by Ryan DeBruyn
Then I spot the cluster of humans. They can barely be seen between the trunks of two adolescent trees. Still, once recognized from the shadows, they definitely are human outlines. Why are they standing still, though? Is it Ride or Die, and are they looking for me?
The colorful fall leaves swaying in the wind continually catch my attention, and I study the closest grayish-brown trunk and its branches. The trees look barren, having dropped ninety percent of their greenery already, but that isn’t what is bothering me about the picture. Is it the blue tinge? No. . .
Wait—don’t look at the whole tree. Look at that one leaf. The entire image seems to move continuously in the wind, which I can’t feel on this side of the portal. But if I focus on the small branches and leaves, they move strangely. It’s almost like I have an impression of movement but there isn’t any. . .
No, that’s not right. The leaf isn’t frozen. It’s just moving as if it were trapped in a gel. My gaze goes back to the party as they stand in the distance of the shot. There. They moved. One member is in the process of clapping another on the back—I think? Nearly thirty seconds later, his hand lands on the intended shoulder, and I am sure. Time inside the portal moves at a much faster rate than the time outside.
Since it would be absolutely pointless for me to rush out of here, I look back to Chunkalunk’s corpse. There is plenty of meat, bones, and scraps to be claimed. In fact, there are a few items strewn about on the floor that don’t match the room. The smaller chunks of meat are also in strange little pyramids in the dirt. I walk up to one and pick up the top piece of meat.
Leporid Haunch [Gray]
Rank: F-8
The murderers must’ve dumped many stolen packs to swap out the other party’s butchered meat for the Chunkalunk’s. I summon the Leporid Haunch in my hand into the subspace and smile as it vanishes. I don’t have a problem with carrying capacity. In fact, the entire corpse of the boss vanishes under my hand, and my smile only widens.
I look at the portal, my worry about it possibly closing still there. Unfortunately, I can also see the group in the almost frozen image. I can’t afford to go out there, and don’t know if I can stay here either. I come to the conclusion that I should stay near it, in case it starts to shrink.
I look over at what remains of the room, and check in on the portal far too often. The scattered pile of acorns gets checked out first. Each is about the size of my head, and after a peek at the portal, I pick one up to test its weight or lack thereof. For its size and sturdy look, the acorn feels hollow. I stare at it and trigger [Identify].
Acorn of the Great Oak [Gray]
Rank: F-2
Unsure what use the acorns have, but recognizing this one has a rank and therefore must have some value, I begin summoning each of the items into the storage space. I’m on the final layer of the pile of thirty-plus gigantic acorns and go to pick up one of them. It’s heavy—like a stew pot.
“What in the Seven is this?” I shout angrily—because my back was not ready for a heavy object. A few of the muscles there begin crying abuse, and I clench my teeth against the discomfort. It’s not like they are injured, but I did tweak them.
Glaring at the offending acorn prompts another [Identify].
Chunkalunk’s Favorite Acorn [Green]
Quest Item
“Quest item?” I say with incredulity. Instead of picking up any more acorns before summoning them into my subspace, I now use [Identify] on each before gathering them with a simple touch of my palm. There isn’t another quest item in the pile, and I move back to the portal.
The group is still there, but they’re slowly becoming smaller dots fading into the distance. So I keep looking around while constantly assessing the size of the portal. It doesn’t appear to be shrinking, but I do approach it a few times to give a rough arm measurement. Still the same.
The rest of the room is just dirt and roots, and nothing identifies. After I am relatively sure the portal isn’t going to close on me, I hurriedly climb up to the balcony to avoid boredom—and I do find one more much larger Acorn of the Great Oak above, but that’s it. Why is it nearly five times the size? It identifies as the same item with no changes, so I shrug and summon it into my subspace too.
Finally, the dots disappear into the distance and have been gone long enough that it might be safe for me to exit. I’m nearly positive the portal is going to remain open, so I shrug and wait another hour or so, just to be sure.
I step through the portal into a near pitch-black night. At this time of year, the days are getting shorter, but usually the sunset is around six, and I think it set some time between me being knocked out and the interrogation. It must be past eight, and instead of following in the direction of the murderous group, I head back to the site of the battle with the goblins.
It can only have been a few hours since the fight, but the small clearing between the houses and piles of rubble smells awful. The combination of sewage and drying blood makes me want to vomit. There are a ton of flies and gnats buzzing around in the air. Goblins must bleed green, and there are pools of the liquid congealing under each corpse.
Why am I back here? The goblins have rags and crude weapons that might be useful once Crash absorbs them. I hold my nose and summon a single corpse into my subspace—then I summon out only the rags it was wearing. It works, and I nod. This will make looting these corpses somewhat better. I keep the goblin corpse in the space, planning to maybe give them a proper burial later. They did save me, after all.
I continue to summon anything I can touch into the subspace until a goblin fails to wink away. The warmth under my hand registers, and I quickly feel at the tiny neck. I find a pulse, but it is shallow and weak. I look at its injuries and pull some of its fellows’ clothing back out to make bandages. I even pull out a water skin and clean the wounds before I bind them. After I am finished, I pour some water into its mouth and bite my lip. What am I doing? This is a monster.
Still, I could understand them and even brought them into this. My heart rails against my brain’s desire to be uncaring in this situation. These relatively intelligent creatures died because of my lie—sure they also died to protect their nearby dungeon, or so they thought. But without my false story, they would have just watched Ride or Die murder me. That thought flips the whole issue on its head.
The guilt won’t leave, though, no matter how many times I repeat the part about the goblins watching me die. That feeling is why I’m willing to give them a proper burial, right? So shouldn’t I try to save this one?
I check the pulse again, and the goblin is still alive. I sigh deeply; if it had died in my deliberations, it would have made the decision for me. I nod to myself, feeling like that was the sign I need. Hurriedly, I rush around the rest of the corpses looking to see if others live. All the other bodies go into my subspace. In the end, I lift up the sole survivor and begin picking my way through the ruins toward the Suburb and my house.
Chapter 19
August 30th, 151 AR
Jeff Turle
Dragging an unconscious body isn’t easy. Even if it’s a scrawny four-foot-tall little thing. It takes me most of the evening and well into the night to make it back to where I can see the edge of the Suburb. Then another hour of circling to find something I recognize.
The Training Room clock reads 10:50 p.m. by the time I stumble through the portal in the house’s basement. I will admit that the darkness outside makes sneaking in with the dying goblin that much easier, though. As soon as I get him inside and onto the first landing, Crash assaults my ears.
“Master, where have you been? Do you have any idea how late it is?”
The sound reverberates off the walls, and the goblin groans. I stiffen at the sound of evident pain and hurriedly check the pulse of the tiny green man. Still weak. I lay the goblin down on the landing and rush down the stairs, ignoring Crash’s questions.
“Crash, I have a great deal of meat and other loot from my misadventures today. I need you to
find a recipe for some sort of soup or liquid high in nutrients.”
“Sire, it is done. All options that will take under an hour to prepare are on the holo-screen in the kitchen. You seem to be in a rush and not wanting to miss the daily, but you have left a pack on the landing. Would you like us to place it in the subspace for you?” Crash responds, seeming to have forgotten its earlier worry.
“You can’t,” I tell the AI as I hurriedly scroll through the recipe options.
*Small Kitchen App [Green]*
Please choose a recipe to initiate a daily quest.
●Hearty Gallus Noodle Soup (That’s Good for the Soul) [Gray](3 bitcoin)
●Taurus Stew with Potatoes and Mixed Vegetables [Gray](3 bitcoin)
●Nuttiest Rodentia Cajun Jambalaya [Green](5 Bitcoin)
●Leporid Mushroom Soup [Green](8 bitcoin)
With no idea of the difficulty or effectiveness of the options, I choose the most expensive. There is always something to be said for paying a bit extra. I also know that mushrooms are a source of Earth qi, one of the best for healing. Considering I already have the meat, unlike in the past, I am praying that eight bitcoins are going toward quantity.
Once it’s selected, the screen changes to the instructions, and I hurry around the kitchen, grabbing the equipment the kitchen suggests with green illuminations. Crash is strangely quiet, and my brain registers that fact, but I keep working, chopping up onions, carrots, and a huge number of mushrooms.
“Master, can you please bring the sack down onto the main level. We are afraid you’re right, and we can’t place it in storage. Did you know you brought something alive back with you?”
The tension in the air builds as I begin sautéing the vegetables in the bottom of a soup pot. Sweat builds on my brow as I stir.
“Master, why are you in such a rush to finish a soup-based meal?” Crash tries again.
This time I answer, hoping to forestall more questions.
“Crash, there is an injured individual up there who saved my life. I don’t have time to answer questions. If you need to talk, please read out instructions from the recipe and help me make this soup.”
“Yes, Master.”
With Crash’s help, the speed of cooking accelerates, and soon I am adding in water and some sort of cubed flavor concoction. Then with some kind of handheld electronic wand, I am blending the vegetables into a mud-like consistency. Once that’s finished, I add the cubed Leporid meat and have to wait impatiently as it cooks.
According to Crash, the Leporid meat will take another twenty minutes of simmering to cook sufficiently, and all we can do is wait. Since there is nothing else to do, I go back up the stairs and gingerly carry the goblin to a cot. I can feel the heat of it in my arms and am relieved to find it alive.
“Master, that is a goblin. Kill it immediately,” Crash says, its voice commanding and right beside me. Crash’s head is atop its projected body. My nerves are so on edge that I barely notice my discomfort with the blue AI’s human-like appearance.
“Crash, this goblin and its companions saved my life, and I am responsible for its injuries. We can’t just let it die,” I respond, feeling an indignant heat rise in me.
“Master, it’s likely to try to kill you as soon as it wakes up. Why would you help it recover, only to have to kill it when that happens?” Crash asks, its voice neutral, which reduces the boil in my blood to a slow simmer.
“Crash, I lied to them and they came and helped save me! I can’t believe that this goblin will mindlessly try to kill me,” I whisper.
“We believe you are mixing guilt and sense, Master,” Crash says, and I think about that for a moment. It’s likely true, but I can’t finish the creature off, after it somewhat came to my rescue. To myself, I admit guiltily that I still haven’t even identified the monster because I am worried it will either die or try to kill me.
After a deep breath, I stare at the heavily injured goblin until [Identify] pops up.
Goblin
Rank: F-6
So, does that mean my contacts classify this as a monster without a name, or the system does? I remember the goblins referring to each other by name. One of them was called Mur, and I am slightly hurt that the contacts would identify humans by name but not goblins.
“Crash, why do my contacts classify this as ’goblin,’ but they can distinguish humans by name?” I whisper, feeling a strange pang in my chest. I reach up and massage my ear.
“Sire, these goblins are not from your planet. They are invaders who are waiting for the opportunity to kill all humans and take over. I urge you to at least tie the goblin to a cot so it can’t kill you unexpectedly.”
“What do you mean, they are waiting for a chance to kill us all?” I ask, confusion tinging my voice.
“Master, the Gartusk are from a planet that successfully conquered the Tower. Their reward is the opportunity to invade other planets and pillage them when the time comes.”
“Wait, what? That’s a rather large piece of information to digest, Crash,” I sputter. My confusion morphs into something else entirely, and I feel my heart freeze in place. “If humans conquer the Tower, the reward is to invade other worlds?” Additional questions I should’ve asked earlier pop into my head with the goblin in front of me. I do recall being a bit preoccupied at the time with a ball of what felt like lightning attacking my brain. “Crash, that book had multiple races listed as Gartusk. Are they all from the same planet?”
“Master, in answer to your first question, not precisely. The human or humans that conquer the Tower are given an option for their reward. Of course, that’s if they manage to conquer it at all. If they don’t, the dungeon bosses will be allowed to exit their dungeons and begin to fight to capture this planet.
“As for your second question, Tusk is the name of the planet that Goblins, Hobgoblins, Trolls, Orcs, High-Orcs, Blood-Orcs, and Ogres come from. The language the majority of the planet speaks is known as Gartuski, and they call themselves the Gartusk.”
My act of slowly lowering the goblin onto a new pillow becomes a fumbled drop as my hands go numb.
“Urgghhh,” the green creature protests, and I immediately try to soothe it. I slowly drip some more water into its mouth to hide my error and then turn back to Crash.
“Wait, the bosses from the dungeons will invade this world?! When?” I ask as my heart pounds in my chest.
“Yes, Master. A slight correction is likely needed though. The minions of other races will be restored, and their bosses will become their leaders as they try to invade this world. Monster bosses are far less likely to band together and are more likely to hold to the territory their dungeon resides within. There is still time, however. Each race is allotted two hundred and fifty years to conquer the Tower without disruption by an invasion from an organized force.” My legs buckle, and I am sitting down without meaning to.
“Argghhh,” the goblin groans again as I accidentally sit on its legs.
Unable to jump back up, I slide to the floor instead. Sitting on the cold concrete, I can’t help but imagine the deaths of millions of people slaughtered by skeletons, goblins, ants, kobolds, satyrs, and so much more. The inevitability of the invasion seems impossible to avoid. Humans have already squandered one hundred and fifty years, and we are stalled halfway up the Tower.
My mental timer eventually stills my churning thoughts as I stand up to take the soup off the heat. Looking at the cubed Leporid meat, I realize that I should blend it with the wand another time. Before that, I turn in the quest and receive another two free points.
The soup is now a thoroughly blended concoction, and I take some to the goblin’s bedside. I test a bite first and need to roll it around in my mouth to avoid burning myself, so I place the container on the cold concrete to cool while I wait to see what types of qi I might get from this recipe. A single drop of qi suffuses, and I send it through my lungs to activate it. Earth qi, which is exactly what I hoped.
A rough estimate tells
me there might be as many as forty to sixty spoonfuls in the pot. This recipe also has the added benefit of being drinkable, which means I could theoretically chug some mid-battle. My mouth might be able to hold three to four spoonfuls. It isn’t much, but still, having a way to regain qi during combat is better than dying.
After four more test spoons for myself, I deem it cool enough for the goblin. One miscalculation comes into effect. I only got three drops of Earth and one of Fire qi for five helpings. Nothing drastic, but it would seem that a drop of Earth per bite was a bit too hopeful.
My first attempt to serve the goblin forces me to peel back the creature’s lips to reveal arrowhead-like teeth. I remember Crash’s earlier request to tie up the goblin, and I pull out the rags from the other dead goblins in my subspace.
“Wait, Master. If you place those rags to the side, I can absorb them. In the bathroom locker, you will find a stronger rope.”
I nod and toss the rags far away from myself and the goblin. I then rush to the bathroom and back. After a quick knot on both the goblin’s arms and legs, fastening him to the cot, I begin the process of feeding the injured goblin again. It’s pretty challenging because I must open its jaws, and I am rather fond of my fingers. I end up using a fork from the kitchen to avoid further injuries to the goblin and myself.
Some of my hard work is ejected from its mouth with weak coughs and clacking teeth. At some point, the fork loses a tine, and I can truly express my gratitude for its sacrifice. If the goblin swallows it, I just hope it will be okay because I will not go into its mouth to find it—not with my hands or some other utensil.
Several hours later, I can see the creature’s stomach swelling with my efforts and call an end to my task. It will either survive because of the qi and the Training Room passive, or it was too far gone. I’m not an Infuser and can’t heal others. I reheat the soup left in the pot and pour myself a bowl once it’s warm enough.