Viridian Gate Online: The Lich Priest: A litRPG Adventure (The Viridian Gate Archives Book 5)

by James Hunter

  I paused, gaze landing like a hammer on a pair of shadowy, violet runes that glimmered in the center of the chest plate, one stacked on top of the other. An ancient signal of the Maa-Tál that I recognized immediately: Power. Justice.

  I pulled my eyes away from the twirling avatar and accessed the armor’s stats.

  <<<>>>

  Judicator’s Mantle

  Armor Type: Medium; Modified Leather

  Class: Ancient Artifact

  Base Defense: 105

  Primary Effects:

  +10 to Constitution

  Dexterity Bonus = 1.5 x Shadow-Spark Level (Current Level: 9)

  Spirit Bonus = 2 x Shadow-Spark Level (Current Level: 9)

  Intelligence Bonus = 2 x Shadow-Spark Level (Current Level: 9)

  Luck Bonus = .5 x Shadow-Spark Level (Current Level: 9)

  +10% Resistance to all Elemental and Arcane-Based Damage

  Secondary Effects:

  Fleet Foot: +5% Faster Movement Rate; +10% Evade

  Stealth Bonus % = 1 x Shadow-Spark Level (Current Level: 9)

  Dragon’s Protection: +25% Fire Resistance

  Sakda Shadowmaned was the great-grandson of the Jade Lord and rightful heir to the Nangkri Dynasty. He was a peerless warrior, a Maa-Tál above reproach, and leader of the Dark Conclave. Though he could have united the Six Named Tribes under his banner, he instead devoted himself to service and justice, guarding the old ways and acting as a judicator between the Clan Chieftains. It is said the spirit of Justice itself lives inside his armor …

  <<<>>>

  Wow. So good. The second I had the armor in place, I felt the boosted stats kick into high gear; I felt stronger, faster, near invincible, as power rushed through me. It was thicker and bulkier than my old armor, but it didn’t seem to restrict my movement in the least, though the pauldron sticking up like a curved hitchhiker’s thumb on my left would take a little getting used to. The shoulder guard would protect my off side from Critical Hits while duking it out close range, but it also reduced my visibility just a hair.

  Always some tradeoff.

  “Well, you look pleased,” Osmark noted, hands planted on his hips, fingers drumming restlessly. “Good, I take it?” he asked, eyeing the new armor. “It certainly seems to suit you. Now you and your pet Drake match, how cute.” The words were cutting, but the ghost of a smile told me he meant no harm. A jab between … well, not friends exactly, but maybe frenemies. “Now let’s see what Lady Luck has in store for me.”

  I scooted over, making room so he could collect his share and examine his goods. While Osmark busied himself looting, I pulled my interface back up, noting that I’d managed to level up as Champion of Order—a well-earned bonus, considering everything we’d been through:

  <<<>>>

  Subspecialty: Champion of Order

  Ability Type/Level: Passive / Level 4

  Cost: None

  Effect 1: All Champion of Order-based skills and abilities are increased by 2.5% per Champion of Order Level (Current Level 4: 10%).

  Effect 2: Luck stat increases by one point for every (2) Champion of Order Levels (Current Level 4: +2 to Luck)

  Effect 3: You have (1) unassigned Divinity Point

  <<<>>>

  This time, I decided to go with Champion’s Strike, a melee attack skill, much like the Savage Blow and Crush Armor abilities, which drastically increased damage and raised the chance of making a Critical Hit, though there was a catch like all the other Champion skills: It only worked against select opponents. Still, it was a helluva skill to have. Almost the equivalent of a Backstab Bonus.

  <<<>>>

  Skill: Champion’s Strike

  As Champion of Order, your calling is to pull all things toward Balance, and the farther something is away from the center, the more powerful your abilities become. Using Champion’s Strike, deal a deadly blow to those who stray from balance.

  Skill Type/Level: Attack/Initiate

  Cost: 250 Stamina; duration, 20 minutes.

  Range: On Contact

  Cast Time: Instant

  Cooldown: 5 minutes

  Effect 1: 2x normal weapon damage, 5% increased chance of critical hit; only effective against opponents with a “Light” or “Dark” Alignment.

  Effect 2: 3x normal weapon damage, 10% increased chance of critical hit; only effective against opponents with a “Holy” or “Evil” Alignment.

  Order’s Cost: -.5x normal weapon damage, -10% chance of critical hit when used against an opponent with a “Neutral” Alignment.

  <<<>>>

  A blaring trumpet call ripped through the water, reverberating around me, sending shivers up and down my spine. I closed out of my interface just in time to see Sapphira the Mer-Queen glide regally through the tunnel and into the amphitheater. She wasn’t alone. Flanking her on either side were orderly columns of Ningyo guards in bronzed plate armor—enemies only hours ago, now friendly again. At least I hoped so.

  Sapphira let out a disappointed sigh as her gaze landed on the dead guardian crab decorating the bottom of the sandy floor like a busted piñata. She frowned but said nothing as she cruised by us overhead, her lithe body easily parting the waters as she took her throne on the upraised viewing platform. Osmark shot a sidelong glance at me, then pulled free the Scrimshaw Trident—an easy task with its guardian dead—and tossed it my way. I caught it in nimble fingers, nodding my thanks to the Artificer, and beelined for the throne.

  “Kneel,” one of the guards—a particularly muscular Ningyo carrying a wicked scythe-sword—barked as I drew up onto the platform.

  I faltered for a second, then shook my head. “Nope,” I replied, fingers tightening around the trident. “I don’t kneel for anyone. Not anymore. Against all odds, I fought my way through an army, destroyed that pillar”—I waved toward the column of rubble—“defeated her champion, and rescued her kingdom. And right now, I have the Scrimshaw Trident. If that’s not enough, I’m leader of the Crimson Alliance and the champion of an Overmind. So no, hard pass on bowing.” Webbed fingers flexed on weapons as the guards tensed, preparing to fight for their queen’s honor.

  Stupid, but extremely brave considering the amount of devastation Osmark and I had inflicted on this underwater kingdom.

  But before things could spiral any farther out of control, Sapphira raised one hand and brushed the problem away with the flick of her fingers. “It’s fine, Harker. The noble gentleman is right, of course. We are in their debt, not the other way around.” Still she offered me a frosty glare—please work with me, that look said. “These men have truly accomplished the impossible. Though I dare say, I am surprised you managed to dispatch dear, sweet Quincy.” She nodded at the dead crab. “No one has ever defeated him before. He’ll respawn, but he’ll be sore about this for ages, I’d imagine.”

  She paused, eyes hazy, tapping a finger against the carved armrest of her chair. Lost in thought. “My trident, good man?”

  I smiled, took one more look at the guard, then made my way forward, offering her the emerald weapon, buzzing with power. With life. The trident began to burn with otherworldly light the second it touched Sapphira’s hand; that light leaked out, twirling around the mermaid, restoring her to her full power. Her scales glimmered, her lips grew fuller, her hair more lustrous. She’d been beautiful before, but by the time the trident was done with its work, it hurt to look at her. Hers was the beauty of a supernova, of a hurricane making landfall, of a volcano erupting.

  Breathtaking, but frightening. Suddenly, I was glad we’d only had to go toe-to-toe with Quincy the Titan crab, and not this incarnation of the sea.

  She smiled at me, red lips pulling back to reveal dazzling white teeth, then pressed a small trinket into my palm. A silver pendant in the shape of an anchor, corroded with age and pitted by the salty waters and the passing of time. Suddenly her smile was gone, the moment solemn as she said, “A gift for your troubles. This is a sign of friendship between you and me, Grim Jack Shadowstrider, Champion o
f Order.

  “Rarely do my kind make friends with those of the land—order dictates that we stay to our respective planes. It is even rarer that I find myself indebted to anyone, much less a landlubber. Yet here we are. Place this in water and you can call on me. Once.” She thrust a single finger into the air. “When you call on me, I will aid you however I am able, so long as it is within my power. This is a powerful gift, so do not squander it.”

  A pop-up appeared a second later:

  <<<>>>

  Quest Update: Cleanse the Drowned Temple

  Congratulations! You have destroyed the Necrotic Pillars of Vox-Malum located within the Drowned Temple deep in the Tranquil Cove and returned the Scrimshaw Trident to Sapphira the Mer-Queen. As your reward, you have received the Favor of the Sea. Place it in water and open a conduit to the Mer-Queen herself. You can ask any one favor, and as long as it is within her power to grant, she will comply as a token of her thanks to you! Additionally, you and all accompanying party members have earned 10,000 EXP for completing this quest.

  <<<>>>

  “One more thing,” she said as I wrapped my hand around the pendant and slid it into my pocket. “I know where another of the pillars is. The Grim Vault in the Burning Expanse.”

  “Yeah, I kinda figured,” I said with a nod.

  “Ah, but few know of its actual location,” she said. “The Burning Expanse is a massive place. You could search for days—weeks even—and never find it. But I know where it was, because I was alive when Vox-Malum was buried alive. In fact, I helped. Which is why he was so determined to take my kingdom from me.” She faltered, eyes glassy as though seeing through the passing years. “Vox was always a petty, vengeful man, even before his fall. This time, I hope you kill him.” A notification flashed:

  <<<>>>

  Map Update

  Congratulations! Your in-world map of the Realm of Order has been updated with a new location: The Grim Vault.

  <<<>>>

  “Now go,” she said, lifting her trident, “there is much yet for you to do, darling. Gods speed.” The weapon flashed, glowing, and a shimmering opalescent portal appeared before me, showcasing sandy shores and lapping, white-capped waves.

  EIGHTEEN_

  Raiding Party

  Osmark and I stepped through the portal and onto the sandy white shores of the beach we’d left behind more than four hours ago. The sun, a molten ball of gold, lingered just above the ocean horizon to the west, fingers of pink and gold and red dancing across the gently surging waves. I pulled up my interface. Just past seven. I glanced up at the glimmer of stars peeking out like cold stains in the plum-colored sky high above. I breathed deeply, noticing with a start that my gills were gone, my hands and feet normal again.

  Damn, but it felt good to be back on dry ground, sand squishing between my non-webbed toes, breathing actual air.

  “Something is wrong here,” Osmark said as he strode up next to me. “It’s too quiet.”

  It hit me like a brick to the face—our party was gone. This was the same stretch of beach we’d departed from. I could see footprints in the sands and the stone-ringed fire pit Cutter and Amara had built before we’d left. Osmark squatted down, dropping one knee as he studied the sands. He pressed his lips into a thin line, forehead creasing, toggling through various lenses on his goggles. “No fresh blood. No new bodies. Doesn’t look like there was a fight,” he finally said with a shake of his head. “But they left in a hurry.” He pointed toward a line of hasty tracks leading away from the fire pit.

  I moved up the beach, scanning the tracks, and a flicker of light burst into the air. Ari, her wings fluttering like mad.

  “Thank the goddess you two are finally back,” she squeaked.

  “Where is everyone?” I asked.

  “Left, almost an hour ago. Headed back to the Vale.”

  “Why?” Osmark asked, voice stern.

  “There was an attack,” the Pixy replied. “A raid. I don’t know the details, but your companion Abby sent them an urgent message. Said the village was burning.” I glanced at Ari’s face and noticed dried streaks on her cheeks. She’d been crying, and not long ago. “It’s bad,” she finished uncertainly.

  I pulled up my interface and toggled over to my messages. Dammit. I felt my stomach sink—a pair of unread messages, both delivered just under an hour ago while Osmark and I had been mopping the floor with the titan crab. The first was from Abby, the second from Cutter—I read them back to back, piecing together the story.

  <<<>>>

  Personal Message:

  Jack,

  We’re under attack back at the Vale. Air raiders. They came out of nowhere. Dropped down right on top of our heads. Holding the fort, but things look ugly.

  —Abby

  <<<>>>

  Personal Message:

  Jack,

  The Vale is under siege, friend. We’re packing up camp now, heading back as quick as we can. I know you’re probably busy as all hell, but move it along, quick like.

  —Cutter

  <<<>>>

  I closed out of the messages, glimpses of fire and bloodshed dancing through my skull. Only one thing didn’t make sense. “Where’s Jay?” I asked, shooting a look at Osmark. I could see Cutter and Amara running off to help Abby, but Jay would never abandon his post—not to defend a bunch of Gnomes and butterfly-winged Pixies. Like Osmark, the guy was simply too cold-blooded for that.

  “Shadowing your friends,” the Artificer replied. “He seemed to think the attack was probably some ruse. He’s an untrusting sort, and after Ravenkirk, his suspicious streak only grew.”

  “Come on, we need to move now,” I said with a nod, thrusting one hand out as I summoned Devil. Sooty smoke filled the air in a cloud as the murder-machine Drake slipped through the veil between the planes in all his awesome terrifying glory. He was twenty-five feet of black scales, gleaming spikes of purple bone, leathery wings, and glowering demonic eyes. Once upon a time, summoning Devil left me feeling nervous and uncertain.

  Now, he was just a sight for sore eyes.

  I ran a hand along his snout, earning an indulgent grin from the Drake, before pulling myself up into my custom leather riding saddle, positioned just between his wings.

  “Are you sure flying is the wisest course of action?” Osmark asked, silently edging away from the Drake. A smart move, considering how deadly and vicious Devil could be. “I thought subterfuge was the order of the day. What happened to keeping a low profile, hmm?”

  “We’re past that,” I replied, gathering the reins in my hands. “After tangling with that Water Elemental, there’s no way Vox doesn’t know we’re here. Besides, that attack landed an hour ago—right around the same time we assaulted the pillar. No way is that timing coincidental. Vox-Malum knows we took out one of his toys. This was a counterassault. The time for keeping our heads down has passed.” I flicked the reins, planting my heels into Devil’s side. “Ari, you’re with me. Hop on,” I said with a jerk of my head.

  The little Pixy glided over to me, taking a seat on my shoulder without a word. The Drake lurched forward, smoke drifting from its nostrils as his wings shot out and we took to the sky. Who do we kill now? Devil sent, his voice hungry and eager as we rose over the hills, leaving Osmark on the ground to follow.

  Let’s go find out, I replied, gaze fixed on the darkening landscape flickering by below. Devil simply grunted, curling his legs in tighter as we rocketed forward. Behind us a guttural roar ripped through the night as a colossal creature of metal and rivets rose into the air—the Artificer on his Clockwork Dragon. I grinned silently, knowing Osmark would never catch us and feeling a sliver of smug satisfaction at the fact. The Artificer was good at so many things, but in this at least, he couldn’t hold a candle to me.

  Devil was the fastest mount in the skies, hands down.

  The trip out to the Cove had taken a little over forty minutes on foot, but in the air it took us less than ten. We cruised over rolling hills and past p
ine-studded forests as the sun sank, burying its face in the sea while the realm’s twin moons climbed, burning with silver light. I caught the smell of fire first—a whiff of burnt wood and grilled meat, which lingered on the breeze. Devil swooped down, bursting through a spattering of low-clinging clouds.

  Below, the Vale was burning.

  Most of the palisade we’d spent so long working on was little more than charred toothpicks and ash. Many of the buildings had been razed to the ground—now just heaps of rubble—while others were smoldering ruins. Outside the palisade, smoking craters and burning trenches marred the otherwise beautiful meadow like ugly blemishes. That was the aftermath of Osmark’s proximity bombs and fire pits. I squinted as Devil dropped down, eyeing the piles of dead monsters being stacked up like cordwood all over the village.

  They were strange looking critters, more human than monster, their skin a pasty green, their ears pointed, their glassy eyes yellow and a few sizes too large. They looked for all the world like scaled-down elves. Really ugly scaled-down elves, but elves. Most of them wore tight-fitting leather outfits covered in cogs and gears. A few had goggles and a spattering even carried crude repeaters. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say they were Artificers like Osmark.

  Devil circled once, twice, and touched down in the town square, which was the only place in the village large enough to accommodate his bulk. Abby raced over as I slipped from the saddle, the mayor trotting along in tow. A glance at her HP told me she was okay, although her face was streaked with dried blood and her dress was covered in soot.

  The mayor, on the other hand, looked a heartbeat away from keeling over.

  His fur was singed. His clothes slashed. His sword bloody, his left arm mangled.

  “Sir Champion,” he said gravely with a nod, his strangely slit eyes brimming with anger and unshed tears.

  Before he could say more, the thunderous bellow of jets broke overhead as Osmark’s Clockwork Dragon banked into view, descending from the sky.

  It was a powerful creature of forged metal, twirling cogs, and brass rivets. Its wings were built from a combination of steel and thick fabric, but one look told me there was no way that thing should be able to fly—not on wing power alone. But the exhaust ports lining its belly, spewing out white steam, seemed to help. Long limbs tipped with deadly claws and a mouth built for shredding meat made the dragon deadly close up. Its real weapons, though, were the pair of mechanical turrets adorning each shoulder: a Gatling gun perched on the left, a rocket launcher on the right.