The Ruined Temple: A LitRPG Adventure (Eternal Online Book 2)

by TJ Reynolds

  Abilities: Double Strike, Charge, Bold Shout

  Nothing to write home about, but the use of the word thrall caught my attention. I remembered the quest details. Hana and I were supposed to kill or convert the Rat King’s minions. There might be an opportunity here.

  The man had apparently activated Double Strike, though, because despite easily evading his first attack, the second blurred out with uncanny speed. The tip of his blade cut through the side of my armor and I winced from the pain. Nothing like a wound to the ribs to make a fight real.

  Several more of the thralls came out from an alley and ran at Hana. I used Taunt and pulled their attention, then buffed our party.

  Hana was still wearing her bone armor, so she ignored the attacks of those she faced, and in a few seconds, she’d dropped them both. I wished I had time to watch her fight for longer, and it occurred to me again that there was nothing sexier than a woman wielding two swords.

  Four of the thralls came to face me, and I used Sunder on the first. He held up his sword to block, but my ability cut through it—and his chest—easily. He fell, choking on his own blood.

  I activated Dodge twice to avoid the next two attacks, and when the third fighter took an overhead swing, I rushed in and stabbed him in the gut with the long spike on the end of my new axe. His strike had landed on the top of my shoulder, but its power was reduced by my proximity. He dropped his sword and fell back clutching his belly.

  Hana spun, two swords flashing in her hands as she cut down a woman who held a pair of clubs. Another group of the thralls had come from around the corner and stared in shock at the slaughter of their companions. Three men and two women stood, weapons held loosely in their grip. Hana took a defensive stance and waited for them to advance.

  Not disliking the gained XP, but feeling the slaughter was too one-sided, I shouted, “Wait! Look what happened to your friends. Why waste your lives? We will let you live to either join the fight against the one you serve, or else return to your families.”

  Embers and Alysand stood watching us, and the sheriff called out in frustration, “Ignore that cabrón! Just kill them! Or else suffer the consequences!”

  The woman who stood at the front of the group sheathed her sword defiantly. “No, this is foolish. I’m not from Gilsby, but my village is just fifty miles south of here. None of what we’ve done for Dintheel has been good. What else are you willing to do for the safety we have been offered?” She turned to face the others with her to see what they would do.

  One by one, they either dropped their weapons or sheathed them again. A man in the back simply turned and ran away.

  I looked to Hana, who gave me an approving nod.

  “It’s done, then,” I said, lowering my axe. “Leave, then, or else wait if you want to know how you can fight against the Rat King.”

  To my surprise, the other four stood their ground and turned to see what would become of their leader.

  Embers turned to face Alysand, his features twisted by hate. “Let’s finish this then, damn you.”

  Alysand gave him a simple command. “Draw your weapon and take aim.”

  My gut fell as I watched the man do as he was asked. What kind of madness was this? If the old man wanted to die, there were easier ways about it.

  Hana protested, “Alysand, what are you doing?”

  The gunsinger looked to me then. “Madi, will you count to three for us? The time has come.”

  I sighed and shook my head. Yet what was I supposed to do, refuse the man? “Okay,” I said. Then I drew in a breath, watching the two men standing rigid, a silent battle already waging, and counted, “One, two, three…”

  As my count finished, I saw a look of resolve cross Sheriff Embers’ face, and his arm flexed. A single shot rang out and the young man lowered his pistol, took a few steps back, then fell to his knees.

  I looked to Alysand and saw him reholster his pistol, vengeance and heartache battling for dominance in his eyes.

  A few of the thralls gasped behind us, then the pistol Embers had been holding clattered on the cobbled stones. Embers slumped back, the sound of his ragged breath heard by all.

  Alysand walked over to him, knelt down before the man, and retrieved the fallen pistol.

  Embers shot out a hand and gripped Alysand. “Hold, bard of the old ways. I… I’m sorry. Hate blinded me. My name is Wyan. You killed my father after he had joined a group of bandits. The train heist outside of St. Fenn.”

  Hana and I walked closer, and to my surprise, though the man had a hole in his chest, he seemed to be recovering from the wound, color already returning to his cheeks.

  Alysand answered him, his voice composed and gentle, “I have not forgotten St. Fenn. I’m sorry this is how we met, Wyan.”

  The young man pulled Alysand closer and told him, “Dintheel, the Rat King, told me I would be able to kill you. And I will not die from this wound.” The young man tore open the front of his shirt, his hand trembling over a piece of metal lodged in his sternum. “Unless you remove this, not only will I heal, but my heart will be his to command again. Please…”

  The bullet hole looked to be closing already, a red glow surrounding the wound.

  Alysand pulled a knife from his belt and wedged it under the piece of steel on the man’s sternum. Wyan nodded. “Do it, Alysand. And… I’m sorry about Corbrae. He was a good man. He would have wanted his pistols to go to a nobler man than me.”

  Prying the steel fragment from Wyan’s sternum, Alysand replied, “I will be certain they do. Rest now and join your father.” An audible click resounded, then the red light faded, and the wound in his chest bled with renewed force. He coughed twice, blood spilling from his mouth, and went still.

  Alysand sighed heavily and closed the man’s eyes. He removed the second pistol from the man’s hip, then called to the thralls who were watching, “You there. Make sure him and the others are buried. Then meet me in Benham town if you wish to fight. We will be assembling a force there. Bring any who wish to kill a few rats.”

  I did not know what to say, so I busied myself by strapping on my axe again and holding the cut above my ribs. This whole trip to Gilsby had been none of my business, but I was glad that we had been there to help the old man.

  The gunsinger opened his hand and examined the piece of metal he had removed from Wyan, then a grim smile crossed his face. “I believe this belongs to you, Ms. Kotoba. That sword of yours has caused a lot of trouble.”

  He deposited the piece in Hana’s hand, bloody and small, and she held it there in shock. It was an oval-shaped piece of old steel, and when I inspected it, Alysand’s comments made sense.

  Missing Component of the Katana Kotoba: Kashira (End Cap)

  Quality: Legendary: +5 Vitality, -10% damage reduction.

  Special Ability: Second Life

  Second Life (Passive): When affixed to the Katana Kotoba, automatically restores 20% of total HP when HP is reduced to zero. Cooldown: 48 hours.

  The thralls lifted Wyan’s body and those of his comrades and moved them out of the street. The woman in charge gave orders and someone dashed away to bring horses.

  Alysand placed the pistols into his satchel, one at a time, and for the first time since we’d heard of his fallen love, he looked like a man with purpose. I sighed in silent relief. Few knew the look of despair that had begun to sink into the lines and structure of Alysand’s face. I did. You could not live life that way, not long at least.

  I fought the urge to rub my wrists nervously. This was not my real body, but in some ways, it was more honest. I didn’t deserve those scars. After much despair, I’d chosen life, and it would seem that the old gunsinger had, too.

  Hana stared at the piece of metal, wiping away the blood that clung to it. I patted her on the back. “As jealous as I am of that OP weapon you’ve got, I’m sure glad it isn’t mine. What a freaking mess.”

  She looked up at me, chagrin in her eyes, and shook her head.

  At least the gir
l knew when to be embarrassed. And as we turned to walk back to the lighthouse, I wondered how many lives we'd ruined by entering this world and using it like some twisted playground.

  On our way back to Benham—which was as safe and boring as an afternoon rolling tamales with a handful of tias—Alysand told us more of Corbrae. A legend of a man, by all accounts, who in his youth had roused more fame and repute than Alysand himself. He even showed us his pistols. They were similar to Alysand’s, though shorter and thicker in the barrel.

  When we arrived in Benham and approached the mayor’s home, Alysand was as cold and professional as an executioner. In a way, I supposed he was.

  Sherman writhed, wracked with fear. Yet the man seemed oddly relieved to see us return unscathed. He was a creature of contradictions. A group of the thralls that had been converted joined us when we got to town, lending their voice to the mayor’s part in the plotting. Sherman didn’t put up a fight. He simply admitted that he had been turned by the Rat King.

  “I’m sorry, Alysand. Not all men have iron in their teeth and steel in their spines as you do. When the Rat King’s minions came for me, I buckled,” he admitted, his sallow face filled with shame.

  Alysand ordered him to be shackled and brought to justice in the capital. Instead, the man took matters in his own hands. In a burst of speed, Sherman pulled a knife from his desk drawer and charged at one of the thralls standing nearby. The woman ran him through with her own blade before she knew what happened. The gunsinger only nodded.

  The burial was arranged afterward.

  It was as we were preparing to head back to town, planning to drink a few ales in memory of the Sherman Hesperine who once was, when Judas contacted us with his speaking stone. His normal voice was stretched thin as he gave us each instructions. I was to head to Bridgerun, to recruit players to fight against the Rat King. Alysand was to train as many men and women as he could to bolster Benham’s defenses. With the armor and weapons we’d taken from the ratkin at the mines and in the ambush that followed, the gunsinger had plenty to work with.

  Then Judas spoke to Hana. “You and Pachi must learn to fly. Find the Sirrushi wyverns and win them over to our cause. Without their strength, we may not stand a chance. Head south and up into the tallest peaks. Not even the rangers know the location of their home, but I trust you will find them.”

  Skipping the drinks had been hard, but even Tejon looked antsy. We parted ways soon after, Alysand telling me I could make it to Bridgerun in three days if I rode most of the way. So I saddled my friend and leapt atop his back. Waving goodbye to my friends, I headed off alone on a ridiculous quest chain that seemed to have no end.

  Part III

  A War on Two Fronts

  Relevant Progress of Madrigal Mendoza

  Status: Cocky as hell. Insecure. Queen of contradictions.

  Class: Berserker, Cabrona Real, Part-time Gimp

  Items: Two massive axes… what else do you need?

  To Do: Bond with a bear. Pick a few fights. Learn to love yourself.

  1: “I’m not proud, but I am happy; and happiness blinds, I think, more than pride does.”

  — Dumas Davy de la Pailleterie

  MADI

  When I’d first stepped into the sexy skin of my avatar, I thought that its massive hips were wide enough to straddle anything. Then I rode Tejón.

  In the short time I’d known the fur ball, he’d more than tripled in size. After his hunt with Pachi on the day Alysand had shot down Embers, the bear had become simply enormous. Pachi told Hana that they had stumbled into a pack of high-level wolves. Not only had the two ripped the poor mutts apart, but they’d eaten enough to sate even their growing appetites.

  So walking was a nice change. I let my legs kick out with each step, feeling the tendons and sore bits between my joints loosen up. My silent friend ambled beside me, patient as ever and casually bearing more than a hundred pounds of gear.

  I spoke to him aloud, with the occasional echo of my voice being the only reply I got. “Remember the last time we were here? Pretty fun ambush. I do prefer to be on the side that knows an ambush is going down. Better than getting stuffed with arrows and nearly killed.”

  I had never been much of a talker, Tejón made the silence into a chore. Even though I felt we’d been through so much together already, he wouldn’t Mind Speak with me at all. Our Pet Bond level stubbornly remained at 1.

  I rambled on, patting him on the shoulder. “I’ll bet you never mind, though. You’re such a freaking badass you could probably stumble in and out of an ambush without noticing.”

  I’d had to extend the stirrups from my saddle on one side, so that I could climb up his back. Though he wasn’t anywhere near as big as his mother had been, my buddy was at least as big as any bear back in the real world could be. If he stood up, I’d guess he would be over ten feet tall, though for now, he simply trodded along, the crest of his shoulders just above my head. Que chico tan grande!

  We drank from the creek where our party had ambushed the squad of ratkin, and I washed my face in the cold water. Even more satisfying was soaking my sore feet in the water till the swelling went down. After a quick snack, we were back on the trail again.

  Alysand said I could make it to Bridgerun in three days, but I was hoping to beat that time. It was odd, traveling alone for a change. After the constant companionship of Hana, Pachi, and Alysand, only having silent Tejon with me made me feel lonesome, though the silence was nice. Still, there hadn’t been much of a choice, apparently.

  The road rose over passes and dipped back down into shady copses of trees. I wasn’t a nature girl, but the pristine beauty of EO was enough to convert anyone. At one point, I had to stop Tejón so I could stand and gawk at a series of valleys sprawled below the steep cliff. And I wondered, was this world intentionally made by Eternal Online employees, or had some vast AI simply gone nuts? I preferred the second answer, somehow. This just seemed too much for human hands.

  I alternated between riding and walking beside Tejón throughout the day, and despite the lack of two-way conversation, time passed pleasantly enough.

  The road had become narrower as it led up into another pass, this one devoid of plantlife. The wind came in gusts, and it seemed like the weather had become too harsh to support any substantial trees in the area. The soil was rocky and thin.

  Remembering that we’d finished our work in Gilsby, I reviewed the latest quest in the chain.

  Stop the Rat King Part 3: Epic Quest. Your journey has taken you to the sea itself, and you’ve witnessed the breaking and reforming of one of the few bullet bards left in Mariandor. Now you have been tasked with traveling to Bridgerun and gaining allies for the war to come. Gain at least ten player allies. Each additional ally beyond ten increases reward XP by 10%. Rewards: Information on the Rat King’s plans, better odds in the war, access to further quests in chain, 8000 XP.

  I mulled over the information and decided this was something I could handle. Though I wasn’t good with people, convincing ten players to sign up for a quest this rich shouldn’t be too challenging. Then again, I had no idea how many players were in Bridgerun.

  Pushing the doubt aside, I dismounted, deciding to lead my friend. Though the path was still wide enough for a modest-sized cart, the bear took up most of that space and I did not feel like scraping along beside him.

  It was a marvel to think of how much time it must have taken to chisel the road through the mountain. Rather than bend around, as it had done so often before, this portion of the road cut through the hard stone of the mountain.

  I was running a hand along the smooth wall, wondering what kinds of tools had been used to make such a pass, when Tejón chuffed behind me.

  Normally he walked in silence, with only the crunch of the gravel or soil beneath his huge paws marking his movements. I stopped and turned to him. He chuffed again and shook his head as if trying to rid himself of a sticky cobweb.

  “What is it, buddy?” I asked. Of cours
e, I got no reply, but he took a few steps back. I walked to him and pet his head and face. “Listen, we can’t go back. There is no other way to Bridgerun, at least not that I know of.”

  I tried to pull him along, but he stood firm, unyielding.

  I sighed and considered my options. Scanning the road ahead, I realized there must be some danger that Tejón could sense that I simply couldn’t.

  Pulling one axe from my hip and the other from my back, I lifted them up for him to see. “Something bad is up there, yeah? We will be careful, but we have to keep going, okay?”

  Tejón stared at me with his black eyes. I pet him on the brow and scratched the velvety fur that lined the bone plate on the top of his head. I’d come to find that he always appreciated a scratch there. He nudged me with his huge nose, pushing me off balance.

  I laughed and said, “Okay, then. We’ll go slow. I’ll keep an eye out.”

  We kept walking, and I rested an axe on each shoulder. I thought absently how absurd it might look to see me holding such massive weapons so casually.

  I made an effort to make my steps quieter than they had been and kept scanning the top of the stone walls to either side. They rose and fell with the natural landscape, and more than once, I stopped to examine a small bit of brush or pile of boulders that looked fishy.

  Eventually, my own danger sense began to ping. A palpable tension hung in the air, and an unnatural silence presided over the whole area. Birds had been abundant, even in this sparse area, flitting overhead now and then. I hadn’t seen or heard one in far too long.

  I stared up at the gray and purple sky and felt nauseous. If we were going to be attacked, I sure as hell didn’t want it to be at night.

  An old memory came to me, one I hadn’t thought of in years. I was seven or eight years old, and my family and I had been at a flea market in south LA. We’d spent all day browsing the random bits of people’s lives that were for sale, and my hands were sticky from cotton candy. There hadn’t been a place to park nearby, so we’d walked almost a mile to get there. On the way back, as the day was fading just like this one, we’d heard voices shouting from a nearby alley.