Viridian Gate Online: Schism: A litRPG Adventure (The Heartfire Healer Series Book 2)

by E. C. Godhand

  He pulled me closer to him and whispered.

  “I should’ve sent in Osmark’s cleaners once I knew you were in that capsule. I’d gladly have sacrificed fourteen priests if it meant taking you out. It’s simple supply and demand, Chen,” he said. He shook me with each sentence to emphasize his words. “I supply the plague. They demand a cure. I supply the cure and demand my price for their life. I was set to have this empire wrapped around my finger when the Vogthar invaded until you fucked it up.” He threw me on the temple stairs. I landed with a thunk and held my shoulder.

  “A war demands healers, which I supply,” he said.

  I glanced up at him. My shoulder felt like someone stabbed a rock through it.

  He pointed his finger in my face. “No one can stop death, so why not play both sides?” His last words echoed across the marketplace as if he were shouting. The shocked crowd stared at him, openmouthed in horror. Jericho touched his lips as if questioning his judgment of his volume, a quizzical look overcoming him.

  I spotted Commissar “Cecilia,” my Illusionist NPC, lower her hand. Whatever ability she had, his speech had been amplified as if she held a megaphone to him.

  Everyone heard. And this time, I do mean everyone.

  Especially Ser Berrick and the rest of the Inquisition soldiers who’d arrived on scene to quell the riot.

  Nobody Expects the Imperial Inquisition

  The crowd hushed with an eerie silence. Whispers repeated, echoing into a roar of fury. Ser Berrick shook his head solemnly at the spectacle. With a sharp wave of his hand, his Inquisition reinforcements joined my raiders in another assault on the exarch.

  Commissar “Cecilia” slipped to my side and took me by the hand to lead me from the fighting. By now, Kismet and Inquisitor Morton had caught up to Jericho. With no healers to protect him, and the extra Inquisition forces, his Health whittled quickly to 10%.

  I pulled away from “Cecilia” to tend to my tanks. At such low Health, he shouldn’t be able to resist their stuns and chains. We had him dead to rights and soon he’d be in the dead bind room himself.

  But Jericho wasn’t about to let me go just yet. When Kismet’s golden chains snared his legs and arms, he popped every cooldown he had: Serenity, Tenacity, all of it to free himself. He gritted his teeth and marched towards me on the stairs.

  I took a hesitant step back.

  “In the end, Chen,” he said, “you might be able to save others from death. But not yourself. Not from me.”

  He drew a cursed blade hidden in his sleeve. I recognized it immediately. So did anyone who had traveled with me. They rushed the stairs, weapons and magic readied. Kismet pulled more at the golden chains snaking around his wrists, but they only slowed him.

  He snatched my wrist and forced the hilt of the blade into my palm.

  “If you want me dead so much, Ms. Goodly Priest, do it then! Stab me!” he screamed.

  “No!” I stammered. “I don’t want to.”

  Yes, you do, whispered Serth-Rog’s voice from within the blade. It was the dagger I was reacting to all this time. I blanched.

  I couldn’t make my fingers bend around the hilt. I was a priest, after all. We couldn’t equip blades. If his fist weren’t crushing my fingers around the dagger, it’d have clattered to the ground.

  “Send me to Serth-Rog. To Morsheim. I will prove you’re a Darkling, just like me,” he spat, pulling the blade towards his gut. I resisted enough to maintain control of it.

  “This thing kills anyone good who uses it, and spares evil. So do it. Stab me then. If you survive, it’ll prove I’m right,” he shouted.

  I understood implicitly the rest of his sentence. And if I didn’t, I wouldn’t be his problem anymore.

  “It doesn’t have to go like this,” I protested, putting all my Strength into resisting his pull. As much as he appeared muscular, I knew Jericho, and I knew his min-max strategies didn’t let him spare one point for Strength. His was the base 10 like any noob. Like me. It came down to Stamina.

  “If you surrender to Ser Berrick and the Inquisition, I’m sure the Council of Reconciliation will find a way to offer you the same deal you gave me.”

  What I didn’t factor in was that, even with my extra Stamina, he had more from his gear. Resisting the pull on the knife, grappling with him, was draining me slowly, and I was almost out.

  He was a narcissist. I thought to try flattery. “You’re obviously a skilled, powerful priest. If there’s anything left in you that ever did want to help people, I’m sure they’d put that to use.”

  “I’d rather follow your example,” he hissed, his eyes wild. He pulled the knife closer to him in one swift movement just as my Stamina bar blinked red.

  The Commissar knocked her shoulder into me and shoved me to the ground. Time slowed as I watched as her hand grip the hilt of the blade.

  No—

  She inhaled and gritted her teeth.

  No, please—

  She leaned into the blow and shoved it underneath’s Jericho’s ribs with swift ease.

  Please, don’t—

  I held out my hand to stop her, but it was too late.

  Jericho stared at the dagger protruding from his gut in uncomprehending horror. Acuity told me the debuff on him was the same as when Rodion used the blade on himself.

  <<<>>>

  DOOM: Target takes 100 pts of Plague Damage/sec; Removed by healing target to 100%

  <<<>>>

  Bri’jit pushed through the crowd and raised her hand to cast Benevolence, but the white glow in her hand faded as the exarch dissolved into motes of light.

  The Commissar’s illusion faded as whatever spell the blade conjured took effect. She appeared as Veronika once more, the mousy Imperial woman I knew as my NPC.

  I was on my feet at once. I reached for her, light glowing in my hand. I still had my second level of Divinity and cast that immediately as I scrambled towards her. She stared at the blade in her hand, sweat pouring down her skin. She glanced over at me with a weak smile and collapsed.

  My spell did nothing as it landed on her corpse. Not even a Miracle could save her.

  Still, I tried as tears streaked down my cheeks. I tried every healing spell I had, but nothing worked to cure death. Jericho was right. It killed anyone good who used it. And I was right at the very beginning, too. Veronika chose to be good in the end when given a chance.

  I pulled her to my chest and held her tight as I glared at the crowd over my arm as if daring any of them to say otherwise. They paid me no mind though. Whatever chaos they’d caused before looked like order compared to the riot that followed. If we were back on Earth, the Pope might as well have admitted to working for Satan.

  Ser Berrick heaved a sigh and shook his head. I didn’t hear what he said over the cacophony of weapons and shouting, but his gestures and expression indicated he wanted Inquisitor Morton to “clean up this failure immediately.”

  Kismet was by my side in a second. So were Yvonne and Corvus. Someone was tugging at me and someone else threw the hood of my cloak over my head to disguise me. We had to leave. Now.

  I kissed Veronika’s forehead and closed her eyes as I let her go. The cursed blade, black and twisted, spoke to me. The voice, this time, wasn’t Serth-Rog’s, but a woman’s. Just as deep, just as guttural, but distinctly feminine. I didn’t know this voice.

  Heed my call, Chosen. My brother is not your fight. I will take you to Areste herself.

  I wasn’t keen on taking orders from strange women lying in pools of blood distributing blades, but I felt compelled to slip the dagger into my sleeve and hide it in my inventory. To hold it, of my own accord, made my stomach churn and my skin crawl. I spotted Cian’s and Lola’s ghosts in front of me, arm in arm, laughing. I couldn’t tell what was a hallucination from the Affka and what was an effect of the cursed blade. Maybe I had finally truly gone mad.

  Kismet put me on my feet and Yvonne led us into the temple. Normally I’d have found comfort in the sanctuary o
f a chapel, but shadows crawled at the edges of my vision in this place. Ghosts of priests past, priests who had been slaughtered in the temple, waited for me, standing perfectly still in the pews. I felt I would faint and shut my eyes as my friends dragged me down the aisle. Yvonne pulled back a curtain behind the altar and Corvus picked the lock to a hidden door to underground tunnels. Leave it to the Auditor to know the Empire’s secrets.

  The tunnels led us to a cellar elsewhere in Harrowick. We left through the door into some dark, wet alley. I slammed my back against the filthy wall and slid down it to sit on my haunches and catch my breath. Corvus gathered their leather coat and took a seat beside me.

  “I’m sorry,” they said.

  “Yeah, me too.”

  “I know what you’re feeling.”

  “I know. I’m sorry,” I said. I heaved a sigh. “Gaia asks a damn lot, sometimes.”

  Corvus set their gloved hand on my knee. “I’m not going anywhere just because you’re unhappy.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Can I give you some advice?” they asked.

  I crossed my arms over my knees and buried my face. “No.”

  “Just the tip, I promise,” said Corvus. They reached into their coat and pulled out the Orb of Antishade they had stolen off me back in Rowanheath. “You are much too easy to steal from.”

  I laughed through the tears and inspected the orb in my hands. Its pearlescent brilliance shimmered in hues of green, purple, and red inside a glass casing tightly bound over the top and middle by a gold band.

  <<<>>>

  Orb of Antishade

  Item Class: Ancient Artifact

  It is not completely known what the effects of opening this orb could be, but the item fills you with a sense of calm and wholesomeness.

  <<<>>>

  I threw my arms around Corvus’ neck, then went back to inspecting my loot. It was the only thing of value we had salvaged from the Black Temple. I had promised Ms. Shadid I’d send money from our proceeds so she could buy medicine for her condition. The salve Corvus and I made only bought her time. Her son, Hasan, had a shop in Harrowick. He sent money for medicine, too. If we could find it...

  I looked up and raised the orb, ready to ask Yvonne if she knew where the Satin and Birch was, but she was already pointing down the alley as if she’d read my mind.

  “Why do you think I brought you here?” she asked.

  “Did Gaia tell you that, too?” I asked.

  Lucky the Sparrow chirped from within Yvonne’s bird nest of hair. Yvonne clucked her tongue. “As always, a little birdie might’ve told me.”

  “Thanks, Auditor,” I said.

  I hopped to my feet. Corvus joined me as I ascended the stairs to the nondescript storefront. A bell above the door jingled merrily as we stepped through. The dim shop held many curios and was filled with thick clouds of incense.

  I was admiring an elegant white gown embroidered with shimmering diamonds, likely healer’s gear way beyond my price range, when Hasan peeked out from the back. The Accipiter flittered his wings as he met me at the counter.

  “Welcome! What can I get—”

  I slammed the orb on the table. “Hasan, what will you give me for this powerful, ancient artifact said to cleanse the land and kill even Aspects?”

  Hasan’s wings folded against his back. He scoffed and offered me a quick, courtesy smile, then carefully appraised the orb.

  “I could buy this off you for forty gold.”

  I snatched the orb out of his hands. “I’ll sell it to the temple then.”

  “Liset—” said Corvus. I shot them a furtive glance and they shut their beak.

  Hasan whistled. “I could do sixty gold.”

  “That’s what the temple would pay,” I said.

  Hasan held up his hands and closed his eyes for a moment. “I’d normally welcome business, but I have to ask. How did you know my name? Do we know each other?” he asked, leaning in and studying my face.

  “I promised your mother, Esma, I’d send the profits from this for her medicine,” I said.

  He smiled, a genuine warmth filling his face. “Oh, the priestess—”

  “Shut,” I warned him, pinching my fingers together as if they were his lips.

  “Right, right,” he said, softer this time. “If that’s the case, wouldn’t you find it in your heart to maximize the amount of money you send a frail old woman? Sixty gold is more than fair.”

  “You would not believe how much money I have given away already. I have needs, too,” I said, pulling down my hood so he could see the blight of Serth-Rog across my neck and chest. Hasan took a step back, appalled, then nodded and gulped his words.

  I leaned in and ran my fingers over the orb, letting the light of my spells illuminate how beautiful it was. “Look here. This isn’t any random find in a dungeon. This is an ancient artifact, crafted by master artisans and salvaged from the depths of the Ankaran desert. It is powerful beyond belief. Here, feel it.” I set the orb in his hand. He appraised its weight.

  “Can you imagine wielding such power, Hasan? Being able to cleanse a whole forest with such an item? The ability to kill even an Aspect, as a mortal? It may be small, but it is mighty. While you have many wonderful, powerful items in your shop, clearly you can see none of them match the splendor or history of this, right?”

  Hasan nodded in agreement.

  “Now, getting this blight cleansed from the Holy See costs a hundred and twenty gold. But I like you, Hasan, and your mother was so kind to me. While this is easily worth two hundred gold,” I said, having no idea how much exactly it was worth, “I’m willing to let it go for eighty so that you can provide for your elderly mother. I would much rather sell it to you, and help her, than go speak to the Theologians at the Holy See myself.”

  Corvus and I left the shop eighty gold richer and with a Merchant-Craft at level 8. Corvus slipped into stealth immediately. It was hard to blend in as a Plague Doctor. I was so focused on getting back to Kismet and Yvonne that I didn’t notice when a taller Wode woman with brown skin and curly black hair knocked into my shoulder. Her name tag identified her as Abby, a Firebrand.

  I resisted every urge to yell at her to watch where she was going, that I was walking here. I stared at her for a moment. Something about her felt familiar and made my skin prickle as if it were on fire. It took everything in me to not throw a punch on just a gut feeling, and instead I pulled my hood up.

  “Excuse me,” I muttered.

  I sped down the rest of the steps. I heard her apologize, but I didn’t look back.

  We had money to escape now. We had money to invest in a proper healing faction. I turned the corner into the alley and cleansed myself of the Blight, for free. It was like a weight off my chest, and I watched my Health, Spirit, and Stamina bars fill up quickly once more. I checked my reflection in a dirty puddle. My skin was disappointedly scarred. If I were Jericho, I would’ve cleansed me, then hit me a second time. I guess the old man didn’t have it in him anymore to even give the appearance of doing me a favor. Good riddance.

  I heard bootsteps echo in the alleyway and looked up.

  Ser Berrick had joined Kismet and Yvonne.

  Dirty Healings

  I was ready to run. Ser Berrick had thrown me in jail and I hadn’t forgotten how the Inquisition was willing to hang me and use me as bait for Jericho. Corvus grabbed my arm though, and Kismet stepped forward and took my other hand in hers. I trusted them, but I wanted to run even more.

  Yvonne glanced between the Seneschal and me and held out her hand. “Look, we just want to talk. We’re not going to put you through that again. I promise.”

  I pulled my arms away from my friends. “You’re damn right you’re not. I’ve experienced gentler canings.”

  Yvonne shrugged her shoulders. “It worked though, didn’t it? You two were tinder for each other. At one point, he even told me we worked for him.” She laughed at the thought.

  “Thank you for accepting my
last meal order though. That helped a lot,” I said.

  Yvonne grinned and twirled her hair around her finger. “I told you it was a good salad.”

  “How were you sure it’d work though?” I asked. “How were you sure he wasn’t going to give up the other Serth-Rog lieutenants in exchange for you handing me over?”

  Yvonne frowned.

  “Don’t tell me that was the plan for the funeral,” I said, taking a step towards her.

  Kismet held me back and stroked my arm to calm me. “No, nothing like that.”

  Yvonne held her hands out to her sides. “I mean. Augur? Come on, my own thing is prediction and chance.”

  “What about Veronika then?” I shouted at her.

  The Auditor stepped back and glanced to Ser Berrick, who silently nodded that this was her show.

  “Okay, I admit, that I didn’t see coming. That’s the chance part,” she said. “And I’m sorry. I am.”

  I didn’t know whether to believe her or not, but for my blood pressure’s sake, I chose to accept it for now.

  “To be honest, between you, me, and Ser Berrick,” she said, gesturing to each of us in turn, “you didn’t hear nothing from me, but a lot of my predictions are just intel and insight. Cold reading.”

  “Just... shut up,” I said. “Haven’t you done enough already?”

  Ser Berrick stepped forward this time. “Citizen, we have a proposal for you. We could use your help with something.”

  I glared at them both. Yvonne let out an exasperated sigh.

  “You are too intense for me,” she muttered. “Okay, listen. After the first time you got yourself jailed, Gaia gave me a dream. In it, a hundred eggs were behind a white wall filled with flowers. Moonlight shone over the eggs, but it was slowly crushing them somehow. You were a chicken, this big white mother hen, and you kept picking at the moon, cracking off bits and pieces of it, until it revealed this sickening void.”

  I stared at her, dumbfounded. “You have weird dreams. I’m high on Affka and even I don’t hallucinate that vividly.”