Starred Tower: System Misinterpret Book One - A Post Apocalyptic Cultivation LitRPG

by Ryan DeBruyn

  I take out Markus’s dagger and approach the Rodentia corpses first. The knife cuts through the flesh with ease, and I have soon stored two pairs of Rodentia ears, a pelt, and a great deal of butchered meat in the subspace.

  Okay, practice over. I move to the nearest goblin corpse. I feel a tremor in the knife as I reach out my off hand to the large floppy ear. It’s pointed . . . like mine.

  “Sire, I assure you the system counts all ears of minions from dungeons as monster ears for the quest,” Crash encourages in his neutral tone.

  “I can’t,” I respond, the trembling getting so bad that I drop the knife and hear it clang off the ground multiple times as it bounces. I shake my head and look up at Crash. “Please store them back in the subspace for now. I will leave them in a dungeon as it closes in the future.”

  “That is a terrible waste, sire.”

  “I don’t care, Crash. I won’t be taking their ears or converting them to monster cores. They were people and even had a tribe,” I respond and take a quick pause before changing directions. “Is there anything you can do with the bones and leftover meat?” I ask, looking at Chunkalunk and the two Rodentia. I am not exactly an adept butcher and have left quite a bit of meat attached to the sinew and bone. The goblins begin vanishing, and I nod toward Crash, who tilts his head in response.

  “Sire, we can absorb the corpses and create a pile of clean bones, but the muscle and sinew are impossible for the Training Room to work with. We may be able to make the extra meat into a meat flavored protein powder. . .”

  I shiver and shake my head in disgust, not ever wanting the AI to create a meat flavored powder. The only ones I’ve ever tried were vanilla or chocolate flavored and they are chalky enough as it is. I move to the sink to clean off—then think better of it and head to the shower. It isn’t only my hands that need a good soak.

  On my return, now clean, I find sparkling white bones from the Rodentia in place of the two butchered carcasses. There is also a neat pile of weapons and acorns remaining.

  “Crash, could you tell me what these acorns are good for?” I ask, recalling that they were identified with a rank.

  “Sire, the acorns have a few uses. You can plant them and use them to keep F-rank dungeons out of the areas their roots encompass. The acorns themselves, once powdered, can be used as one of many ingredients to create cultivation pills of varying effects. Finally, you can sell them to a shop for bitcoins.”

  I am still somewhat hung up on the first use. “If they are planted and grown, they can prevent the formation of dungeons?”

  “Only F-rank dungeons, Master.”

  I blink in surprise. So if I planted these trees all over the city. . . I shake my head. Right now, the cultivation pills or the bitcoins seem more appealing to me. “And these cultivation pills, how do you make them?”

  “Sire, you must purchase a recipe and have all the refining equipment needed to create a pill.”

  “What equipment?”

  “Sire, you must purchase a recipe and the job manual to learn more.” I feel a bit of irritation return. It always seems like there is something more to buy in the Training Room.

  “All right, Crash, can you absorb the goblin weapons and create anything useful?”

  “No, Master. We can only absorb them and create their components; the Training Room isn’t able to make any weapons or armors.”

  I look at Markus’s dagger in my hands, realizing I never identified it earlier.

  Utility Dagger

  Rank: Trash

  I walk through the goblin weapons and realize that they are all Trash-rank as well. “Crash, will they sell better as components or as trash weapons?”

  “We cannot be sure, sire. We suggest you purchase the Run-Down Pawn Shop from the Renovation tab to find out.”

  I move back to the holo-puck for the daily dungeon quest and study the options again. Choosing an F-ranked app is pretty unappealing, considering it wouldn’t offer quests. Still, a shop seems like it’s a necessity. I will need it to sell items if nothing else. This would then create a snowball effect. Without the need to choose the bitcoins reward from the daily workout, I could begin accepting the physical points.

  I am not likely to have another opportunity at a quest item in the future. Not without a party, which I’m doubtful to find. Mostly because I’m not keen on heading back into Beach. My current and very tentative plan is to slowly collect roaming monster cores from unmarked dungeons by myself. Still, to gather one hundred will take weeks, if not months. I don’t even consider the five free points option of the quest at this juncture. They are great, but with the ability to use the gym’s reward for physical points, I can make up that amount in three days once I have a bitcoin source.

  It’s decided, and I select the F-rank app, and when the list populates, I select the Run-Down Pawn Shop. A twenty-four-hour timer begins, and concrete walls slide up from the ground in the corner of the massive rectangular Training Room.

  With that done, I move to the gym and complete my first workout for physical points.

  I’ve just finished cooking a five-bitcoin lunch, which leaves me with two leftover portions and a single bitcoin remaining for breakfast tomorrow. Suddenly, I hear a great deal of screaming coming from the top of the stairs. There must be a monster on the loose or an organized monster raiding party for the sound to reach me in the Training Room. An instant later, both of my theories are proven partially right.

  “Mur need help, Jeff. Please square-tooth hide Mur. Ugly things kill tribe. Grass-chewers coming to kill Mur,” Mur shouts as he stares at the floor and moves around the basement above. Well, if nothing else, this proves that people without access can’t see the entrance. That’s a relief. I instantly begin climbing the stairs to help when Crash brings me up short.

  “Master, this could be a trap. The goblin has left the Training Room so its previous oath could be void.”

  I stop at the top of the stairs. Really? I guess it’s better to be careful. . . The screaming is still adding a great deal of background noise to my decision, and I even make out some specific shouting.

  “It went in there. It went in there,” voices call out over and over again. There isn’t much time to make a decision.

  Rushing back downstairs, I grab the dagger I left on the kitchen island and return to the final landing again. I climb to the top step and place a hand through the barrier. Mur rushes forward to grab hold like it’s a lifeline. I wait to see if any other goblins pour forth, but since it is only Mur, I pull him into the Training Room. As soon as the goblin lands on the step, I level the dagger at its chest.

  “Swear on tribe and pride-honor Mur not harm Jeff,” I growl and bark out in Gartuski.

  “Mur swear on honor. Jeff now Mur’s tribe,” he practically cries, and my dagger point wavers when I hear the goblin’s emotions thick in the air. I forget all about the circumstances of his return and feel slightly bad about suspecting a trap.

  “Sorry, Mur, Jeff make—”

  “Find the monster! It’s down here or up above in the rubble,” a man shouts as he descends the stairs. The sound of numerous footfalls echoes around the basement and reaches us on the top landing. Technically, we didn’t test if Mur could hear us up above, so I hold a finger to my lips in the universal sign of ‘be quiet.’

  We don’t dare to move as men swarm through the suddenly cramped space. Before long, there isn’t even enough room for them to move around anymore, and I can literally see the bottom of booted feet standing right atop the portal.

  “Make way! Let us down!” somebody at the back shouts.

  “Let us out. It’s full,” someone above us yells back.

  I can’t help but chuckle at the confused pushing, shoving, and cursing that follows. Many of the men and women exclaim about the incredulity of losing a single monster they were tracking.

  “Grass-chewers try to fight Gartusk fair, ugly cattle, see what happen,” Mur mutters angrily. I freeze, thinking that the people m
ere feet away have to have heard him, but none of them react. I turn to Crash, who has popped up right behind me.

  “Can they not hear us on this side?” I whisper.

  “No, Master. The portal doesn’t allow sound or light through from this side,” Crash practically shouts into the silence, and I flinch. Good thing too. . .

  I nod and offer Mur a hand to help him to his feet. The goblin smacks the proffered hand away and stands on his own. I shrug and move back to the concrete floor at the bottom of the stairs. Once there, I move to the central table and wait for my new goblin tribesman to follow. I didn’t miss what the green bugger swore when I had it at dagger point. Mur sits down as well and studies the table with roving eyes.

  “Jeff understand this?” he bark-growls as he motions to the table and, I assume, the words on it.

  “Yes. This Jeff language. Mur learn soon,” I respond, first upset with how childish I have to sound in Gartuski but then gleefully excited when I realize I will get to force the sharp-toothed brat to reverse roles in the future. “What Mur mean when say Jeff now Mur tribe?” I ask. The green face of Mur darkens, and he casts his eyes down to his feet.

  “Jeff chief of Mur’s tribe. Mur follow. Jeff direct,” the goblin concedes.

  The smile that finds its way onto my face makes the goblin’s face darken even more. I have found my first party member, and with my ability to locate F-rank dungeons, we may even stand a chance.

  I go to take a bite of my lunch, and see Mur staring at my plate. My eyebrows rise, and I push that portion over to him. Then I move to the counter and take one of the cooling Tupperwares back to my seat.

  “Jeff good chief,” Mur says as he begins devouring the meal. I snort a bit of air out from my nose. If all it takes to be a good chief is feeding Mur, then I should have it pretty easy.

  “Mur, how so many goblin in tribe?” I ask.

  “Three chief. Goblin fight together,” Mur responds and bangs on his chest with a fist. Food is being ejected from his mouth like it’s a wood chipper, and I am very glad I am sitting across the large concrete table. Crash is eyeing the goblin with a very straight face and wide eyes.

  “Does it even taste its food, Master?” Crash whispers, and I actually laugh. That would be of concern for the blue guy.

  “Maybe you should learn Gartuski and ask him?” I respond.

  “Master, you think the goblin—”

  “Mur,” I interject, correcting Crash with a bit of annoyance.

  “Sorry, Master. Do you think Mur will describe the food’s flavors to us?”

  I shrug and look over to Mur, who is now finding all the pieces of food that flew from his mouth. I push over my half-finished portion.

  “Mur thank pointy-ear white-goblin,” he says, adding something that feels like an honorific before the name I have given myself. I’m much more used to pointy-ear being a term of shame. Somehow, the way Mur says it is inclusive, and I tilt my head at him. My heart feels lighter than a moment ago, and I can’t say it’s a bad feeling at all.

  I look to Crash and see he’s still watching Mur. His straight face is slightly less serious in a way I can’t describe. I smile. This is my group I guess, and looking at them, I know they are far superior to Ride or Die.

  Chapter 22

  September 1st, 151 AR

  Jeff Turle

  A growling, grunting rumble pierces the morning silence in the Training Room.

  My pillow is already over my head, and I can’t help but consider killing Mur to stop the torturous sound. Instead, I roll over and slide out of bed, deciding that’s all the sleep I will get. It’s time for a shower and a hot breakfast.

  The sound vanishes the instant I cross into the Locker Room, and I wonder if I can just force the goblin to sleep in here from now on—for my sanity. My clothes and underclothes become a sad pile on the ground. The locker door slams shut after I take out my towel and soap.

  I’ll admit that most of my annoyance is not with the goblin, or my lack of sleep. No, most of my frustrations are with myself. Now that I am safe and have had the time to digest everything, my fear from the near-death experience is morphing into something else. Every time I try to close my eyes to sleep, a familiar feeling of forced-suffocation assaults my chest. That feeling pairs with an image of a hand coming to grasp my mouth and causes me to either flinch or clench muscles.

  Even that is a horrible description. It started with embarrassment—like an intense desire to curl up in a ball and never look another human being in the eyes again. A self-loathing that told me what a coward I was for not fighting back. For not being stronger. That self-hate changed into a fierce spike of indignation that brought sweat and heat. Why should I feel this way? I did nothing wrong. Then it would flip-flop for long moments as my brain pointed out all the signs I missed—the clear indicators that I put myself in the dangerous situation that came after. Only after all of those emotions ran their course would the wrath come, the drive, the need for justice, and I would shake as hot tears leaked from my eyes. Only once I was cried out would I manage to fall asleep.

  Unfortunately, my dreams didn’t agree with my new resolve, and I would wake up in a cold sweat every few hours. My hands would fly to my neck, feeling Markus’s daggers tickling my skin. Then the process would repeat.

  So, yeah, part of me waking up early is to begin taking action—to feel like I’m doing something about it. To take steps and prove to my own traitorous mind that I’m not weak—I’m not a pushover, and I will one day realize some sort of vindication.

  Is there something I can do in the meantime? I let the hot water run over my closed eyes and allow its calming effects to help me make a rational decision. If I hide away in the Training Room avoiding the problem, I will be safe, which admittedly is very appealing. However, today, tomorrow, or any other day in the future, another beginner like me is going to make their way into Beach. What then? The answer is easy, but my mind skips past it by pointing out all the ways going into Beach can go wrong.

  In response, I recall the feeling of sun on my skin. Am I ready to give that up? Should I let Ride or Die take that from me like Leah had? I feel a surge of something that I’ve never felt before. It’s not anger, but it’s related to it. Somehow, this new welling of heat forces the little nagging thoughts of safety to shrink back from it. Almost causing me to feel embarrassed for having the thoughts in the first place. I can’t and won’t let others suffer what I went through two days ago. And I deserve to feel the sun again.

  After that decision, the shower truly helps me wash away the rest of my night’s debacle. The heat cleanses something from my soul in a way that leaves me feeling at least marginally human again. I hurriedly change into a new set of training gear, and make my way to the kitchen to see Crash flicker to life.

  “Morning, Master,” the AI greets me. I nod my head in acknowledgment. “The shop should be finished in just under three hours. Would you like to make yourself your usual eggs and toast?” Crash’s voice carries disdain for my lack of adventure, but I already made a new recipe last night, so I just close my eyes and nod. At the last moment, I look back to the soft snore coming from the dormitory.

  “Add some extra meat from the Rodentia, Crash.” I hadn’t really planned on two for breakfast, and don’t have enough bitcoin today to double my eggs and toast.

  Almost as soon as the meat hits the frying pan, Mur’s snoring cuts off, and he makes his way toward the kitchen scratching at himself; his manhood, his rear, and then his eyes, in that order. Watching the actions reminds me of Alrick. He also likes to scratch inappropriately. Then again Alrick never wore only a yellowing loincloth. Now that I am looking for it, I can see signs of filth all over Mur and I point to the bathroom.

  “Go clean. Get clothes. Use metal-box—green light,” I order in my best Gartuski.

  Mur takes a look at the state of the food, and I can practically see the calculations for how long it will take the meat to cook—then he scampers off to attempt to lear
n how to use the shower.

  “Crash, please go help him. And make him a set of clothes.”

  “Sire, we don’t speak Gartuski,” the AI says disdainfully, and I turn my head to glare at him. Ever since Mur arrived, Crash has been judgemental, and I don’t like it.

  “Then you better be good at acting things out, Crash,” I respond, my annoyance thick in my voice.

  Crash vanishes, and after a few moments of me flipping the strips of Rodentia meat, I hear a delighted squeal echo from the changerooms. Hopefully, that is because of the hot water.

  By the time the food is ready, Mur is still not present, but Crash does pop into the room. I wait, but the AI doesn’t offer an explanation.

  “Crash, where is Mur?”

  “Master, the goblin is currently trying to clean the taste of soap from his mouth.”

  I shake my head, knowing that Crash couldn’t have forced Mur into the act but wondering if the AI had some part in it, anyway. When Mur does appear, the looks he gives Crash confirm my suspicion. I place a plate stacked high with Rodentia meat in front of Mur before continuing my own meal of eggs, toast, and Rodentia meat.

  Not really in the mood to play referee, I try to ignore Mur’s cold looks at Crash. Hopefully, there is a language manual in the shop I can buy. Regardless, it’s time for me to work out some frustrations with the weights.

  I move to the board and read over today’s exercises, wanting to get the place ready and have Crash demonstrate some of the movements. To my surprise Mur copies my pose, and I have an epiphany.

  “Crash, can Mur accept quests inside of the Training Room as well?”

  “Master, the goblin can’t even read the quests inside the Training Room.”

  “That isn’t an answer, Crash,” I say between clenched teeth, some of the anger from the night mixing with fresh irritation and seeping into my words. “If Mur were a human companion, could he accept quests down here?”