The Road East (Epic LitRPG Adventure - Book 2) (Fayroll)

by Andrey Vasilyev

  “Yes, you should be able to,” said Gul, scratching his shaggy head, “unless something happens. You know, a storm or something like that.”

  “How does that make a difference?”

  “The crew tires out faster—we do everything to keep you alive, of course. And they get a bonus for that, which comes out of your pocket. So if you run out of money and don’t pay us in half an hour, we dump you right there on the bank.”

  So, that’s how this works. Just whoops—and you’re on the bank. They weren’t that patient.

  “Let’s go, you old sea dog,” I nodded to Gul. “We’ll hope for clear sailing and seven feet under the keel. Here’s the money.”

  The clinking gold transformed the captain.

  “In that case, let’s go!” he said compliantly before barking out orders. “Get to your stations! Up anchor!”

  I sat down near the port side, listened to the evening waves, and thought about the first thing that came to mind, Why is the boat always by the pier, and why am I sailing alone if there are so many people looking to take the boat down the river? Whole groups could go through the mountains with the smugglers, after all. It wasn’t logical; walking with people was fine, but sailing with them was not.

  But then I figured it didn’t matter and left it to the developers. I logged out.

  Night reigned in Moscow as well. I smoked a cigarette, watched the city that never sleeps, and mulled everything over in my head. Four new rug rats to deal with tomorrow. What’s going on with Snakeville? And who is Elina in real life?

  I finished the cigarette, flicked the butt off the balcony, and lay down to sleep. The next day’s problems were better saved for the next day. I’d had enough.

  Chapter Eight

  In which we meet new characters and new problems.

  I started awake to the sound of my phone ringing. My first thought was that I was still dreaming, but it slowly dawned on me that the phone was actually ringing.

  “Hi, Kif,” said the unfamiliar voice at the other end of the line. “It’s Nikita.”

  “Nikita who?” I asked sleepily.

  “Nikita Valyaev. You’re not still sleeping, are you? Wake up, sleepyhead. Up and at them!”

  “What? Yes, I mean, no, I’m awake. Did something happen?”

  “Morning happened, and you’re still sleeping. Although, after your adventures yesterday…”

  “What adventures?”

  “If you don’t think getting a free wish from the head of a fallen, if still strong clan, is a big deal, let me be the first to congratulate you on your impressive ambitions.”

  “That’s just how things played out. I got lucky.”

  “We make our own luck. But enough about that; I’m calling to talk about the weekly supplement.”

  Here we go. I braced myself for something like, “I’m sorry, but we decided the release isn’t exactly what we’re looking for and might lose us money, so everything we talked about…”

  “So,” continued Valyaev, “I’m about to send you the phone number of a wonderful person named Diana. Just note that she prefers ‘Di.’ Anyway, Di is going to help you collect interesting facts for each day: who beat what record, who killed what exotic beast, and so on. She’ll email all that to you or whoever you name every morning, and you can pick out what you think is worth printing. Will that make your job easier?”

  “You have no idea,” I said with complete sincerity. “I’ve been trying to figure out how we can keep track of all that. I was going to call you to see what we could come up with, and there you go putting it all right there on a silver platter. Complete with a cherry on top.”

  “Well, this isn’t exactly altruism here. We just realized that you need access to general information about the game to do your job, and we can’t give you access to classified servers; you don’t have the right clearance for that. Well, you don’t have any clearance for the moment. We figured this would be the best option.”

  “Can I ask you for one more thing?” I decided to push my luck.

  “Of course. Especially, if it doesn’t affect your non-linear game progress.”

  I realized he was joking and did my best to laugh sincerely and nonchalantly.

  “I was thinking about using a big map of Fayroll for the centerpiece. Is there any way I can get a scan of it?”

  “Interesting idea. You mean, without labels for dungeons and all of that, right?”

  “Of course. More a geographical map. You know, like they had at school.”

  “Talk with Di about that. I’ll let her know what’s going on. Okay, wait for my text message and good luck.”

  “Thanks!” I answered before hanging up and rubbing my eyes.

  A good idea? Of course it was a good idea. It was Friday, and I had nothing so far; with the map, I’d knock out the centerfold in one fell swoop. Plus, having a map would be handy for me. There was one on the site, of course, but it wasn’t easy to see the different locations and it was a bit too small. Anyway, beggars couldn’t be choosers. Speaking of the site, though…

  I turned on my computer and did a quick workout while it was loading. Details aside, I was back in front of the monitor fifteen minutes later. The stir Buzdigan’s provocation had caused had died down completely. The community was unanimous in its opinion that the whole thing had been much ado about nothing and moved on in search of greener pastures. That day, as I might have expected, the headlines were all about the attack of the Wild Hearts’ castle, its collapse, and what that all meant for the clans jostling for control. The Hounds of Death already carried quite a bit of weight in the community, and their victory had only heaped on new laurels.

  Overnight, the leaders of several other major clans had pledged loyalty to the Hounds. They even wanted to create alliances. The Hounds themselves hadn’t said anything besides a press release discussing their win over the Hearts. I was particularly tickled by the fact that they hadn’t forgotten my clan. “…joined forces with their sister clan the Thunderbirds to storm the main citadel…” Sister clan! It looked like they’d taken a five-step leap up the leaderboard. Elina and Gerv would be happy, that much was certain.

  There wasn’t any other real news, and I was about to turn off my computer and head in to the office when I remembered that I wanted to check out why everyone thought I was such an idiot. It didn’t take long to find the answer, and five minutes later, I pushed back my chair.

  “Ah, I’m an idiot!”

  It was true. I realized why the Supreme Vila had smiled the way she did when she mentioned the powerful curse I’d trigger if I didn’t fulfill my obligations to Elmilora. She wasn’t wrong, the old hag. It was powerful. Incredibly powerful. There was only one effect, but it was a doozy: -95% to luck. In other words, no matter what I did, I’d only have a five percent chance of it ending well. If there was just one single group of goblins in the forest, it was almost guaranteed to find me. All enemy blows aimed at me had a 95% chance of being critical. I probably wouldn’t be able to do a single quest, not even the simplest of them, because I just wouldn’t be able to complete whatever their task was.

  And, that wasn’t all. Next to my name, would be the title I’d been promised: Betrayer. For players with even the least bit of experience, that was the mark of the beast. I wouldn’t be able to join any groups since the curse would extend to everyone in them as long as they included me. And who needs that? NPCs wouldn’t have anything to do with me either, so completing quests was the least of my worries; I most likely wouldn’t be able to even get them.

  But the story didn’t end there. The curse would go into effect if I didn’t present myself to the bright gaze of the Supreme Vila within six months. And, if I did, and then got married, things wouldn’t get any better. Vilas make for fantastic, even ideal wives. They’re faithful, kind, homey, caring, and extremely economical. They care deeply about having order in their homes. But, what order could there be if their husbands were off with unsavory characters or even by themselves ro
aming the four corners of the world in search of adventure? No, they need to be at home. So, vilas put a spell on their husbands that is impossible to resist. Nobody knew what it was called, though some people on the forums referred to it as the Ball and Chain.

  In short, vila husbands weren’t allowed to go more than two miles away from their homes. If they tried, the road they were taking would inconspicuously change to lead right back to their front door and loving wife. How’s that for a happy ending? Wherever you go, you find yourself back home. Home, sweet home. And, there was no way to lift either of those spells. The only option you had left if you married a vila was to delete your account and start a new one. Judging by the number of censored words people were writing, it was an option many people took. It was untenable for me, however.

  I was feeling more and more depressed, as I kept readying, I realized that I’d been smart enough to put things off for six months. Maybe I can go back then and ask the Supreme for another six. Who knows what could happen in that time? Then, I had an idea. It seemed crazy at first, but, on second thought…that could work.

  I played everything over in my mind on my way to work and, on autopilot, walked into my usual office.

  “What are you doing here?” the Rat asked with unbelievable spite. “You’re management, so you have your own wing now.”

  “Oh, I just stopped by to see who would be sailing on with us and who’d be walking the plank,” I said importantly. “Maybe they’re too old, or maybe it’s something else. It comes with the position.”

  I walked out without bothering to even look at her. Let her stew, the old witch. That may have been rude of me, but I couldn’t stand that…whatever it was…mix of insolence and envy.

  To be fair, I had completely forgotten that I had my own wing. There were also four little chicks waiting for me there, presumably, with fire in their eyes and reverence on their faces.

  Either I’d overestimated myself or thought too highly of the younger generation; either way, there was no reverence anywhere to be found. They weren’t rude, of course. It was just that most kids these days act like princes sentenced to exile in some godforsaken village. That was exactly the impression I got from the three young men dressed in sharp suits and sitting in the first of the three offices we’d been assigned. They didn’t even bother to stand when I walked in, not to mention even the most casual of hellos. The exception was a girl, and a quite attractive one, who stood up and addressed me.

  “My name is Vika, Vika Travnikova. I’m hoping I can become a real journalist under your leadership.”

  What eyes. A man could drown in them.

  “I can’t promise that,” I answered, “since it depends entirely on you. If you want to be one, go for it. But, I guess, these gentlemen aren’t looking to be real journalists? Or at least they don’t want that here and now.”

  I gestured toward the still-seated trio with my head. “We can probably forget about them in that case, right, Vika?”

  She blinked, unsure of what she was supposed to do. She was still young and hadn’t yet learned to read intonation enough to play along.

  The trio stood up, and one of them, a tall, sleek blond with fish-like eyes, had something to say. “Are you sure we don’t want to be journalists? Why would you think that?”

  “Did I say they didn’t want to be journalists at all? Hmm, Vika?” I asked the girl with a touch of surprise.

  Vika nodded, still unsure of what I was getting at.

  “I said they don’t want to be journalists here,” I emphasized, turning to them. “And, to be honest, since you don’t want to be journalists here, why don’t you just go ahead and walk out the door? Don’t forget to hand in your badges.”

  “We didn’t say that, either,” said the second member of the trio, a tubby guy with funny-looking bangs hanging over a large, round head.

  “No? But do you always have to say it?” I raised my tone slightly.

  The trio tensed. Just you wait, kittens. I’m not done with you yet.

  What did you expect? “If you love your kid, you have to crush a rib now and again,” was what my dad sad when I was little, and it was an expression he followed to the letter. Well, maybe not to the letter, though I could remember getting the belt several times. Still, I grew up to be a man. More or less. But I had to get those pipsqueaks in line right off the bat, or I’d spend all my time coddling them. That was why I started off by cutting their legs out from under them. Plus, you always need to be upfront with people, letting them know exactly who you are and showing them that you’re the boss. If worst came to worst, I’d fire the fish-eyed one—I couldn’t stand him. The girl wasn’t bad, though. She had a tall forehead, she behaved herself, and she had intelligent eyes.

  “And that’s even forgetting the fact that you ignored me, your boss,” I told them harshly. “But that’s not the most important thing. A person who also works at your publication walked into the office where you work, and you three couldn’t be bothered to peel your asses off your chairs and say hello.”

  “We didn’t know that you were our supervisor,” said the fish-eyed one in an attempt to defend their behavior. “And saying hello to everyone—”

  “Would make your tongue fall out? Or your legs fall off your ass?” I interrupted. “How are you going to work with people, my friend? You’re a journalist. Your tongue, the way you look, and how you act are all you have in this game. Knowing how to put words in a sentence comes later. So you made a terrible impression on me, your boss, and I have no idea how you’re possibly going to interact with other people. Get out of here—I don’t need you.”

  I’ll be honest, the four of them, or at least three of the four, expected a very different beginning. They’d obviously been all set to tell me what an honor they and their honors diplomas were doing me by agreeing to work at such a two-bit establishment. And, here I was throwing them out the door. It was a bit of a curveball.

  “What are you standing there for?” My tone jumped another half-octave. “I told you to get out of here. Don’t forget to hand in your badge.”

  “Hey, you weren’t the one who hired us,” muttered Fish Eyes.

  “Oh no?” I was prepared for just such an objection. Valyaev and I had already talked that day, so it was time to have a chat with Zimin.

  “Hi, Maxim? It’s Kif. Yes. These graduates you sent me are all upset and throwing a tantrum, and, really, they aren’t even journalists. They’re nothing but trash. Well, except for the girl. I’m here trying to throw them out the door, and they informed me that I don’t have the right to fire them since I didn’t hire them. I’m going to put you on speaker; would you mind setting them straight?”

  I turned on the speakerphone just in time for Zimin’s voice to boom through. “Are you kidding me? You were each clearly informed, as far as I know, who you report to. You’re all fired! Get out!”

  I quickly turned off the speakerphone and spoke into it. “Thank you.”

  To be honest, I was wondering if I’d overdone it. Asking my new employer for help like that on the very first day… I had to make sure I steered clear of any backlash.

  “Giving them hell? Good job,” Zimin said approvingly. “Kids are always like that—I certainly was.”

  “Absolutely,” I said, throwing a bloodthirsty glance at the pale trio in front of me. I hope nobody faints.

  “Oh, and nice work with Gedron yesterday,” he continued. “I enjoyed watching the recording today. All right, that’s it, talk to you later.”

  So they’re recording me. Good to know.

  “Any other questions?” I asked Fish Eyes and pushed him toward the door. “Let’s go, let’s go! Get out of here!”

  I turned my back to stare at the others, trying not to blink. They stood there just as unblinkingly, though probably for a different reason. I don’t think they even breathed. They were scared stiff.

  “Nobody has any more problems with me? Or questions?”

  “No questions, everything is
clear,” said the third, a short, resilient guy with an enormous nose.

  “Is it clear what you’re supposed to do now?”

  Their poor brains churned, trying to guess what I wanted. Trying not to slip up again.

  “Tell him your names,” said Vika quietly.

  Bravo. She was on the ball.

  “Dmitry Samoshnikov,” said the one with the bangs.

  “Vadim Yushkov,” said the one with the nose.

  “Stroynikov, Gennady,” I heard from the door behind me.

  “Gennady, you’re still here? Go!” I reminded Fish Eyes. “I already told you.”

  “I understand,” he muttered. “I was wrong, I’m sorry.”

  “Fine,” I relented. “But try one more trick like that, and I’ll make sure you never work again. That goes for everyone, by the way.”

  The mutiny put down, I got down to work with the team. As my sergeant once said, “Soldiers who go for three minutes without doing anything start to think. And, that’s bad for me, the army, and themselves.”

  “Listen up. I’ll say this one more time. I’m in charge. I don’t mind hearing your opinions, but my word goes. If I’m not here, then decisions are made by my assistant.”

  “And, who’s your assistant?” asked the one with the nose.

  “That’s her.” I pointed at Vika. “At least, for now.”

  “Me?” Emotions, from surprise to excitement, chased each other over Vika’s face. “Why me?”

  “For a number of reasons. You’ve proven yourself better than everyone else; you think better, or at least faster; and I know for a fact that women are much better than men at a number of things. I’ll be gone a lot, so you’ll stand in and do what I tell you to do. I need to know that everything will be perfect without me. Also, you probably won’t show up drunk.”

  “That I can promise,” Vika said with a smile.

  “Great. Oh, and it’ll be easier for me to get you into bed this way.”

  Vika started, lightning flashing in her eyes. The three guys grinned.