frustration, Max launched a counter attack. He swung the ax low, chopping into the man’s ankle then, as the man staggered to his knees, stepped forward, dodged the swing of the man’s sword, and rammed his knife up under the man’s chin.

  Max looked around for another opponent but realized they were all down. The ex-prisoner had dispatched the last with his makeshift staff. Max leaned on his knees trying to catch his breath.

  Another message popped up telling him he’d reached level 4 and giving him another stat point. He examined his stats, wondering how best to allocate his point. As before, his instinct was to put it into Wisdom in the hope that he’d be able to build up enough to learn some spells but if his experience in the Rogue Lands so far was anything to go by, he’d most likely need close-quarter fighting skills. He had no raid squad to rely on, no tanks who could take the brunt of an attack whilst he worked from a distance.

  Before he could decide the ex-prisoner approached.

  “You have my undying thanks,” the man said. “What is your name?”

  “Max,” Max replied. “Max Jones.”

  “It’s good to meet you, Max Jones. I’m Samriel. Where do you come from? My father would say you are either brave or foolish to take on so many enemies. I’m going for brave. I reckon you must be a mighty warrior.”

  Max snorted a laugh. “Hardly. I’m only level four!”

  Samriel’s expression turned to puzzlement. “Level four?”

  “Don’t worry about it. And where I’m from? A long way from here.”

  “From beyond the Stone Circle?”

  “I...yes...I suppose so.”

  Samriel’s eyes widened. “You’re a True Worlder!”

  That was the second time Max had heard that word. “A what?”

  “The legend says a True Worlder will come from beyond the Circle of Stone to fight the Shadow. It’s you!”

  Max spread his hands wide. “Look, I don’t know anything about any ‘True Worlder’. I just know I was brought here by some...guardian... and now I’m stuck here until I can figure a way out or complete the game.” He waved his hands at the clearing and the dead men. “Who are they anyway? And how did they capture you?”

  Samriel’s eyes flicked to the dead men and a look of distaste flitted across his face. “They’re Lord Mespar’s men. Although I use the word ‘men’ very loosely. Lord Mespar is the governor of Theloria province and rules from Myrlind. The capital. He used to be a kind and just ruler.”

  Max’s ears pricked at this. “Used to be?”

  S
amriel nodded. “Lord Mespar is a scholar. He set up a school in Myrlind, one dedicated to research into things that would better the lives of his citizens. There were rumors that he’d made a great discovery, a power source that would power the city for generations.

  But then the tempest came. Soon after Midwinter there was a terrible storm, the like of which I have never seen. It battered the land for days, destroyed homes, claimed lives. When it finally blew itself out things were...different. In the wreckage dark things began to happen: people disappearing from their homes, cattle being slaughtered in the night, their entrails left for the crows. Lord Mespar changed. He replaced the town militia with outsiders, people like these, savages and cutthroats who seem to delight in the torment of others. They control Myrlind now and any who stand against them are killed. My friend Argus, and my mother, Mara, were two of them. And still, Lord Mespar’s research continues.”

  “I’m sorry about your mother and your friend,” Max said. “But what about you? How come you’re here?”

  He looked at Max. “Lord Mespar exiled me for daring to challenge him about the deaths of my friend and my mother. I’m lucky he didn’t just kill me. I determined then that I would find help for my homeland. And I’ve found it. You are a True Worlder. Will you help me? Together we can free Myrlind from tyranny.”

  Quest: Free Myrlind from tyranny. The governor of the city, Lord Mespar, has been conducting arcane research and has allied himself with dark forces. He has enslaved his people and is searching for the Devil’s Gate. It will give him limitless power. You must stop him from acquiring it or all is lost. Myrlind and its people are depending on you.

  Eric’s words echoed in Max’s head. The only way out is to win the game.

  This was it. Max’s way out of here.

  He nodded. “I accept.”

  Samriel grinned and held out his hand. Max clasped it, forearm to forearm as though they were both warriors.

  You have formed an alliance with Samriel Hopwood. He has become your companion. 500 XP into Charisma. This is now level 2.

  Now he could see Sam’s stats.

  Name: Samriel Hopwood.

  Strength: 10

  Stamina: 10

  Item: Large shield. +25 armor

  No wonder he was built like a football player. Sam’s strength and stamina were perfect for melee attacks and his shield would keep any enemies away long enough for any range fighters to come into their own. Max felt himself grinning. It might not be his raid squad of old, but it was a start.

  With more confidence he allocated his stat point. Throwing caution to the wind, he put it into Wisdom. His stats were beginning to look a little healthier.

  Level: 4

  Strength: 3

  Stamina: 1

  Agility: 2

  Wisdom: 3

  Charisma: 2

  Ingenuity: 1

  Mana: 200

  I’ll be a mage yet, he thought with satisfaction. Watch out, Lord Mespar! Here I come!

  Chapter 4

  They spent a while rifling through the bodies for loot. Much of the mercenaries’ gear was eroded, in worse condition than Max’s own, but he did find a sword which he strapped to his waist and a whole new quiver of arrows. They didn’t add much to his inventory but they were better than nothing. He also found a leather breastplate which he donned. It was thicker than his woodsman’s tunic and might just turn a blade or two.

  Item: Boiled leather jerkin. +10 armor. The height of peasant fashion. You’ll knock em dead, kiddo!

  One thing the mercenaries were carrying was money. And lots of it.

  Sam whistled under his breath when he saw the bulging bag of coins. “Stolen from local people, no doubt. Bastards,” he muttered.

  Max stashed the money. With any luck, he’d be able to buy some better weapons or magical equipment in Myrlind and perhaps find a magician to give him some lessons in magic. Max didn’t like being without spells. He felt naked.

  “We should get moving,” Max said.

  “It’s not a good idea to go wandering around these woods at night,” Sam replied. “We’d get lost—or worse.”

  Max frowned. “But we can’t stay here. Those mercenaries could respawn any moment. I don’t fancy having to fight them all over again. Do you?”

  Sam pursed his lips in puzzlement. “They’re dead. Only a necromancer could reanimate them.”

  “You mean mobs in this land stay dead?”

  “Of course.”

  “And they just...lie there? They don’t disappear?”

  Sam was looking at Max as though he might not be entirely sane. “Dead bodies do not have the habit of disappearing. Unless you know something I don’t. I do think we should move the bodies though in case they attract predators. We can camp here and head to Myrlind at first light.”

  Max shivered. He dreaded to think what kinds of predators might be lurking in this dense forest.

  Together they dragged the bodies out of the clearing then returned to the fire. They raided the wagon and found that in addition to the barrels of spirits there was a good supply of food as well. Taking as much as they could carry, they settled down by the fire and began eating and drinking companionably. Max took a swig from his cup and pulled a face. The spirit was strong, tasting a little like Scotch, and burned his throat as it went down.

  “Jeez, don’t they have water in this place?” he muttered.

  Samriel laughed. “Of course! We aren’t savages you know! Although we tend to drink weak ale instead. The water isn’t safe to drink—unless you enjoy spending your time running to and from the privy. Here, this might be more to your liking.” He passed Max a cup.

  Max sniffed it then took a small sip. It was a weak wine that tasted more like cherry cordial. He grinned. “Thanks. That’s better.” Max let out an enormous yawn.

  “You look exhausted,” Sam observed.

  “Yeah,” Max agreed, rubbing one eye. “It’s been a hell of a day.”

  “Sleep then,” Sam said. “I’ll take first watch. I’ll wake you when it’s your turn.”

  Max nodded then curled up right there on the ground. It was hard and cold and he was sure he wouldn’t be able to get a moment’s sleep. But then his eyes slid closed and he sank into oblivion.

  He woke with a start the next morning. Cold gray light was filtering into the clearing and a low mist filled the spaces between the trunks. A blanket had been laid over him.

  “Good morning, True Worlder,” said Sam cheerfully from where he was cooking something over the fire.

  Max rubbed his eyes and sat up. “You were supposed to wake me to take my turn at watch.”

  Sam shrugged. “You looked as though you needed the rest. Here.”

  He held out a wooden plate which Max took. On it was some fried bacon and a large piece of bread.

  “At least we managed to pick a fight with ruffians who had lots of supplies,” Sam said.

  Max was starving and ate ravenously, washing it all down with the wine from last night.

  By the time they’d finished breakfast the sun had risen and was starting to burn away the mist. Max climbed to his feet and stretched his arms over his head. Every bit of him ached. Although his HP was almost at full strength, the fight yesterday had left him with sore muscles and an aching back. Max could understand why developers never normally built this aspect into a game. Having aches and pains wasn’t much fun even if it did make the experience more realistic. He wondered why the developers of Rogue Online had decided to do so. Was it designed for the gaming purist? Those that wanted as realistic an experience as possible?

  They packed up camp and Max turned to his companion. “Ready, Sam?”

  Sam nodded. He’d taken a sword and knife from the dead men and now his eyes were aglow with eagerness. “To Myrlind and the glory that awaits us there!”

  Together they climbed the embankment to the road and continued east, moving quickly but cautiously. As Sam explained, Lord Mespar often had patrols ranging through th
e countryside so they needed to be on their guard.

  Several miles further on the trees ended and Max found himself looking out over a city. Myrlind was nestled between two hills and had high walls of a milky-colored stone. Max could see towers and turrets poking into the sky, flags and pennants snapping in the wind.

  “Ah,” Sam breathed. “Now that’s a sight for sore eyes.”

  Max squinted against the early morning sunlight. Guards patrolled the battlements and stood on watch by the gates. If what Sam had said was true, it was unlikely that they’d be able to just waltz up to them and ask to be let into the city. No, they had to find another way.

  Quest: Sneak into Myrlind. You will need all your guile and ingenuity to avoid Lord Mespar’s minions. Do you accept Y/N?

  Now this was more like it! He might not be the best in close-quarter combat but if there was one thing Max was good at it was sneaking. Sure, he didn’t have Cloak of Shadows or any of the other fancy spells he’d obtained but stealth was more than that. Sneaking was in his blood. He accepted the quest.

  “We need to scout the area,” Max said. “Check when the guards change and what they do when they come on duty.”

  Sam nodded and they edged closer to the city, flitting across the open spaces quickly and then darting into a new hiding place: behind a bush, in a fold of the land, in the lee of some rocks. Sam pointed to a small hillock that would give a good view of the gates.

  Keeping low, they hurried towards the hillock and climbed, throwing themselves to their bellies when they reached the top and peering down the shallow incline at the gates.

  “What now?” Sam asked. “We should march down there and kill them all!” His fingers were curled around the hilt of the sword he’d taken from the mercenaries.

  “This is a stealth quest,” Max replied. “We wait and we watch, and only when we have the advantage, do we strike.”

  Sam frowned then looked back at the town. He seemed like a coiled spring, ready to launch into action at any moment. “My friends are in there,” he growled. “My family.”