“Alright.” I looked over all of them, my eyes stopping at the mage. “On the whole, I’m all for it. But we do it after we solve our current problems, alright? Since we need more workers, let’s handle that first. We’ll tell Manny and Gyula to pick out some reliable people, approach them and sign contracts. For the chance to live in spacious apartments, an interest-free loan and a high paycheck, I think we’ll get the best of the best. Next we need to figure out how to deal with the Destroying Plague. He’s our biggest headache right now. Agreed?”
“I’ll tell you right now, the security team won’t agree unless they get more hands first,” Crawler said, looking at me. I nodded and he sighed heavily. “Alright, I’ll handle it. I’ll talk to Hairo. Next issue. Firstly, ingredients from Disenchanting.”
“He got ten million’s worth of reagents from disenchanting,” Irita breathed. “I don’t even want to think how much the destroyed items could have sold for.”
“I know we need money, Scyth,” Crawler said, embarrassed. “But I only disenchanted the worst ones! Anyway, we can sell the Shining Substance I farmed from them…”
“But we won’t sell it, beca-a-ause…” Irita paused.
“Because I really want to use it to level up my craft,” the mage admitted.
“Don’t forget about the three Hero’s Hearts too,” Irita interjected again.
“Wait,” I raised my hands. “Crawler, we agreed that you’d disenchant the legendaries only with me there, didn’t we?”
“My bad. But remember, you haven’t had time for anything since we left the sandbox! How many times did I message you about it?”
I thought a little, then admitted:
“Yeah, you did ask about it. I remember. I don’t remember how many times. Definitely more than two.”
“Right. And I needed to level up my profession! I only disenchanted ten or fifteen, anyway…”
That wasn’t counting the fifty he did before Irita joined the clan. Making hay…
The girl laughed:
“Ten or fifteen, like it makes no difference, yep. One less legendary, one more… You guys are so full of yourselves! Patrick is demanding a second clan vault, he’s running out of space for all the loot.”
“Patrick will make do for now, but it’s a good thing you reminded me…”
I unloaded my loot from Darant and Shak onto the floor. There was so much of it that we were soon surrounded by heaps of weapons and armor. Infect immediately forgot about his muddy skulls and fragments, and everyone else livened up too, started digging through the gear, weapons, magical items, gleaming gemstones. I glanced at our mage and remembered another of Uncle Nick’s old sayings:
“Hold your horses with the Disenchantment for now. I’ll hand in Fortune’s quest, maybe it’ll raise your chances of a successful Disenchantment. We won’t sell the ingredients. No need to strengthen potential enemies with Armageddon. You’re welcome to use Enchantment in leveling. What was the second question?”
“Follows from the first,” Crawler asked. “Our strategy for selling loot. Irita suggests we try to get the maximum possible out of each item, pay to clear the item history and put them up at auction with a long duration.”
“Or I can sell it all in bulk through merchants I know,” the girl added. “There’ll be huge losses, but the river of money will start flowing right away.”
“The first option,” I decided without hesitation. “We’re playing the long game. Pick out the best gear, we’ll sell it through the ASS. Irita, you’ll have to come with me for the next meeting with the goblins. We’ll try to break the system and get them to work with you without the rep.”
“Hehehe! Please not through the ASS!” Bomber laughed.
“The ASS!” Irita said with a starry look in her eye and kissed me on the cheek. “Thank you!”
The ASS jokes went on another couple of minutes, the air thick with giggling, and I took my chance to get another cup of coffee from Eniko.
“Cooking,” Crawler said, moving the discussion on. “What are we doing with our ingredients? Do you plan to level up the craft?”
“Yeah. I don’t know when, but don’t sell anything. Also, don’t put up Roast Undead Rat Chitterlings under any circumstances. The ingredients for the dish will be rare soon, we might need them.” I looked at the system clock. Oyama was probably already awake. “What else?”
“This isn’t urgent, but still best that you know. Investments in real life. We can’t invest in risky projects, so I’ll ask again: are you sure we should get tangled up with that company I mentioned?”
I scratched my forehead.
“Uhm… Which one?”
“The First Martian Company, founded by one Zoran Savic. I found him and learned something interesting! Basically, the guy is in big trouble over a patent — Snowstorm is suing him. It’s about neurointerface technology with internet access. No lenses, glasses — all the info is displayed directly on the retina. Makes the comm obsolete. Sounds awesome, but Zoran doesn’t have any thorough tests or stable prototypes.”
“Did he tell you that himself?”
“No, it’s online and in Snowstorm’s press release in the News section. Feels like the corp is sinking the project. Zoran himself said he isn’t interested in outside investors. I hinted that you and he knew each other, and he said he’d only talk to you.” Crawler shook his head. “No, he doesn’t know who you are.”
“Try again. Say hi to him from Murphy, he should get it.”
The council meeting ended there. We exchanged news: Bomber had been working on Orthokon, while Infect had been digging up and collecting Archeological Finds, which he still had to clean to figure out what they were.
In the meantime, we got some unhappy news from Jenkins the hobbit: We have invented several interesting dishes, recipes attached. Unfortunately, nothing with cold resistance. We can continue experimenting if you send us more resources.
I studied the recipes, one of which had an amusing half-hour Slippery effect, then told Jenkins there would be no more resources for now. I wanted to save something for my own cooking experiments.
I’d tried all I could to solve the cold problem. All I could hope for now was a hint from Fortune.
Irita caught up to me at the tavern door. We said nothing for half a minute, standing shoulder to shoulder in the street. The girl touched my hand, at first shyly, then squeezing my palm.
“Hey, can I move in with you guys?” she asked, blushing. “I can help with finances, legal issues. I don’t know where it is you’re living, but…”
“If it were up to me… Honestly, Rita, I’d be happy to see you there, would make a change from just the guys…” My heart started beating faster and my voice turned hoarse. “But it isn’t safe there yet. Let’s talk about it again after the Demonic Games, okay?”
“So you’re going to enter after all?”
“We have no choice.”
“There’s always a choice,” Irita said, looking me hard in the eye. “The question is, do you choose, or does someone make the choice for you?”
Chapter 16. Supreme Grand Master Oyama
AN UNFAMILIAR GUARD stood behind the village palisade. Lazily inquiring as to who I was and what I wanted, he blew a horn to summon Dzigoro. A drawn-out alarm call trumpeted out over Jiri. Remembering the last meeting, I took off my armor, leaving me in trousers and shirt.
A panting Dzigoro arrived a minute later. His head flashed above the palisade, disappeared. I heard the big man chewing out the guard:
“Are you mad? Too lazy to come get me? Ass stuck to your chair?”
“Well, you came,” the guard’s melancholy voice replied. “Why walk back and forth?”
“Explain that to the elder yourself, cretin! He’ll give you ‘back and forth’!”
The gates swung open to Dzigoro’s muttering and swearing. The night-shift sentry moved to block the way. He was half again as tall as me, and could have stopped Sharkon with his chest. I looked him up and down, ama
zed, then offered him the promised hundred gold. The coins disappeared in his huge grasp, and Dzigoro moved off to one side.
“Sixth house on the right,” he pointed the way. “With the straw roof. And… Take my advice: whatever the old man tells you, don’t argue. He’ll chase you away or kill you.”
I walked through the ramshackle village, examining leaning houses and darkened windows. Some grubby boys who had been crafting something out of stones and sticks were so surprised to see a stranger that they abandoned their task and stared at me with interest, along with a huge pig that had been squelching away happily in a heap of refuse. But the men, seated beneath awnings and playing something that looked like chess, didn’t even notice me. Some women, on the other hand, outraged at the extortionate prices of wandering merchants, began narrowing their eyes and talking louder, taking me as the object of their ire.
My head span from the dizzying scent of smoking herbs. My feet were covered in dust and I was sure that now my face must be just as dirty as anyone else’s. The dust penetrated through my clothes and stuck to my sweaty body. It was everywhere.
Every last villager was tall and built like a knight. Even the women seemed as if born of titans or giants, but the system assured me they were human. Was this what it meant to be of the Oyama clan? No wonder he chose hand-to-hand combat. That Dzigoro could have broken through the Modus fortress wall with his fist. And now I knew why the people of the desert cowered when they heard the name Jiri.
When I reached the right house, I carefully stepped over a pile of garbage, reached the door of withered planks and knocked. Nobody replied. Just as I’d decided that Oyama must be out or still sleeping, the Grand Master emerged from the back yard. The old man looked nothing like the dessicated mummy I met in the desert during the battle between the Alliance and Shazz. He was more solid, he’d shaved off his hair and beard, he was standing straighter and his muscles had filled out, like a skeleton that had grown flesh.
“Who’re you? What do ya want?” he asked coarsely.
“My name is Scyth, Grand Master. We met in the desert when you returned from…”
“I remember,” Oyama said casually, then looked surprised: “Hey, no disguises this time, you came as you. And no plague! What a surprise!”
“Teacher…”
“No!” the old man cut me off sharply. “I’m not your teacher…”
An instant later, he was next to me and touched my chest with a finger. It happened so fast that I couldn’t do anything — my body was thrown through the air all the way out of the village and beyond. The air rushed by me for some time, then I slammed back-first into something and the air rushed out of my lungs. Equanimity activated. Tears streamed from my eyes.
Rising, I saw Oyama before me. Expecting the worst, I quickly equipped Cold-Blooded Punisher.
Studying me with his gaze, the old man shook his head:
“Too weak. Too slow. But you don’t die easy. You say Sagda taught you? Bu? How’s that old drunkard doing?”
“When we last met, he was planning to seek you out in the desert. Master Sagda has been ready to gain a new rank for a long time.”
“I doubt that. Sagda’s spirit is weak, always was weak. A strong fist is only a small part of what you need on the road of Unarmed Combat. Not as weak as…” Oyama spat. “The weak in spirit put their hopes in metal, hide behind armor and shield, bring sword and axe to bear. Mollusks in iron shells. You hide in armor too, as I see?”
“I only have the first rank of mastery, teacher…”
“I told you, I’m not your teacher!” he flared up. “Like I said, you’re weak and slow. Turn around.”
Behind me, a once mighty tree was dying in the choking embrace of thick vines, its leaves yellowing and falling, half its branches dried out.
“That is Caressing Creeper,” the old man explained. “A parasite. It wraps itself around trees and sucks out the sap, but leaves the tree just enough to stay alive. The creeper gets so strong that only the truly mighty can tear it from the trunk. Pull it off and I will take you as a student.”
The vines looked ordinary and I grabbed the closest one right away, pulled it… Didn’t budge! I tried to pull off another, again fruitlessly.
I didn’t notice when Oyama left. I was still trying to pull a vine from the tree, but they were stuck fast. I couldn’t even grab hold of the stuff properly — my fingers slipped off the metal-smooth growth. Armed with Reaper’s Scythes, I launched a series of Combos at the vines — in vain. The parasite seemed stronger than adamantite. And that was with my strength at over a thousand! Shame I’d lost those Unity bonuses…
Wait for the second temple to finish? Or… I dug through my inventory and pulled out the Grain of Transformation. Time to redistribute almost three thousand points of charisma into something more useful.
Sitting in the shade of the tree, I used the artifact and reset my stats. Too weak and too slow? I put three thousand points into strength and two into agility. I cut my luck a little to raise my endurance. Not counting Unity bonuses, my stats now looked like this:
Strength: 3000.
Perception: 1000.
Endurance: 1200.
Charisma: 281.
Intellect: 300.
Agility: 2000.
Luck: 2000.
Attention! It will take 24 hours to fully redistribute your stats.
Although unpleasantly surprised, — I’d been planning to finish my training with Oyama the same day, — I agreed. Good thing it didn’t need to regenerate my character, or I would have lost days.
The artifact disappeared and the stats in my profile began to change slowly, flowing into one another.
“It’s over for you tomorrow!” I threatened the Caressing Creeper.
Oyama and I would meet again then too. For now… It was time to take all this Serendipity to she who favors the brave before I spilled it.
Interlude 1. Veratrix
IF CHARACTERS were born like they were generated in the game, then Veratrix Furtado would have come into this world with negative stats.
He was born with dwarfism from a mutation in his XRCC4 gene caused by pollution, mostly in the form of heightened background radiation — so said the doctors. A more thorough doctor would have found contributing factors: the parents’ alcoholism, additional genetic pathologies and trauma during birth. Veratrix was born hunchbacked: his spine was deformed and his shoulder blades askew, not in line with his ribs. His mental retardation was observed later.
He knew no other life but the only one he’d ever had, in Cali Bottom. To a citizen, such a life would seem sad and wretched, but it was fine for Veratrix. It was all he knew. It wasn’t even bad, especially after he moved in with grandpa.
That night, his parents’ tiny room was filled with a crowd of their friends, all fellow alcoholics. God alone knew what they were celebrating. Maybe nothing. Having a reason to drink was a privilege of the rich. The poor needed no reason. Veratrix, who always cried and killed the mood, was taken to spend the night with his grandpa Harold, not yet old back then.
On purpose or by accident, the night’s drinking ended in a fire in which the boy’s parents and neighbors all died. Harold took his grandson in. The boy was nine when he was orphaned.
Public schooling was available only to citizen children, so Veratrix’s grandfather taught him. The alphabet, basic arithmetic, how society and the world are built. He learned some things from the internet, some from the other children the boy played with on the roof. Played… Of course, he was bullied for his clumsiness and birth defects, called a tadpole, but Trixie, as he was nicknamed, just thought that was how things were. It just happened. It wasn’t in his power to change anything.
He grew, and each day was the same as the last. Ordinary. Veratrix sat for hours on the roof, trying to imagine what was beyond the horizon. Was there another life in the world, or was all that he’d seen in films only a dream?
As a teenager, he began to look at girls. Something dre
w him to them, something inside — strange and pleasing — demanded exit. Once, in thrall to this all-encompassing desire, he lay in wait for his neighbor Becky in the corridor. At nearly twenty, the girl had already been married, was raising a son and was in search of a new boyfriend.
Seeing nothing but fat white legs gleaming in the darkness, Trixie embraced them and pressed his whole body against them, greedily inhaling the magnetic scent. He had no idea this was sexual assault; he felt nothing but boundless tenderness, after all.
Punishment came quickly. First Becky herself beat the ‘gross hunchback’ after freeing herself, then so did her boyfriends when they found out, then her father. Bruised ribs, a bloody mess in place of a face, a cracked skull — this was what Trixie got from his first romantic adventure. But he remembered those few seconds of happiness for long years, and regretted nothing.
Path of Spirit (Disgardium Book #6): LitRPG Series Page 17
