Everything and nothing flew through my head. Nobody was out to kill me, I had a much better idea of how I’d be getting out of the temple, and I figured I might be able to get something good for myself in the True Temple. The only thing I wasn’t looking forward to was walking back up all those stairs…
“We’re almost here,” Zorbofayl called back. “Prepare to behold the True Temple!”
“I’m always prepared,” I answered. “Like a Boy Scout.”
Zorbofayl didn’t respond. Either my answer suited him or, as I assumed was more likely the case, he had no idea what Boy Scouts were.
Ahead, was a pearly shimmer that must have been coming from the True Temple. As we got closer, I saw that was indeed the case. The stairs ended in front of yet another archway. Whoever designed the temple apparently didn’t spend too much time on entrances, as they all looked the same. Out of this one, the soft, somehow soothing light flowed.
Zorbofayl dove in through the door.
“Human, enter the True Temple of the God of War. It awaits you.”
I carefully peeked into the waiting temple, not yet caring to step over the threshold. There was nothing to see in the fairly small room, however, except Zorbofayl and an enormous pair of legs, and so I walked into the True Temple.
You entered a True Temple dedicated to one of the Departed Gods. In days long since forgotten, after the gods left Fayroll, such temples were left by each of them. Only those chosen by the gods themselves or their authorized representatives are permitted within.
There it was again. For the life of me, I couldn’t figure out who could possibly have chosen me. Maybe it was Zimin or Valyaev playing their tricks? Or both of them together? Doubtful—they don’t lift a finger unless there’s something in it for them. On the other hand, who was I to say there wasn’t anything in it for them?
I looked around. The room wasn’t terribly large, especially in comparison with the one we’d been in higher up, though it had an enormously high ceiling. In fact, it wasn’t even really a ceiling; it was more a cupola out of which was cast the soft light. The lion’s share of the room was taken up by the statue, the legs of which I’d noticed from the other side of the archway. It was a gigantic stone warrior I assumed was the God of War himself. He was large and robust, with hair blowing in the wind. The sculptor’s skill was undeniable—the statue could have been alive for all I could tell. His muscles rippled and bulged, he wore a cloak, and there was an impressive double-edged axe in his hands. To be honest, he reminded me of someone…
“The God of War,” said Zorbofayl, who took a reverent breath. “Master!”
“Yours?” I asked.
“Yes. Once I served him honestly and faithfully,” the demon ghost said with what I thought was a sob. “Before he departed, he called for me and asked me if I would do him one last service.”
“And?” I asked, intrigued. Who knows how this could end, and I’ll need all the information I can get.
“I agreed.” Zorbofayl stared at me in bewilderment. “All my life, and now my afterlife, have been lived in service to him. I became who I am now, receiving this covering instead of the body I once had.”
“You didn’t mind the trade?” I asked Zorbofayl with sincere sympathy.
“He is my sovereign,” said Zorbofayl with conviction, “and he receives everything he asks of me.”
Certainly, that was impressive. The only other place I’d come across such devotion to a master was in Japanese literature like 47 Ronin and Hachikō. It was worthy of my respect, even if I personally didn’t understand it. Although, to be fair, he was just a digital character following his code.
“You’re a hero,” I said, deciding to flatter the ghost. “And you’ll definitely be rewarded! When the time comes.”
“It will come.” Zorbofayl’s voice was firm and confident. “Soon! I know; my master will return. But now here you are in his temple.”
“Here I am,” I agreed. “So, what am I supposed to do now? You must have brought me here for a reason.”
“Fall on your face before the marble incarnation of the God and beg for his indulgence toward you,” demanded the ghost.
“Oh, no, thank you very much, Mr. Demon.” I knew there wasn’t anything shameful about bowing down, but I just don’t like the idea of it. Not in a game and definitely not in real life. It’s just not me. No, sir, no bowing down here. Getting down on a knee is fine within reason—this was a god, after all, if a Departed God. But there would be no falling on my face if I could help it. I have self-respect to think about.
“You dare speak those words before the face of the God?” hissed Zorbofayl, his voice changing. “Do you understand what he could do to you with just the twitch of his little finger? Even my hands are his to use!”
The ghost began to swell right in front of me, and twenty seconds later, he was dangerously large. He took off head-first toward the dome and began waving around hands that had suddenly grown threateningly curved nails.
“Do as you are told and fall on your face!” His voice boomed around the room. “Beg for the God’s favor. You may still be able to receive it!”
Instead of replying, I pulled out my sword and prepared for a fight.
“Screw gods of war who make you kiss their ass. What’s that about? Find someone else’s belly to wipe the floor with; I’d rather die here!” I roared, all my buttons firmly pressed.
Something burst near the dome, I smelled a rush of air, and a satisfied smile spread over the face of Zorbofayl, who returned to his normal size.
“True warriors never bow before anyone—not their enemy, not their friend,” he said. “They only ever bend the knee to show their respect. You are a true warrior worthy of being the very first soldier in the new Legion of my God. And, most importantly, you can name Vitar your God as well.”
Having displayed the qualities the God of War esteems the most, you now have the chance to select Vitar, the God of War, as the deity you worship.
There is currently no pantheon in Fayroll but, thanks to the fact that you found the True Temple of the God of War and passed the God’s test, you now have the right of first confession.
Worshipping the God of War before his appearance in the created world does not come with any responsibilities or constraints. You are free to think and act as you please. That may change, however, with the Second Coming of the Gods.
Having once selected the God as your master, you may not switch your allegiance to any of the other Gods without the desire of Vitar.
By becoming a servant of Vitar, the God of War, you receive:
Title: Servant of the God of War
The right to join the Legion of Vitar, the God of War
Abilities: hidden
Attributes: hidden
Other rewards: hidden
Accept?
“Uh…what?” I shook my head and sheathed my sword. At least nobody’s trying to kill me.
“What don’t you understand?” Zorbofayl cackled happily. “Accept and become the first servant Vitar has gained in the long reaches of time.”
“Wait a second!” I slowed the overjoyed ghost down. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves; I need to think about this.”
Zorbofayl froze, his ugly green head unable to comprehend the fact that someone might not agree to serve the God of War.
I leaned back against the wall and began to turn the whole thing over in my mind. As far as I could tell, the offer was exclusive to me—at least, as far as that god was concerned. Vitar wasn’t the only one with a temple like that, so Fayroll could have been littered with servants of other gods who’d stumbled upon their secret hideaways. But in this one, I was the first. Needless to say, if the gods came back to Fayroll, I’d be at the front of the line when they distributed their wealth, and I had to imagine celestial beings were generous in the gifts they rained down on their own. On the other hand, they might give out more than just gifts. Who knew what kind of character this particular god had? He wasn’t
the god of trade, after all; he was the God of War. Maybe he was actually a bore fixated on why you hadn’t oiled your chainmail or attached a collar to it.
And what would I do then? It would be too late to change my mind…
Oh, and why were all the benefits you get for accepting hidden? It was just a black box you didn’t get to see into before you made your decision. And I couldn’t ask the ghost—he wouldn’t have known even if he had any idea what I was talking about.
Zorbofayl hovered in front of me, and I watched a variety of emotions chase each other across his face: expectation, confusion, even a bit of offense. That’s one more thing; I have no idea how he’ll react if I decline the offer. What if he balloons up again like he did last time? Those claws looked like they could pop me open like a pickle jar.
Another issue was that I was helping Mesmerta and her bewitched dryads. As far as I could remember, the gods in Fayroll were incredibly foul. They hated each other, they even fought each other, and they tried to get mortals involved in their fights. That’s why they were kicked out in the first place. What if Vitar and Mesmerta have some kind of eternal grudge between them? I help her, and then this hairy guy with the axe comes back and finds out about it…you can’t just hide things from gods. “You bastard, why did you help that witch? Five thousand years ago she spat in my juice!”
Then he’d destroy me or start making my life miserable, and the disfavor of a god—especially your own—is no walk in the park.
Sure, there was the chance that the Second Coming would never happen, but I still had far more questions than answers. The information about joining the God of War’s Cult, which was still right in my face, was getting on my nerves, too. I was afraid to close it. Maybe I won’t be able to reopen it later if I decide I want to accept.
A few minutes of mental anguish and doubt later, I decided I needed the house’s help.
“Number Nineteen, could you come here for a minute?” I shouted.
Zorbofayl stared at me, apparently figuring that my brain had worked me straight into the crazy house. Then, suddenly he froze. From the archway, appeared my strictly-suited friend with the briefcase.
“Code 33,” I said happily.
“I remember you, player; I have perfect memory. How can I help you?”
“I need advice,” I said.
“Advice, like material assistance, is not part of my area of expertise,” Number Nineteen sharply noted.
“Hey, hey,” I answered, “I was told that you’re supposed to make things as easy for me as possible, so long as that doesn’t lead to disproportionate player development and can’t be considered cheating. A consultation certainly couldn’t fall into either of those categories.”
“Information you get outside normal gameplay can be used for your personal enrichment or to create a more favorable environment for you as opposed to that enjoyed by other players,” replied Number Nineteen logically.
“There aren’t any other players here,” I noted. “And it looks like there never have been. I’m just as surprised as anyone.”
“But what if others come?” Number Nineteen took a different tack. “You will then have an advantage over them.”
“I have an advantage as it is. You know that. This situation doesn’t affect my main mission. To the contrary, I’m trying to avoid doing anything to jeopardize it. That’s exactly why I’m asking you for information.” I hoped that was enough drivel to fool Number Nineteen.
He stood there thinking for a second. “The situation is controversial, so please give me a minute to discuss it with representatives of the game administration.”
He walked off through the wall.
I had to laugh at my predicament. One character had just disappeared into a wall, while the other was frozen in midair. There I was, caught in the middle, wondering what would happen.
“Hey, sorry, man…” I heard a voice behind me. Turning, I saw Valyaev walking out of the wall. “You don’t mind me getting familiar, do you?”
I shook my head. Whatever. My surprise was better left hidden, I decided.
“Cool. This is crazy, so I wanted to jump in myself.”
Valyaev looked extravagant in his black surcoat, black breeches, and black beret. Around his neck, was a gold chain with a large gold emblem in the shape of a circle, and on it were symbols, letters, and numbers. There was a sword in his belt, a white feather in his beret, and a cane in his hand.
“A chair,” he ordered. A chair, needless to say, appeared behind him, and he sat down, crossed his legs, and leaned his right hand on his cane. “And another for my friend here. Sit down, Kif. The truth isn’t in your legs.”
I looked behind me and saw that a chair had appeared there. My long-suffering ass plopped down into it.
“How do I look?” asked Valyaev, obviously showing off.
“Fantastic.” I decided flattery was never a bad option. “Excellent.”
“You’re lying, of course,” said Valyaev with a smile. “But I like it!”
“Me, too, to be honest.”
“Oh yes?” Valyaev smiled again, this time ironically. “All righty then. But hey, Kif, can you explain to me how you always find yourself right where you have no business being?”
“I have no idea,” I said with complete sincerity. “It just happens randomly.”
“Sure it does. Only zits just happen randomly; you seem to have made a habit of it. What brought you to this temple?”
“A quest!” I shrugged. “I accepted it, started doing what I was supposed to do, and this is what happened.”
“Phew boy,” cackled Valyaev. “And why did you have to go and scare my little Cerberus? He came running in with no idea what to do. I’m afraid to think what you might have asked him.”
“It was really nothing.” I was starting to feel bad. “I didn’t even have time to actually ask him; all I said was that I need information.”
“Well, information comes in all different shapes and sizes, especially in your situation.”
“I just need information about this temple and about the offer I got. I’m afraid it will interfere with my main quest.”
“How?” Valyaev was taken aback.
“You’ll bring the gods back, and this strapping young fellow and Mesmerta may not really like each other. I’ll be stuck right in the middle. Oh, and I have a couple other questions while we’re on the subject.” When I referred to the God, I nodded toward the statue of Vitar. It struck me that he was watching our conversation with displeasure, though I had no idea why. Maybe because we were in his temple, or maybe because we were comfortably seated—comfort and warriors don’t mix.
Valyaev nodded, smiling like a Cheshire cat.
“Oh, yes? Well, information like that is on the border… Let’s do this: ask your questions, and, if I don’t think the answers will affect what you do in the future, I’ll give them to you. Deal?”
“Of course.” I immediately agreed. Even some of the information I was looking for was better than none of it. And haggling with him was pointless.
“Go ahead.” Valyaev sat back in his chair.
“Why are the bonuses you get for accepting Vitar’s patronage hidden? What are they?” I decided to warm up to my main questions slowly.
“Nobody knows what they are. Including me. It’s like an Easter egg—you remember those, right? Maybe you’ll get a little action figure or maybe it’ll be a puzzle you couldn’t care less about. When we made all this—I mean the system of True Temples—we made a random-number generator. Well, in this case, a random-bonus generator. So, the odds of you getting +100 to your strength and nothing are exactly the same.”
“I don’t know about that,” I said, shaking my head. “Too much of a roulette wheel.”
“Yep, that’s about the size of it. If the gods come back, there will be a clear system for who gets what and why. But look at it this way: until they do come back, you don’t even have to do anything; no moral or physical demands on how you serve
the gods but you do get the reward right now.”
“That’s true.” I had been thinking along those lines as well. “So, the other gods have temples, too?”
“Oh, come on,” said Valyaev. “You figured that out a long time ago. Obviously, all the gods in the old pantheon have True Temples. And you aren’t the first to find one of them. But that’s enough on that topic; I’m not saying anything else.”
“No problem, it isn’t really that important,” I said, doing my best to sound sincere. “But there’s something else that is. How did I get the Mark of a God? I haven’t talked with anyone, not a priest and certainly not a god—no one. And this little guy,” I continued, pointing a finger at Zorbofayl, “seems to think I’ve been marked.”
Valyaev nodded. “Well, you have. Just not by a god; yours is the Mark of a Goddess.”
“But how did I get it?” The frustration had me just about yelling.
“Did you go through the vila rite?” asked Valyaev. “The wedding ceremony?”
“It was a betrothal,” I said, correcting him. “There’s a big difference.”
“Right, the betrothal. So you went through it?”
“Obviously,” I admitted. “Although, I probably shouldn’t have…”
“Well… And, did the light flash up during the ceremony? From the ritual stone?”
“From a column. They have an altar built like a column. And ‘flash’ barely begins to describe it.” I was babbling, not sure what the rite had to do with anything.
“Right,” said Valyaev genially. “The key word there is ‘altar.’ It was given by the Goddess Mesmerta to the vilas and consecrated by the Goddess, as well. So, there you go; you got the Mark of the Goddess. Not many people have gotten it, to be fair, and you were the first to get it in that swamp. There’s a whole gradation that goes along with the quest, but it’s ridiculously complicated. If you care to hear about it, you can ask Konstantin later. I’ll introduce you to him, since he’s in charge of all that. Or, you can ask Oleg; he takes care of the administration side.”
“Okay, but how am I the first one to get here?” There was still quite a bit I was confused about. “I mean, if other players have gotten the mark.”
The Road East (Epic LitRPG Adventure - Book 2) (Fayroll) Page 16
