Viridian Gate Online: The Jade Lord: A litRPG Adventure (The Viridian Gate Archives Book 3)

by James Hunter

  One more obstacle for Yusuf and his boys to overcome.

  “Ready,” Vlad called, darting back over to our position. I glanced at the vault door, now riddled with packets of odd-colored dust, all placed at strategic locations around the hulking glass frame. No way would those charges take out the crystalline door itself, but the wall was merely rough-hewn sandstone—resilient, but not indestructible.

  I strode over to Yusuf’s massive wooden desk—identical to the one Hakim had in his office—and flipped it on its side with a grunt and a heave, making sure the thick tabletop faced the vault. “Alright, Amara,” I hollered, bringing her up on chat as I dropped to a knee behind the desk, pressing my shoulder into the wood. “Tell Forge to get working. He’s got about thirty seconds to get through that roof.”

  “Consider it done,” she said, calm and professional. The link clicked off.

  Immediately, a dull thunk sounded overhead, repeating again and again—thunk-thunk-thunk-—like a jackhammer biting into asphalt, which was close to the truth. Aside from Crafting, Forge had also invested a few points into some Mine-Craft skills, so he had a handful of abilities that allowed him to burrow right through the mud-lined brick ceiling. Hopefully. And if not … Well, we’d be in trouble.

  Everything’ll be fine, I reassured myself. Then, I shoved my uncertainty away as Vlad, Cutter, and Abby scooted over to the desk and piled in next to me.

  “Okay,” Abby said, a twinge of nervousness in the word. “So, everything’s ready?”

  “As ready as it’s going to be,” I replied with a nod, trying to sound confident and self-assured.

  She glanced down, running her palms over the folds in her velvety dress. “I know we’ve already talked about this a hundred times, but …” She paused and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “But this isn’t going to kill us all, right?”

  I shot a look at Vlad, one inquisitive eyebrow raised. Abby shifted, stealing a sidelong glance at him as well. He cleared his throat several times, looking anywhere but at Abby.

  “Theoretically,” he said, seesawing his head left then right, “we should be okay. But? Impossible to know until we try.”

  Abby looked far more worried than reassured, but she cautiously poked her head above the table, sticking one arm out, palm forward. “God, I hope this works,” she muttered as braids of golden flame snaked around her outstretched limb, twisting, dancing, and merging into a single fiery orb in the center of her palm. “Get that shield ready, Jack.”

  She unleased the conjured fireball, which smashed against the vault door like a dump truck made of flame and force, setting Vlad’s sand pouches ablaze. The reaction was instantaneous: the vault door went up like a bunker buster plunging into the heart of an erupting volcano. The room rattled beneath me—chairs toppled, dust rained down from above, and the torches lining the walls guttered and died under the gale-force rush of wind. A series of deafening booms ripped through the air, each louder than the last, as a tremendous mushroom cloud of flame filled the office with golden light and scorching heat.

  I popped up and called on the power of Dark Shield—a shield of flickering purple light—an instant before the debris cloud hit us like a tsunami. Jagged chunks of sandstone pelted my defensive barrier while tongues of red flame lapped over everything. My shield wavered under the intense pressure, never meant to withstand this kind of raw force. After a few seconds, the skin-searing heat bled through, clawing at my exposed skin, singeing my eyebrows, and leaving my face red and raw as my HP plunged.

  Still, I held on, teeth clenched, brow furrowed, knowing if I dropped the shield we were all dead. Finally—after my HP had dipped by two-thirds—the massive fireball dissipated, leaving scorched stone, charred furniture, and thick plumes of cloying smoke in its wake. I let the shield die, my Spirit nearly spent anyway, and stared through the thick layer of smoke to the vault door. Unbelievably, the damned thing was still standing. My heart seemed to falter inside my chest as sheer panic invaded. No, no, no. This needed to work—there was no other plan, no other option. But as the smoke cleared further, I let out a ragged sigh of relief.

  The door was still standing, true, but it was wobbling on its last legs. The thing was drunkenly tilted forward, attached to the right wall only by a small wedge of cracked stone. A stiff breeze would bring it down.

  Abby stood, a softball-sized chunk of blackened debris in hand, and she casually lobbed it at the remaining section of wall. The rock hit with a dull thud, and that was the straw to break the camel’s back. The vault door lurched forward with a screech and crashed like a felled redwood, hitting the floor with a thunderous clang that bounced and echoed off the walls, kicking up a huge cloud of sooty dust.

  “Perhaps a bit too much powder,” Vlad said, peeking over the table’s edge, unconsciously poking at the bridge of his nose as though he were pushing up a pair of glasses. An old tick from IRL beat into muscle memory, I guessed. “Still, it is most impressive.”

  “Yeah, impressive is one word you could go with,” Abby whispered, staring at the damage with a look of muted horror mingled with begrudging admiration. She’d been so busy running the guild that this was her first chance to actually see Vlad’s weapons in action. Effective, but a long, long way from pretty. I could almost see her envisioning the wholesale slaughter and devastation marching toward us like armored shock troops.

  A sharp crack from the wooden door behind us stopped the conversation cold. I wheeled around and checked the cooldown timer. Sure enough, Umbra Bog had worn off. I could still sense Nikko capering around in the front room, hurling alchemic grenades and sowing havoc, but obviously, Yusuf had finally seen through our sleight of hand. The miniature atomic blast we’d set off was probably a huge tip-off, since Yusuf would have to be blind, deaf, and damn near dead to miss that.

  “Move it, Cutter,” I yelled, eyes trained on the door. Even with the vault open, the amulet was still locked away in a smaller, secondary safe; it was Cutter’s job as a master thief to get that bad boy open before the guards broke in and murdered us all.

  “Don’t get your knickers in a twist,” he replied, leaping over the capsized desk and making for the vault.

  “Amara,” I said, activating the Officer Chat. “What in the world is taking so long?”

  “Patience,” she offered flatly. “It is hard work, but he is almost through now.” There was a giant crack from overhead, as though to emphasize her words. Another blow followed, crack, and another still. “I would watch out if I were you,” Amara said, sounding a tad self-satisfied as a huge square of ceiling, three feet by three feet, plummeted to the ground, exploding in a spray of dust, mud, and stone. The comm link went dead as Forge’s grinning face popped through the opening, framed by the night sky overhead.

  “Y’all okay down there?” he called, taking a quick sweep of the room before disappearing back through the hole and tossing down a thick length of rope with a circular foothold at the end.

  “Yeah, fine,” Abby called back up, cupping a hand around her mouth. “Just a little hectic. We’ve got to move, though. Yusuf’s guards are almost through the door.”

  Vlad was the first to go, running over to the rope and slipping the loop at the bottom around his foot. With that done, he gave three curt tugs, ready to go, and immediately the line went taut, hauling Vlad toward the opening in the ceiling like an overgrown trout on the end of a fishing line. I could hear Forge and Amara grunting on the other end, doing all the heavy lifting. It was only a matter of seconds before the Russian disappeared through the hole and the rope was lowered back down once more.

  Abby went up next, following the same rehearsed procedure and disappearing even quicker than Vlad had. Still, though, Cutter wasn’t done yet, and the door didn’t have much fight left in it. The wood was splintered, and a huge crack, large enough to see through, ran straight down the middle from top to bottom. Another couple of chops and the thing would be ready to use as firewood. “Hurry up, Cutter!” I yelled again, pla
nting my feet. Preparing to fight. To buy Cutter however long he needed.

  “I’m doing the best I can, Jack,” he called in return. “Lock picking’s an art, you know, and this safe in here is like a master painting. Another thirty seconds ought to do it.”

  “Do it faster,” I replied as one of the Accipiter guards jabbed a fist-sized fishhook, connected to a length of rope, in through the split, then sunk the razor-tipped head into the wood.

  “Heave,” someone called out from the other side. The hook bit deep as the rope twanged and the door groaned—the wood almost screaming, while the metal hinges issued a rusty squeal. Then, boom-pop, the door flew off, sailing free and leaving us painfully exposed to the guards on the other side.

  Cutter rushed from the vault a heartbeat later, a lopsided grin on his face, an old golden necklace with a fat emerald in the center hanging from his fist. The smile faltered and faded as he finally saw the state of the room and the guards shouldering their way in.

  “Bollocks,” he muttered, stowing the necklace in his inventory before drawing the twin daggers at his belt and dropping into a low crouch, ready for a brawl. “This is a right mess,” he said. “I don’t see a way both of us are getting out before they”—he nodded toward the guards—“get in. One of us is gonna have to stay behind, I’d wager. And since I’m the pretty, funny one, I figure it oughta be you that stays, Jack. Privileges of leadership and all.”

  I pulled my warhammer free, lips pulled back in a grimace as my mind raced. Cutter was right: no way we’d both make it out in time. One of us would have to stay behind and find another exit. And though I hated to admit it, Cutter was also right about me staying behind. He was a heck of a good thief, but I had a better chance of making it out alive, and if not? Well, I’d lose the Path of the Jade Lord quest, but better that than to see Cutter permanently kick the bucket, hacked to pieces by a bunch of machete-wielding guards.

  “Go,” I shouted, waving him toward the rope with my free hand. “You’re right, I can’t risk losing my snarky sidekick. Once you get topside, tell everyone to scram. When these guards see the hole in the ceiling, they’ll connect the dots and be all over you guys. So move your asses.”

  “What about you?” he asked, voice suddenly serious even as he stowed one of his daggers, slipped his foot into the loop, and clenched the rope with his free hand.

  “Don’t worry about me,” I shouted as the first guard hurdled the couch, his knobby cudgel swiping at my head. “I’ve got a plan—I’ve always got a plan!”

  I retreated a step, avoiding the blow, then dodged a sloppy follow-up front kick. The thug’s boot whiffed completely as I darted left, opening him up to a nice little counterassault. I stepped forward, shooting in with my hammer. Instead of jabbing up and killing him on the spot, I aimed low, thrusting the hammer between his legs and hooking his back foot with the curved spike jutting from my weapon. One firm tug pulled him off his feet and put him firmly on his back. I planted the toe of my boot into his temple, dealing a painful, disorienting blow, but not a deadly one.

  One down, but another was already squeezing through the doorway, and there were plenty more behind him, all lined up like excited schoolkids waiting for a turn at the roller coaster. No way I could take them all. Thankfully, I didn’t have to. I glanced back and saw Cutter vanish through the hole in the roof, pulling the rope up behind him. The next guard lunged forward, wielding a shortsword, aiming to impale me through the throat. Had the strike landed, it almost certainly would’ve been a critical hit. Might’ve killed me outright.

  But, it never did land.

  The world shuddered to a stop as I triggered Shadow Stride, the tip of his blade only inches away from my throat—almost close enough to shave. I gave the guy a nod for his effort, then slipped around him, clambered over the couch partially blocking the doorway, and headed for the exit. Nikko was perched above the entryway, clinging impossibly to the wall, preventing anyone from leaving as though she were already anticipating my plan. This was her first real test drive, and I was thoroughly pleased with her performance. True, she didn’t have the raw power and brute strength of Devil, but sometimes you needed the feather instead of the meat cleaver.

  I slipped out of the door without a hitch and ducked into a narrow alley running beside the Bloodletter. My countdown timer expired a heartbeat later and the Shadowverse expelled me, forcing me back through the ether and into the material realm. Everything came crashing back to life and motion. Nikko screeched in defiant triumph, followed by the clamor of bewildered shouts—courtesy of the guards, no doubt. I craned my head back, searching the night-dark skyline for any sign of the others. I spotted them several buildings over, creeping from rooftop to rooftop, using a set of rope tethers, courtesy of Amara and her bow.

  Well, that part had gone according to plan, at least.

  I pressed my back up against the wall, then turkey-peeked around the corner as a flood of winged goons surged onto the street, their wooden clubs raised, their eyes roving the cityscape. Part of me wanted to just stay hidden and creep silently away, but I needed to buy the others as much time as I could. Quickly, I recalled Nikko from the Bloodletter, stepped from the shadows, and promptly lobbed an Umbra Bolt high into the sky. The violet magic streaked across the heavens like a shooting star in reverse; it didn’t hit anyone, but it sure got me noticed. I gave the thugs a lopsided grin and a wink, before turning tail and bolting.

  Leading them deeper into Ankara and away from the Lucky Rooster.

  TWENTY:

  Celebration

  It took me an hour to shake the Bloodletter bouncers, but by then Abby had called to tell me everyone else had made it back, necklace in hand, without so much as a hiccup. After an hour of backtracking, I rounded a sharp bend and finally caught sight of the Lucky Rooster. A small knot of tension leaked away like snow melting in the noonday sun. I was exhausted from the long day—my eyes heavy, my head fuzzy, my body achy—and ridiculously hungry. My stomach rumbled at even the mere thought of food, a not-so-gentle reminder that it’d been ages since Cutter had scored us those Kabis on the way into Ankara.

  I pressed a hand against my gut, trying to stifle the pain, and pulled up my active effect screen:

  ∞∞∞

  Current Debuffs

  Tired (Level 4): Skills improve 20% slower; Carry Capacity -35lbs; Attack Damage -15%; Spell Strength reduced by 30%

  Thirsty (Level 2): Health, Stamina, and Spirit Regeneration reduced by 25%

  Hungry (Level 3): Carry Capacity -50lbs; Health and Stamina Regeneration reduced by 30%; Stealth 25% more difficult

  Unwashed (Level 2): Goods and services cost 10% more; Merchant-Craft skills reduced by (1) level

  ∞∞∞

  Yep, there was the problem—I’d simply pushed too hard for too long.

  That was easily one of the worst things about VGO: the game Devs actively punished players for not eating, drinking, and sleeping enough. Generally, I didn’t mind, but considering I was in Death-Head mode and the time was slipping away second by second like sand through my fingers, I was supremely annoyed by the feature. Nothing I could do about it, though. As much as I wanted to just push through the night, I needed rest. With such significant debuffs stacked against me, I’d be virtually useless anyway.

  Resigned, I shoved my way into the Lucky Rooster.

  A roar rolled over me like a wave—a cacophony of rowdy cheers, good-natured hooting, and thunderous applause. I flinched back in shock, reaching instinctively for my warhammer as I tried to figure out what in the heck was going on. The noise quickly coalesced into a drunken chant that left me less worried, but even more confused.

  “Jack, Jack, Jack, Jack!”

  My name carried on the crowd’s lips as people pumped fists into the air and slurped at pitchers of golden mead. I frowned and honestly considered just triggering Shadow Stride and getting out of Dodge—I didn’t want any part of whatever fresh craziness was going on here. But then I saw Abby tracing her way
through the crowd, a huge smile splitting her face, her cheeks flushed from drinking. She quickly closed the distance and slipped an arm around my waist, pulling me deeper into the building. The crowd only chanted louder, folks toasting me as I passed, or slapping me good-naturedly on the back.

  “What is all this?” I asked, leaning into Abby so she could hear me over the cry of the crowd.

  “They’re celebrating, obviously,” she replied with a giggle.

  I cocked an eyebrow at her. Obviously.

  “Cutter turned in Hakim’s amulet,” she said by way of explanation. “He was in such a good mood, he canceled the debts of everyone here and is offering drinks and food on the house until sunrise. Apparently, Hakim’s really, really attached to that necklace.” She shook her head, then laughed. Unbelievable, that laugh said. “Come on, Hakim’s waiting for you in the back room. Apparently,” she said with a sly grin, “he wants to thank you personally. Plus, I think since it’s technically your quest, you’re the only one he’ll disclose the Citadel’s location to. After that, though, it’s party time.” She shot me a friendly wink, then prodded me gently in the ribs.

  Yep, she’d definitely been drinking. Not that I minded.

  “Ah, it is my friend, Grim Jack!” Hakim boomed—standing, arms stretched wide—as I entered his private room. “The most daring thief in all of Ankara. A true mastermind. Already tales of your exploits reach me.” He bent over, swaying slightly on his feet, and gestured at his ears. “Flying monkeys, people say. Black shadow magic. Explosions and daring rooftop escapes. It is a legend in the making, and that is saying much since this is Ankara—the Crystal City and the home of a thousand legends.” He paused and fished the necklace we’d stolen from beneath the edge of his tunic. “And best of all, Yusuf will feel the sting of this victory for years to come.”