Path of Spirit (Disgardium Book #6): LitRPG Series

by Dan Sugralinov

“We won’t even move away from the portal,” I answered. “I promise.”

  She nodded in satisfaction, shook herself, stubbed out her cigarette and changed the topic sharply:

  “If I correctly understand your abilities, you can repeat that trick with Mogwai, right?”

  “Yeah, or with any legate.”

  “Good. I haven’t been spending my time grieving my nephew, partner. I get that the legates can’t be killed, but maybe they can be imprisoned? Our best engineers and mages are already designing cells with ability limiters under Mecharri mountain — the tallest peak of Bakabba. There are natural cavities within it that are closed off and inaccessible from the surface. The eggheads say they were once bubbles of gas in boiling lava, but whatever, I don’t care how it works.”

  “How did your engineers get into them?”

  “The mages scanned the density of the mountain, calculated some coordinates, then the portal masters made teleportation guns. Their maximum range is a mile, but that was enough for our needs. They aren’t too accurate either; a few poor volunteers ended up stuck in the rock itself, may Bargrivyek forgive the portallers their miscalculations…”

  “Hold on.” I raised my hand, palm out to the goblin. “We can seal only one legate inside a mountain. Immortality won’t let him die. If even just two are next to each other, they’ll both just kill themselves and revive in another spot. They’re undying, remember. On top of that…”

  The idea seemed to me to have a big hole in it, but I didn’t know how to patch it. Call of the Nucleus would pull the legates out of whatever prison we put them in, and Mogwai himself could call his subjects to him. That meant that all we could do was start with the Supreme Legate and hope that the Nucleus didn’t catch on right away. To neutralize the legates, we needed something more than a hole in a mountain.

  I shared my doubts with the goblin woman.

  “Doesn’t hurt to try. Only way we’ll find out. As for cells spread across the world…” Kusalarix chewed her lips, gazed at the ceiling, then at a map of Disgardium, jabbed a finger at Latteria: “We’ll explore the Nameless Mountains for good spots. They stretch across the whole continent — we’ll find places to put cells. If it comes to it, there’s a mountain range on Shad’Erung too. And something might be found on the island you’re based on, according to Raidohelm’s report. How many traps do you need?”

  “Eight, maybe nine.”

  “We’ll throw all our resources at it. It’ll be done.”

  “And I need to be able to go into the cells… Hey, how will I get out? My abilities will be blocked too, right?”

  “You aren’t undead anymore, are you? No problem, the limiters will be set for dead meat only, so chill out. Those dead guys, on the other hand, won’t be able to use so much as a scroll! The first trap will be ready as early as tomorrow, so find time to pay me a visit — we’ll take you there so you know where to toss those rotting corpses.”

  “Me or my friends, they have that ‘trick’ too. So I’ll bring them with me next time.”

  “Up to you. All that matters is the result,” Kusalarix shrugged. She lit a new cigarette, tapped her nails on the table. “We discussed the current situation at the League High Council. There’s high pressure from the Commonwealth and Empire. Rumors of our partnership got to ‘em, and they really ain’t impressed. King Bastian the First and Emperor Kragosh want us to stop all contact with ‘those filthy degenerates of the Sleepers’ effective immediately. We can’t enter into direct conflict with them, although the High Council’s opinion is unchanged: we will support you, and on top of that, the goblin people are willing to accept the Sleepers as their patrons…”

  I started up, but it soon turned out that the goblins could not provide a place for a third temple, counting the future one on Terrastera. That would mean tearing down the chief sanctuary of Maglubiyet or Bargrivyek, and for that the little green folk would get it in the neck from their patron divinities. On the other hand, Kusalarix took on the responsibility of building the second and all future temples, and I even extracted a promise from her to convince the dwarf builders to take Gyula on as an apprentice.

  While we spoke, a message arrived from Crawler. It contained a map of Dis with the preventer clan castles highlighted. Quickly studying it, I determined which one we would capture first, overturning their clan vault in the process, just in case they had the essence.

  I teleported straight from Kusalarix’s office to Holdest to place the beacon rod for the Great Portal, then returned to Bakabba. Kusalarix had already roused Gruzelix. It was like pulling teeth, but eventually the old goblin gave up nine giants — they decided to start small to lower the risk.

  I grouped up with the haulers and then walked through the portal opened by the coin. A few seconds later the crowd of haulers followed, and the first ticks of the frost debuff confirmed my fears: Resilience’s Path of Sacrifice redirected all the damage to me, without hitting the giants. On the sixth tick I realized the idea wasn’t working, and sent the haulers back through the portal, but left the beacon.

  Deciding that it might be to do with the giants’ immunity to climate debuffs, I tried again with a motley group of other haulers — ogres, titans and minotaurs. No dice. Worse, we ran into a raid from the Travelers. I saw their climate dome from afar, glistening like a soap bubble and protecting its owners from the freezing cold. They were pulling in mobs, but couldn’t go far from the dome.

  I hurriedly herded the haulers back through the portal before we were seen, then quickly teleported to Bakabba.

  So Irita’s idea had failed, but the giants might still come in handy. Kusalarix and I visited Gruzelix again and I ordered a delivery of portal beacons to the South Pole and Viderlich, the capital of the Destroying Plague. I’d marked both points on the map during the first quests from Behemoth and the Nucleus.

  Perhaps the haulers, who couldn’t fight, but had a huge health supply and immunity to cold, could deliver the valuable cargo and open a path for me.

  Chapter 8. Leeroy Jenkins

  UNDER THE TREE where Irita and I had kissed, the kobold shaman Ryg’har sat and smoked a roll-up of herbs and dried leaves. It stank like burning rags. It occurred to me that everyone around me was either a chain smoker or an inveterate drunk. Smoke and drink were everywhere. It was a wonder I hadn’t joined them yet…

  “Trixie is achieving great things in growing the one fed by the earth-mother,” Ryg’har said significantly as he saw me. “Here, take a puff, chosen one, find peace, enlightenment and…”

  “No, thanks,” I refused, familiar with the debuffs that came with it, then went to find the clan manager.

  The promised ‘enlightenment’ included Reasonless Paranoia (You feel like you’ve been betrayed!) and Glutton (You could eat an Ursai Elephant!).

  “May the Sleeping Gods never wake!” Ryg’har intoned as I left. “I feel that our hopes are empty and the hour of awakening is near…” He fell silent a moment, then whispered urgently: “Shhh..! What’s this? Om-nom-nom…”

  I heard a guttural growl behind me. Turning around, I saw the shaman sink his fangs into a well-gnawed boar’s bone. That made sense. All that enlightenment must have made him hungry…

  I had only one untested idea left about how I could withstand the cold, and I already didn’t like it because it meant taking a risk. But I had no other choice.

  Resistance potions to climate debuffs gave permanent protection. From Disgardium’s very launch, everyone knew Snowstorm’s purpose with that mostly-artificial limitation: to ensure that players didn’t go into zones not intended for low-levels too soon. They said this bought time for the developers finish their work on all the zones without having to rush. They also said climate debuffs had to be added in order to prevent super-fast powerleveling from bugs — like what I did. In any case, everyone was used to the world’s rules.

  Until level 100, players could access only a small part of Latteria. The canon reason was that Dis was another world, and even ordi
nary rain could kill the undying if unprepared. For inhabitants of Dis, it was just ordinary rain, but for the players it was something else: the raindrops pierced straight through their bodies.

  After getting to rank one Alchemy, players learned to craft a resistance potion. The rain was no longer dangerous to those who gained immunity, and when the number of immune players reached a critical mass, all newbies began to appear with innate resistance to the icy downpours.

  Levels 200+ gave protection against swamp vapors, unlocking the path to the Impassable Swamp that surrounded the settled lands. The 300s allowed one to survive the low oxygen high up in the peaks and cross the Nameless Mountains. After that, progress stagnated for a long time — levels beyond 300 were hard-won, especially thanks to penalties for dying.

  All the same, soon players would conquer the Lakharian Desert, too. Someone — Crawler, I hoped — would invent a heat resistance potion, which would be very expensive at first, but then accessible to everyone. And then, when at least 1% of active players (active only, not counting dead and non-citizen accounts) got immunity to the heat, everyone would have it.

  As for the cold of Holdest, there was a long time to wait before Crawler reached Alchemy rank seven… I had only one hope left — Cooking. Of course, I could spend a few days to level up the craft and invent new dishes myself, but I didn’t have the time. So I wanted to employ grand masters of the craft who could invent something suitable out of the new ingredients from Holdest. Like, for example, that ointment made from Jantak Weed that reduces the effect of heat debuffs.

  The idea of getting the grand masters involved came up when I saw I’d received more royalties from the cooking guild. I’d been searching for my invitation to the Demonic Games and found the message from the guild in my inbox. Line by line, it showed how much I’d earned and what for.

  The highest earners were the recipes Fried Spicy Stone Grabber Stuffed with Herbs (+50 charisma; significantly increases attractiveness to opposite sex; creates the appearance of youth) and Well-Done Carp in Sour Cream (restores 20 health; +10% mana recovery speed). Dishes created with the first recipe were often used by NPCs, while the carp was popular among noobs. The recipe itself also got bought plenty thanks to the wide availability of the ingredients. On the other hand, Miner’s Fish Soup (+1 strength, -1 strength) and Marinated Filet of Swamp Bighead with Onion and Herbs (+10 to highest main stat for 3 hours) were almost untouched. The fish soup gave nothing, and the swamp bighead meat was hard to farm — few enjoyed playing while up to their ears in swamp water.

  In total, the royalties over the half a year amounted to almost fifteen thousand gold — just last year, I’d have lost my mind over that kind of money. Not so much now… And that was why I didn’t share my new recipes.

  I saw the name of the hobbit Jenkins in my small list of friends. Right after my victory in the weekly cooking tournament, his friend Oliver gave me a Kaizen Chef Knife, and Jenkins himself had said: Add me to your friends list, Scyth. Once you leave the sandbox, get in touch. My colleagues and I meet up once per month in one of our restaurants to share secrets.

  Recalling the hobbit and deciding to speak to him, I contacted Grokuszuid. I asked him to help me with a place where I could safely meet someone face to face. After thinking for a moment, the goblin suggested a special room in the ASS, which could only be reached in the company of an auction employee.

  “Sometimes our clients have disagreements,” he explained. “They solve them in this hall.”

  Once I found the place, I wrote a message to the hobbit inviting him to talk, then went to Patrick to await a response. The role of clan manager had unlocked to him the ability to interact with the clan vault without being in it.

  I had to wander to find him. Gyula was building the Small Fort, and several workers who had decided to become builders helped him. Infect was nowhere to be seen, but I heard the strikes of an archeology pick from toward the ruins. Irita rode around the island on her Ghost Wolf alongside Crawler, leveling up Riding to unlock flying mounts. She’d bought Tamed Gryphons for all the officers, all common ones, not even rare. The other inhabitants of the fort were spread across the island…

  Jenkins answered as soon as I got the cooking ingredients from Patrick. To say that my message surprised the hobbit would be the understatement of the century. First he told me to go to the Nether for trying to prank him like that, then, apparently, he somehow checked whether it was the real Scyth messaging him (you can have identical nicknames in Dis) and agreed to meet me in Kinema. I told him how to get into the right room at the ASS, then jumped to Kinema.

  When we met, Jenkins raised his hands right away, showing he had no weapons. He came gearless, just in shoes, trousers and t-shirt. Once he was sure I was the same Scyth he’d invited to the secret cooking club half a year before, Jenkins clapped his hands and cried:

  “Great Athena! Barry and Oliver won’t believe I met you! Scyth, top Threat and terror of the preventers, in the flesh! The same kid who cheated to win the cooking tournament!”

  “Hey, Jenkins,” I answered, offering my hand and smiling. “It was all fair gameplay. Before we talk, do what you promised.”

  “Yeah, yeah, one sec…”

  The hobbit summoned an Arbiter. When it materialized, the hobbit drew his head into his shoulders and promised that he would never, through word, action or inaction, bring harm to Scyth…

  “Uhm…” he hesitated, seeking out my class in my profile.

  “Level 579 Herald,” I hinted.

  “…Scyth, level 579 Herald,” Jenkins continued, raising his eyebrows. “And I will never tell anyone of this meeting or of what I hear from Scyth.”

  Even if he did so in real life, the Arbiter would know. Accepting the oath, the smoldering blue Eye disappeared.

  “You said your request concerns the other grand masters as well. The Arbiter will notify you if the others take the same oath,” Jenkins said. “So, what do you need, Scyth?”

  “Food that can help me stay alive on Holdest.”

  “There isn’t any! And even if there was a recipe, it wouldn’t be on the market. Firstly, nobody needs it yet except the Travelers, who have their own chefs, and secondly…”

  “That’s why I contacted you. I want you to invent a recipe,” I interrupted him, dropping a few ingredients from the frozen continent on the table.

  The hobbit’s eyes gleamed with greed at the sight of the completely new and hitherto unknown culinary resources. His arm stretched out toward them, but stopped halfway. Hiding a smile, I continued:

  “I’m willing to share it for exclusive rights to use all the recipes you invent from my resources, for the next half a year. Frost resistance recipes in particular.”

  The hobbit fell silent, drummed his fingers on the table — just like Kusalarix, but without the tapping of nails — and sighed.

  “Cards on the table, Scyth: I’m friends with Mogwai. Oliver is too. And not just in Dis. Fen is always inviting us his parties, introducing us to interesting people. Hell, our guild leader April Blumfy has a restaurant part-owned by Mogwai. And your relationship to him right now is, uhm… far from warm, let’s say.”

  “So the answer is no?”

  The halfling hesitated. He was shaking his head, but his hand stretched unbidden to the ingredients. Noticing this, I said:

  “My relationship with Mogwai is between me and him. Thanks to the Arbiter’s oath, he won’t hear anything about our collaboration from you. As for me, I can give an oath too.”

  “That makes sense,” Jenkins smiled. “The secret club’s next meeting is next week, but this is a special case — I’ll call an emergency meeting. Right after we’re done here. How many ingredients from Holdest do you have?”

  “Sixteen types.”

  The boys had farmed plenty while exploring the frozen continent without me.

  “I’ll give you two stacks of each.”

  “Not much… But it’s a start. I’ll tell you what we find as soon as I c
an.”

  There we parted ways. Stopping at the threshold, Jenkins turned:

  “Whatever you have in mind, Alex, and whatever the case between you and Mogwai, we’re rooting for you. Lots of chefs among non-citizens. We hear rumors… Just saying, good luck!”

  “Thanks…”

  “Call me Leeroy,” the hobbit smiled and disappeared through the door.

  Left alone, I thought about what to do next. Since Behemoth had shown that he knew what was happening in the world, he might be able to help me figure out how to deal with the frost. He was a god after all, wasn’t he?

  Nergal was a god too, and he’d managed to protect his followers from the heat of the Lakharian Desert! True, he was a New God. What was the difference? I wondered.

  New Gods, Old Gods, Sleeping Gods, Beast Gods… The last group was fairly cut and dry; just ancient beasts that had gained divine power. But how did the Old Gods differ from the New? Why were the Sleeping Gods believed to be the stronger, and yet provided no solutions? What was the hierarchy of these divine entities?