Alpha Zero (Alpha LitRPG Book 1)

by Arthur Stone

  Gesturing at the three, Ash explained sternly.

  “Mamouk stole property of the Blackriver Fort. For this, Mamouk will be punished. If you touch anything that belongs to the fort, you will suffer the same fate. If you can’t earn your keep, you will be punished. Everyone here works. Loafers don’t last long in our fort. Remember that! Now, let’s see what happens to those who violate the fort’s rules.”

  “Mercy! Have mercy!” the beaten man shrieked, groveling on the manure-covered ground. “I won’t be able to work anymore! How will I repay my debt then?! I beg you to have mercy!”

  Ignoring the yelling, the two thugs fell on top of Mamouk. In an instant, his right hand was fully extended. The next instant, a flat stone materialized as if out of thin air.

  Moving unhurriedly, Hugo removed the axe from his waist, gave it a casual whirl, then crouched and dealt a devastating blow with the flat end of the weapon, trapping the man’s palm between the stone anvil and the heavy metal. Even from fifteen paces away I could clearly hear the ghastly crunch of bones being shattered.

  Whether from pain or fear, but Mamouk didn’t even scream, his body quiet and limp in the arms of his tormentors. He was either passed out or dead, his heart having failed him.

  It wasn’t the worst death, considering. Even with my lacking knowledge of medicine, it was clear that the hand was shattered beyond repair. Back on Earth, amputation would probably be the only option. And even if the doctors could save the hand somehow, it would never recover anywhere near full functionality. Here on Rock, Mamouk would need a healer with high-level medicinal talents. And he hardly looked like he had the kind of money such a healer was likely to command.

  Turning my way for some reason, Ash asked in a nonchalant fashion.

  “Well, boy? Are you happy to have made it to Blackriver?”

  “I’m not sure yet,” I said honestly.

  “Is there something that’s not to your liking?”

  “You never did say where I should go. And since you’re in charge, I can’t make that decision without approval.”

  “You are a curious one,” Ash mused approvingly. “Maybe you will survive here, after all. But I’m not going to hire you. You’re too small and weak to be of any use to me. That said, in our fort, anyone with a good work ethic can earn themselves a meal.”

  He turned to Hugo and added with levity.

  “Assign him to Brainless.”

  “That describes most of our people,” the hulk chortled, fastening the axe to his belt.

  “I’m talking about Beko.”

  “The ghoul? He won’t last the night.”

  “No one promised the lad an easy life. He’s got a good head on his shoulders, and Beko has got almost everything else. Between the two of them, maybe we’ll get one serviceable worker.” He turned back to Kashik. “Now, if that’s all for the human capital, follow me. I need to taste the wine you’ve brought. If it’s as bitter as last time, you will not leave here with all of your teeth.”

  Chapter 14

  Beko

  No Stat Changes

  I knew that something was off with Beko the moment his name was mentioned. Unfortunately, being in no position to pick and choose my assignments, I kept my mouth shout.

  When, in response to my question where I might find Beko’s team, the first worker I came across didn’t answer but simply laughed, I surmised that the problem might be graver than I had thought.

  There must be something seriously off with this Brainless fellow...

  Having had his laugh, the man took pity on me at last.

  “He’s not in a team, kid. You got pranked, is all. Your eyes are too blue, some folks around here will have a laugh at your expense.”

  “In that case, Ash must be quite the prankster.”

  “Wait, are you new?” the man’s mirth was gone in an instant.

  “Yes. My name is Ged, and Master Ash assigned me to Brainless Beko’s team.”

  “In that case, you’re screwed, kid. Seriously screwed.”

  “Maybe so. But I would nonetheless appreciate some directions. It’s getting late, and this is my first time in your fort.”

  “Beko has no team,” the man repeated. “Beko is a ghoul.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked, puzzled.

  “Exactly what I say. His mother sinned with a ghoul. Kept running off to the woods until her belly started showing. When the neighbors found out, they burned the entire farmstead. Only she got out, along with her freak of a child. Then she came to the fort and found work here. Heck, it’s not like anyone here gave a hoot who she did it with. Even found herself a man, a bad egg just like her. The two of them moved to the new outpost, which ended up burning down shortly after. No survivors except for Beko. The kid made it back to the fort at night, on his own, squealing at the bridge to let him in. Something shady happened there. They say the grownups sent all their kids out into the woods when it all began, but Beko was the only one to make it to Blackriver. That’s how the rumors started. What happened to all those other kids, eh? Ghouls are known to eat only human flesh, and children’s flesh... It doesn’t get any more tender than that.”

  The man concluded by smacking his lips, giving me a start.

  He grinned from ear to ear at my reaction, then gestured to his left.

  “Oh, relax. Our ghoul chomps down on gruel like nobody’s business. Still... watch yourself around him. Best be on the safe side, you know? Now, go all the way to the end of the main wall and you’ll see a barn. That’s where Beko lives. The area is pretty empty—nobody wants a ghoul for a neighbor. We’re all kind of shocked that no one has bashed his head in yet. We don’t like ghouls around here. And for good reasons.”

  I wasn’t an expert on ghouls by any means. And the little knowledge I did have naturally didn’t stem from my first life—I had simply picked the closest applicable term. The reputation of such creatures from the folk tales of my former world seemed to match the negative superstitions I heard in this one. Scary folk tales being super popular among commoners, the clan’s servants had been my main source of information. Yet, having been blessed with enough life experience and critical thinking to filter pure gibberish, I had come to an impression that the creatures weren’t nearly as scary as the folk tales would have you believe.

  These weren’t vampires in the classic sense of humans “turned” by the bites of other vampires. Even when I was a child back on Earth, the mythology never really made sense to me. If this was the only way to produce vampires, where had the original vampire come from?

  And the local vampires differed greatly from those back on Earth, even in mythology. Putting aside my overly simplistic analogy, the truth of it was that they were simply a different race. Stranger in appearance, sure, but not much stranger than putting a pygmy next to a full grown, pale-skinned Scandinavian and claiming they were of the same race. An ignorant person might not even believe them to be the same species.

  Come to think of it, that had been the general consensus for the majority of human history. Skin color alone had been the determining factor in all manner of atrocities, from committing people to a life of slavery to displaying them in menageries like exotic animals. Here, in a world that in many ways resembled a Medieval Earth, it was only natural to observe similar tendencies. The Great Purge, referring to the grandiose slaughter that took place when the Southerners conquered the North, had led to, among other things, near total destruction of local ghoul enclaves. The indigenous tribes were eradicated for no other reason than their appearance. It wasn’t anything they could hide, so there was no salvation. Rumor had it that only a few escaped, having fled beyond Redriver alongside some of the surviving human tribes. True to their human character, the latter had a much easier time adapting to life with other races.

  And now it appeared that I would need to find a way to adapt to working alongside the descendant of these very ghouls. I wanted to believe that our differences amounted to only race, and that rumors of the ghouls�
� affinity for human flesh were greatly exaggerated.

  Dusk was thickening quickly, but the fort wasn’t large, so it didn’t take me long to find the barn by the received verbal directions. But as I stood in front of it, a skeptic with plenty of life experience in a juvenile, sickly body, I couldn’t bring myself to move. My feet were rebelling against my brain—until the latter began to capitulate, submitting to seditious thoughts. Anything is possible in this crazy world. This isn’t Earth. What if the damned ghoul does eat me?

  It wasn’t unreasonable to feel apprehensive about shacking up with someone with Beko’s unsavory reputation.

  A bolt of lightning flashed down by the river, followed by a peal of thunder a few seconds later. A storm was brewing, the first raindrops already starting to drum on the shingled roofs.

  If I didn’t get inside right now, I would be soaking wet. And this was fraught with serious complications for someone with my shaky health.

  I pushed through the childish fears and rushed toward the barn. The miniature low structure with a lean-to roof was wedged between two of the fort’s walls. It seemed fitting to store firewood or maybe chickens, but certainly not people. Alas, my only alternative to this place was the outside.

  In place of a door, the narrow aperture was screened by a mat of thick reeds. The cold raindrops were smacking my back with enough force that I didn’t need to muster up any additional courage. Pulling up the makeshift barrier, I stepped into the darkness that reigned within.

  Something rushed at me from this darkness. Something revoltingly pale and scary, and most definitely not human. A strange breath wafted into my face, punctuated by hissing sounds that added into words.

  “Don’t toooouch! It’sssss miiiiineeeee! Miiiiineeeee!”

  More rolling thunder shook the ground underneath my feet, and the next flash of lightning illuminated the physical details of the creature that spoke to me.

  At that point I let out a scream. A terrifying, bloodcurdling scream.

  In unison with the ghoul. The creature screamed on top of his lungs, much like a human might, backing away until he stumbled and fell. When the next flash of lightning came, I glimpsed him scampering away on all fours to the far corner of the barn.

  When darkness fell again, it was absolute. I had accidentally let go of the corner of the mat, which now blocked the doorway like a blackout shade, filtering almost all the light from subsequent flashes of lightning.

  The next half-hour was probably the longest of my life. It wasn’t that I was terrified. If I was, the foul weather wouldn’t have stopped me—better to spend the night under pouring rain than next to an alien creature capable of sucking you dry.

  My head was still with me, however. Recalling my previous reflections, I further reasoned that no one would keep an actual vampire in the fort. People liked to talk—that much was obvious—but the reality was that, despite Beko’s strange appearance, he did not feed on human flesh.

  Furthermore, he seemed to be just as afraid of me as I was of him. If not more so. As I sat by the exit, glancing warily in his direction, he was curled up in a dark corner, squealing and sobbing through his fear. Unless those sounds were some kind of feature of his race, Beko was apparently weeping his eyes out, whereas I wasn’t even thinking of shedding a tear.

  The claps of thunder softened right about the time water started dripping on top of my head. The roof was far from solid, it would seem, leaking in numerous places.

  It took some effort to find a dry spot.

  “You’re a real slacker, Beko. You could have fixed up your roof, at least.”

  “It’s miiineee,” came the reply in an uncertain drawl.

  “It’s yours, it’s yours. Don’t you worry. Whatever it is.”

  “You won’t take away?” asked a suspicious voice from the corner.

  “I told you, it’s yours. I have utmost respect for private property rights.”

  “Mine. It’s mine. It’ll stay with me,” Beko concluded in a pitiable tone, then inquired about the most important matter. “Will you beat me hard?”

  “Why would I beat you?”

  “I don’t know. No one ever tells me why. They just beat me and take what’s mine. You want to do the same, don’t you?”

  “Oh yeah, it’s my life’s dream. Calm down already, will you? I’m not here to fight. Ash assigned me to your team.”

  “Ash?! Team?! There is no team! Ash doesn’t care about me! You’re lying!”

  “I’m not. I arrived here with a caravan. Ash himself ordered me to join you.”

  “I see,” a suddenly tense voice replied from the darkness. “Ash plans to take what’s mine. But no! I won’t allow it! It’s mine!”

  I groaned. “Quit making things harder than they are. You’re right, Ash doesn’t care about you. Nor me. He called you a useless freak, and me a useless cripple. And that if we team up, we might become one serviceable worker. So you and I are to work together, got it? Maybe we’ll even build a career here. Get a promotion, become bigwigs, and move into a slightly larger barn. Now quit crying, eh? You and I are the same, so there’s no sense of being scared of each other.”

  “You won’t take it away?” the voice from the darkness seemed only slightly more reassured.

  The repetitive nature of our exchange was starting to grate on me. It was time to whip out heavy artillery so as to prove my intentions not to infringe on my new roommate’s property.

  “No, I won’t. I’ll even share mine with you. Want some bread with lard?”

  “Of course. But I don’t have any.”

  “I do.”

  “I know.”

  “How do you know?”

  “The smell told me.”

  “So you’ve got a good sense of smell, huh?”

  “The lard smells strong,” Beko replied. I could almost hear him salivating.

  “Got a knife?” I asked.

  “You’re thinking of gutting me, aren’t you?!” the ghoul was back to his wary self.

  “Use your head! How am I supposed to share the lard with you? It’s a big chunk that needs to be cut.”

  “You’re going to share the lard? With me?!” the voice exclaimed with a mix of suspicion and desperate hope.

  “Yes, I am. And some bread, too. There’s not much of it, and it’s hard. But without mold.”

  “Rhyne flour,” Beko declared expertly. “I don’t have a knife, but I’ve got a splinter. It’s pretty sharp, should have no problem cutting lard. The rind, too, if it’s not too tough.”

  “Good idea. But it’ll be hard to do in this darkness.”

  “It’s about to get light,” Beko made a mysterious promise.

  The ghoul applied a standard solution to the lighting problem. Somewhere in his dark corner he stored a tiny straw cage that held several fat fireflies of the local variety. Krol had had a similar one. According to the coachman, if you fed these insects well, you could save a year’s worth of expenses on candles and torches.

  The light-source wasn’t a 100 watt lamp or anything, but strong enough to disperse the total gloom of the barn. The scant light allowed me to get a better look at Beko. Indeed, the ghoul inspired tears more than he did fear.

  Of the many things nature deprived me of, height wasn’t among them. I was as tall as most boys my age. My constitution was another story. My weak body couldn’t handle physical strain, and no attempts at nourishment helped to improve the condition. As a result, I looked perpetually sickly, as if suffering from an incurable terminal illness.

  Which, to be fair, was an accurate diagnosis.

  Looking at Beko, you couldn’t quite tell his age. His facial features did appear vampiric, and those creatures were ageless. But if you looked past the abnormally sharp lower jaw and the comical ears, his chalk-white skin tone would be the sole feature distinguishing him from a regular person. Aside from all that, he looked like a regular teenager, only shorter than usual and scrawny like me. His clothes amounted to a layered heap of rags, his hai
r a clumped mess, and his bare feet nearly black with dirt. Yet, the ghoul didn’t reek of unwashed filth, suggesting he was at least familiar with personal hygiene, even if they weren’t on particularly great terms.

  The way Beko savored the lard, you would think he was dining at a 3-star Michelin restaurant. The stuff must have been an extraordinary luxury for him.

  I couldn’t help but ask the nagging question.

  “How long has it been since you ate lard?”

  He thought about it for a moment, then replied uncertainly.

  “I don’t remember eating lard. I remember the smell. They let me smell, but don’t let me eat.”