Viridian Gate Online: Nomad Soul: A litRPG Adventure (The Illusionist Book 1)

by D. J. Bodden

  Well, there are worst things.

  Fatin shook my hand. “Congratulations, Alan. I look forward to seeing more of you in the Heights.”

  “Bye, Fatin.”

  “Alan!” Provus said. “We’re heading back. Are you ready?”

  The senators and the young nobles headed back toward the city, under Legion escort. Most of the Komodos had been recovered, and were being walked back to their pens by trained handlers. The warden had disappeared at some point without saying goodbye, but I didn’t take it personally; he didn’t seem like the type to hug it out. The servants and huntsmen would finish harvesting the kill. It was time to go home.

  “Actually,” I told him, “there is one more thing I’d like to do.”

  <<<>>>

  Ability: Mount

  Eldgard is a vast and wild land, filled with rugged, formidable terrain—jagged mountains, dense forests, treacherous swamps, and expansive waterways—not to mention myriad deadly creatures. Having a faithful mount can significantly reduce travel times while making the hazards of the wild much more manageable. There is no more loyal and stalwart a fighter than a battle mount.

  Ability Type/Level: Passive/Level 1

  Cost: None

  Effect 1: Mount riding ability unlocked.

  Effect 2: +5% to Mount’s Movement Rate, while you are riding.

  Effect 3: Ferry (1) additional passenger on your mount (Movement Speed Reduced by 15%).

  <<<>>>

  They let me ride one of the Komodos as far as the city gates.

  JEFF WATCHED THE LOADING bar climb to 100%. He safely disconnected the thumb drive and handed it to Osmark. “There you are, sir. That’s all the peripheral data on Alan’s run and the Overminds’ activity up to now, as well as my notes. I’ll need a bigger storage device to download the video footage because it’s in 580 Megapixel VR, but we’ll be able to get all of that, too.”

  “Great,” Osmark said. “I’ll have one of the art directors download and parse that for us Monday morning. Do you have nanites in your system?”

  “Of course not; those things can kill you.”

  “So can cigarettes. Shoot up, Professor.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “We need to verify that this isn’t a fluke, something specific to Alan.”

  “I’m not—”

  “I also want to make sure no one suggests you knowingly subjected a colleague to a dangerous procedure you were not willing to undergo yourself.”

  Jeff closed his mouth. Damn him. Damn them both. He’d done nothing but get bullied into things for the last three days.

  RIDING THE KOMODO WAS a strange experience. Their scales felt like warm plastic against my bare legs. They waddled as they moved, so the motion was more side to side than up and down. And there was no steering them. The reins were there for you to hang on, but the big lizard knew where I wanted it to go somehow, and it either went there, or it didn’t.

  When it didn’t, I was told to slap it on the head with a leather blackjack filled with iron sand.

  I know, right? Hitting a fifteen-foot lizard of any kind would give me pause, and I’d seen these things break deer in half with their jaws. The Komodo didn’t seem to mind, though. It was like a hit with the sap was just an exclamation instead of a question mark in our dialogue, and after a few hesitant swings I was hammering away like the other riders.

  A crowd of onlookers had gathered at the South Gates. They were mostly commoners, with a scattering of white-togaed citizens and curious foreigners. They cheered as the other survivors of our hunting party walked through the gates into the city.

  Man I was tired. Like, bone-deep weary. The excitement from the big fight was catching up to me, and I kept yawning, my muscles ached, and I might have fallen asleep once or twice on the ride over.

  I swung my legs off the Komodo and gave the reins to one of the Legion handlers. “Thanks,” I told him, and headed toward the others.

  “Whoa, sir,” he said, yanking me back by the hood of my cloak. I had to grab hold of the komodo’s front leg to keep my balance.

  “What the hell?” I asked.

  “Sorry, sir. You almost walked in front of it. The Drakes aren’t really tame, they just tolerate us because we feed them.”

  The “Drake” craned its neck and looked at me sideways with one of its black-rimmed burnt-orange-and-yellow eyes. I felt a cold, almost cruel amusement trickle into my brain through the palms of my hands. Definitely not my friend. I jerked my hands back as if I’d been burned.

  “Thanks,” I told the soldier.

  “No problem, sir.”

  I stayed well clear of the thing’s jaws.

  The Legion was out in strength. There was a wall of lorica-armored soldiers between us and the crowd. The senators were getting into palanquins to be carried back to the Heights, and most of the younger nobles had dispersed. Provus waited for me with a team of three legionaries. I walked over to meet them.

  “What’s up?” I asked.

  “Just making sure you’re okay. We should probably get you back to the Legion camp, at least for a couple days.”

  I wrinkled my nose. “I’ll be all right.”

  Provus frowned. “The Sorcerer who hit the precinct is still out there, Alan.”

  I paused. He was right, of course; Provus often was. But I was also a couple hours into my third day of this, counting the Alpha server, and with the urgency of saving Viridian gone, I’d had enough of the high-stakes political intrigue. “It’s okay. If I run into something I can’t handle, I’ll just log out.”

  “You’ll what?”

  “I’ll leave. I’ll go back to the realm I came from,” I said, remembering the word Horace had used for it.

  “Because you’re a Traveler.”

  “Yeah.”

  Provus glanced at the legionaries waiting on him, then stepped closer and leaned in. “Alan, I don’t want insult your beliefs, but they’re going to get you killed.”

  “Let’s agree to disagree,” I said, gripping his shoulder. There was no way either one of us was going to win this argument, and I was on the edge of being rude. I’d played this game already in the real world. Pops had gone to Mass every Sunday, rain or shine. His daughter thought that faith without doubt was dead. I muddled my way through like anyone dealing with the unknowable, less virtuous than I would have liked, and as tolerant of the same in others as I could stomach.

  Still, it was funny that here, in a world where I knew the gods were both real and only lines of code, I would wind up talking to a man who believed in neither reality.

  “PM me if you get into trouble!” he said.

  It was kind of him. He was really going a step further than political expedience. “I will!” I said, waving, and pushed past the line of legionaries into the crowd.

  “Hey, Alan?” Sandra said.

  “Yeah?”

  “Jeff logged into the game.”

  “No shit?”

  “No shit,” she said. “But I think he’s about to get arrested. Think you can pick him up?”

  “Sure,” I said. “Does he know where he is?”

  TWENTY-FOUR

  GORK WAS HAVING A SERIOUS case of Grakmar Shek, which was when the warrior you fought in battle reminded you of another warrior you’d already killed.

  He’d been breaking in his new partner, Brazzock, a brand-new watchman and a Svartalfar to boot, when a citizen came running up to them. It seemed an ill-dressed man had appeared out of nowhere on the marble piazza over the Southern Bastion, on the road leading into the Heights. The man was talking to himself, and the citizen was concerned he would hurt himself or others.

  Gork sucked his teeth at the coincidence, but he doubted it was the same man. The Traveler he’d met two days ago seemed a little touched, but not stupid. “We’ll take care of it, sir,” he told the citizen, then he headed toward the piazza, knowing the rookie would follow.

  He found the vagrant leaning over the railing, like before. Same clothing,
too, though this man was light skinned, taller, thinner, and had facial hair, which was years out of fashion for even the poorest Imperials.

  “Are you lost?” Brazzock asked, trying to sound gruff. He had the voice for it, but it was still a hard act to manage when you were four feet tall.

  “No, thank you. I’m waiting for a friend.” The man turned away from them.

  Brazzock looked at Gork, eyes wide and on the verge of newbie panic.

  Gork laid a hand on the vagrant’s shoulder. “I need to check your forearms, sir.”

  The tall man turned around, looking irritated, as if the watchmen were the ones wasting his time. “It’s Gork, isn’t it? You’re a disappointment. Alan kept going on about how amazing and unique you all are, but you’re just people in the end. I’ve met four-stroke engines with more originality.”

  Gork was seconds from shoving him over the railing.

  The vagrant sighed and raised his arms. “Not a slave, see?”

  “That doesn’t mean you belong here!” Brazzock said, his voice cracking.

  Grakmar Shek. The closest Imperial equivalent was, “Another day, another handful,” because of the grain dole the State provided the poor, but it failed to capture the futility of Grakmar Shek. What was the point of killing someone if they just came back again?

  The vagrant opened his mouth to say something that would get him punched by Gork or kneecapped by Brazzock, but Gork grabbed him by the upper arm and squeezed. The man turned a satisfying number of shades paler than he already was. Gork started walking, dragging the man with him.

  “Help!” the man shouted to the crowd. “My name is Jeff Berkowitz, and I’m being oppressed by the police!”

  Brazzock found his balls and punched the man in the thigh, dead legging him. The vagrant yelped. Gork continued to drag him, and the crowd clapped as they left the piazza.

  They hadn’t walked twenty paces before Gork almost ran into a citizen in smudged, bloody clothes and recognized him, too.

  “Corporal Gork!” the man said cheerfully.

  “No,” Gork said, and kept walking.

  Brazzock looked from him, to the vagrant, to the man who was apparently a citizen now. He looked like one of those Svartalfar spring toys after a Risi had giving the handle a couple good cranks. Gork had always found Dwarves to be an anxious lot, away from their clans and their holes.

  “I see you found my friend,” the citizen continued, matching pace with them.

  Gork sighed and stopped. “If you keep talking, I’m going to have to arrest you. You’re dressed as a citizen.”

  “I am a citizen.”

  “You weren’t a citizen two days ago.”

  “But I am now.”

  “The census is in two years,” Brazzock said helpfully.

  Gork looked the man over, taking in the white cloak and the expensive material. “I heard about it. Seems you took my advice.”

  “I did, Corporal. I begged. Then I worked. Now I’d like to pay you back for your kindness and take my friend off your hands.” He pulled a gold Griffin from his pocket. Brazzock’s eyes went as wide as dish plates.

  A city watchman was offered bribes from time to time. Most of them were small. A gold coin was enough to buy food for him and Brazzock for a week, or get himself a good cloak for the coming winter. Brazzock wouldn’t complain; Svartalfars just plain liked gold. “I’m not that kind of watchman,” Gork said, and started walking again.

  “Wait!” the citizen said, grabbing his shoulder and almost getting himself pushed through a wall.

  Gork took a deep breath and tried not to squeeze the vagrant so hard he broke his arm. “What?”

  “I’m not trying to bribe you.”

  “Good.”

  “You gave me two coppers without any hope of return. I want to pay you back with interest.”

  “That wouldn’t be appropriate,” Gork said, eyes flicking to his new and very impressionable partner.

  “And ninety-eight coppers of interest on a two-day two-copper loan would qualify as usury even in Stone Reach,” Brazzock added. “But a servant could be surrendered to the custody of his employer if the citizen in question guaranteed the servant’s good behavior.”

  Gork looked at Brazzock.

  The Dwarf seemed to shrink into his armor. “We’re supposed to be off duty, Corporal.”

  The citizen cleared his throat. “So if I hired him...”

  “Constable Brazzock is correct.”

  The citizen handed the gold coin to the vagrant, who looked at it like it was a dead rat. “I have recently taken Jeff Berkowitz into my employ.”

  Gork looked at the vagrant. “Is that true, Jeff Berkowitz? Are you this man’s servant?”

  The vagrant nodded.

  “I need to hear you say it, Mr. Berkowitz,” Gork said, giving his arm a squeeze.

  The vagrant looked like he wanted to retch, but he said, “Yes, I am Alan Campbell’s servant.”

  Gork released him. Alan Campbell beamed. Jeff Berkowitz put the gold coin in his pocket. Constable Brazzock watched it disappear mournfully.

  “And as a citizen, I would be allowed to buy lunch for two off-duty city watchmen at June’s Rotisserie out of civic duty, correct?”

  Brazzock looked at Gork hopefully.

  “The captain would encourage us to build positive relationships with the community,” Gork said, his face blank, his mouth watering.

  “Especially in times of racial tensions,” Brazzock added.

  “Great,” Alan said, clapping his hands. “We can head there now.”

  THALIA SMILED AS SHE made her way to the East Temple of Sophia. When was the last time she’d felt like this? She’d downed half a pitcher of water and gone back to bed after Alan left, sleeping in until the innkeeper knocked on her door.

  She was clearheaded and rested. She was... hopeful. Yes, that was what it was. Hopeful like a girl before the examinations of the Scribes set her path away from Alaunhylles. Hopeful like a soldier before she found out war was ugly and glory was soaked in blood. Hopeful like a woman before the man she loved chose his goddess over her. She wanted to make crowns of flowers and run with the antelopes of the Shining Plains, to confide in a friend and giggle, to sing... and it didn’t feel wrong, or shameful. If felt more right than anything had for a while.

  She hummed a song she’d heard her mother sing twenty years ago, the last time she’d been home. The smell of smoke and signs of vandalism were everywhere, though the residents had tried to cover it up. She’d been messy. Weiz would have hated that, and she didn’t care.

  It wasn’t because of Alan, she told herself. Yes, he was pretty, and reasonably clever for a human half her age. It was Weiz. After all these years, he’d finally set her free by dying. After that, it only took a spark, a shred of warmth in a stranger’s eyes, to set her alight once more.

  So yes, she’d enjoy the young man. She’d teach him about the world, warm his bed, and let him fan her heart and her memories. Then he would change. It could take six months or six years, but it would happen. He would age, like Weiz had, and she was just starting to remember that was normal. Expected. The Hvitalfar were a race apart.

  And she would move on, but this time she wouldn’t let the fire within her go out. Freddy could mind the Terrace for a few more days. She’d kill the Considia heir because she’d never left a job unfinished, but then she was done. Sophia and the church could wage their own wars of peace.

  “Daughter,” a woman said in passing. Thalia caught a glimpse of emerald eyes, pale skin, and raven black hair, then the woman was lost in the crowd. She frowned, momentarily thrown off, but she’d arrived. She pushed the temple door open, her warm palm pressing against the dry wood.

  Sathis was waiting for her in the foyer.

  “Justiciar?”

  “Come in, Thalia. We need to talk.”

  She stepped inside. Someone barred the door behind her, and six of her Sicarii stepped out from hiding. “What is this?” Thalia said.
/>
  “Your work in this city is at an end, sister. The goddess came to me.”

  Thalia’s eyes flicked to the assassins. They were armed with clubs and staves and equipped with fire-resistant robes, amulets, and rings.

  “There’s no need to fight. I promise you won’t be harmed.”

  He meant it. Another justiciar might have slit her throat the moment she walked through the door, but Sathis was a believer, like Weiz had been. She looked at him sadly. “Sathis, where is your armor?”

  “My faith—”

  Thalia cast Burning Affliction on the justiciar and he went up in flames. He staggered one step forward, arms flailing like an infant walking for the first time, and fell to his knees. He didn’t make a sound.

  Everyone thinks that people scream when they’re on fire, but they can’t, not when the fire engulfs them, flowing like water, staining the ceiling with greasy black soot. The flame consumes their breath, eats through their vocal cords, melts their mouths and throats shut. Only the fire speaks.

  The fire went out, leaving a blackened, stinking thing in the place of New Viridia’s justiciar. “Are you priests, or are you Sicarii?” Thalia shouted.

  “Sicarii, Mistress!”

  “Kneel!”

  The six assassins took a knee, laying their weapons before them.

  Thalia clasped her hands behind her and raised her chin, looking down at the justiciar’s remains. “We kill so others may live. Sathis’s weakness would have allowed the worm coiling in New Viridia’s breast to grow into a serpent. He told the truth! The goddess sent him to me—to be cleansed by fire!

  “We will finish our divine task and kill Provus Considia. We will dig him out like the worm he is, whether he hides with the praetorians or behind the palace walls, just as I reached into the South Precinct and plucked the Griffin’s agent from their hands. We will...” She stopped. Ganuc Nighteye, a Murk Elf who could have been Weiz’s grandson, was staring at her. “What is it?”

  “The agent lives, Mistress.”

  She frowned, and felt the flame within her flare. “I killed him myself.”