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

by Ryan DeBruyn

  To my disappointment, there is nothing left of the Vulpe boss. Other than chunks of flesh, bone chips, and blood spatter that I pass with ever-increasing frequency as I approach the oddity. I will have to try to kill some field mice next time we enter a Vulpe dungeon. Tonight’s dungeon run seems to be providing no meat.

  In the ice cave, there are many bones of other creatures and even a shield that is jutting from a pile. Most of the bones are from other monsters that I am now beginning to learn the names for. I place them all in my inventory, but as I go through the pile, a single relatively large skull identifies as a quest item.

  Zerda’s Mate

  Quest Item

  The shield also identifies and is interesting. It contains two characteristics on it that I also remind myself to ask Crash about.

  Teardrop Shield

  Rank: F-9

  Armor: 10

  Durability: 75/100

  “Master, the phenomenon you are speaking of is called molecular activation. Qi, when constantly flowing through an area, will charge molecules with energy. This acts much like heat and makes the molecules of a solid vibrate or the molecules of liquids and gases become more active. In time, a temperature change can be noticeable as the molecules will begin losing this energy in the form of heat.”

  “So portals are flowing qi?”

  “Yes, Master, they are extremely high concentrations of qi flowing in circular patterns that bore a hole through space and time. That’s why there is a time dilation in most dungeons.”

  I can’t help but make a face. Most of this is going right over my head, but at least I remembered to ask. Something niggles at my brain about the whole thing. Like I am missing something important, but I dismiss it, for now, to go over the loot I found.

  “Crash, what does the armor and durability mean on this shield?”

  “Master, those are system metrics. In the simplest terms, the armor is the shield’s ability to stop a blow, but it is more complex than that. The armor score represents the strength of an impact that the piece of armor can stop. If you receive an attack rated as a ten or below, the shield will stop one hundred percent of the damage if the equipment is hit. But that is still a simplification. A blow is not so simple to quantify. What would a fireball rate? What would a blow from a warhammer rate? Even if both are being used by individuals of the same rank, they will differ greatly in the type of force. This is where Durability comes in. For any damage or circumstance that exceeds the limit of your armor, the piece will lose Durability. If Durability reaches zero, the item will crumble.”

  I look over to Mur, who is stuffing his face and not paying attention. I am relatively sure he understood as much of that explanation as I did. And he doesn’t speak English . . . well.

  “Crash, try dumbing it down,” I plead, feeling a headache coming on.

  “Yes, Master. Armor absorbs the attack up to a point. Any damage exceeding that point transfers to Durability, but the blow may still be stopped. Is that sufficient? Or would you prefer I say, ‘The shield can only stop certain blows from cracking your skull’?” Crash states more flatly than usual.

  “The first was sufficient. Thanks,” I say with a bit of the irritation I feel. “We all know how thick of a skull you think I have, Crash. . .” I mutter to myself.

  “Sire, we are relatively certain that the density of your skull isn’t the problem,” Crash adds in response, obviously hearing my grumbling.

  “Crash, do you have a mute button?” I respond. It’s just so irritating that the AI has a response for everything!

  “Sire, there is a sleep mode, but then the entire Training Room would be on power save mode. Would you like us to return to sleep mode?” Crash asks, and I shake my head.

  “No, Crash . . . let’s just move on,” I say. Shutting down Crash would be taking it too far, right? “Crash, do you know anything about the Ice Crystal Body?” I ask, hoping that the change of subject will also adjust his attitude.

  “Why yes, Master. Why do you ask?” Crash questions and adds his customary head tilt.

  “I met someone who suffers from the—mutation, I think she called it. She is also stuck in the low F-ranks like I used to be,” I respond, feeling my cheeks flush. It isn’t like I have anything to be embarrassed about, right?

  “Ahhh, we understand. Master, that is very rare indeed. One in perhaps a million might be born with a hereditary-cultivator’s body. Of that tiny amount, nearly ninety-five percent die before they reach adulthood. How old is the individual you met?”

  “My age.” I gulp as I consider my AI’s words. “She might even be older than me.”

  “Master, we are sorry to say this, but the side effects of her body will only increase with age. You may wish to avoid growing further attached,” Crash says distractedly. “As for the quest item, it is likely best to purchase the strategy gaming application or—”

  “No! Shut up. We will get to that, Crash,” I interrupt, my throat feeling raw from the volume of the words. I see Mur jump up and even grab his sword, but I continue, “You can’t just announce that someone is dying and move on. You don’t know of anything that could help her?”

  “Sire, if we knew of a method to help her, we would have told it to you.” My ears feel like they are on fire, and my heart is thumping madly in my chest. There has to be some sort of answer.

  “You don’t have any sales pitches about books that could help?” I add. My voice is still overly loud.

  “No, sire, there are no books on cultivators’ bodies. They are too rare,” Crash responds, and I sigh before thinking of Barclay’s Cultivatin Journal.

  “Crash, can you scan the cultivation manual and look for references to the condition?”

  “Master, you forbade us from scanning the cultivation manual.”

  That is technically true. Crash refuses to say that he won’t change the information kept inside. So I wouldn’t let him scan it, thinking he would come around. Now? Am I going to be the one who is forced to change their mind?

  I could go through the book myself, but there are so many pages, and who knows how much time Veronica has? Theoretically, she still has years, but my gut combines with my memory of her deteriorating appearance and tells me it is already getting worse.

  “Crash, will you swear not to change anything in the manual?” I ask, hoping the AI agrees this time.

  “We will clean up the manual and ensure it is more legible, organize the information, and ensure that all the related packets of information are placed together in a single area. The previous owner refused to let me do this. He said, ‘Everything has its place, and you will ruin it.’ But we assure you that we only wish to make it more legible.”

  This is the same answer I got before. Part of the reason I still want to deny Crash is that the previous owner did so. Will I lose some of the intentions of the manual by letting the AI have access?

  Unfortunately, my choice is pretty straightforward as I’ve only managed to read and understand perhaps twenty percent of the book so far. If Barclay has hidden intentions inside, I will have to try to glean them in other ways.

  “Okay, do it,” I say as I take the book from my subspace and place it onto the round concrete table.

  Crash vanishes as the book lights up, and a loading bar appears underneath the book, telling me it will take approximately an hour to scan and repair the book. I manage to move from my spot to turn in the quest item and select Bookshelf. While the Board Game Closet application sounds interesting, I feel like the Bookshelf may be the best method for teaching Mur English. A second concrete wall pops up beside the Home Gym, and I manage a weak smile. Soon we will have a smithy and a library application.

  After that, I return to the central table and pace. Crash better not ruin the journal. Still, every so often, I envision popping a blue bubble man to make myself feel better.

  Chapter 39

  September 5th, 151 AR

  Jeff Turle

  “Sire, it seems quite simple, accor
ding to the findings of the journal. If you flip to page four hundred and eleven, you will find the research in question,” Crash says after the scan completes.

  I hurriedly rifle through the pages, finding that each journal page is securely attached now. It even has a table of contents and page numbers added. Perhaps I was wrong to worry.

  As I reach the page, my mouth falls open. The comic book page I am looking at isn’t exactly meant for casual viewing. While there isn’t explicit nudity—thanks to some well-placed steam by the artist—it definitely is more of a sexual fantasy than my brain’s exhaustion was ready for. I know Crash is saying something and that there are words on the page as well, but I am too preoccupied enjoying the particular—

  “Why Jeff drool? No food? Hair color strange, yes. Creature no point ears. Ugly,” Mur chimes in from my shoulder and I turn to look at him before shaking my head a bit. I wasn’t drooling!

  “Mur go sleep. It late,” Mur says with a carnivorous-toothed yawn. It is still a little scary to see them when his mouth is open that wide. I manage to pull my gaze away from Mur as he closes his mouth again and turn back to Crash.

  “S-sorry,” I stutter to Crash, as I continue to shake off the proverbial cobwebs. “Could you repeat what you were saying?”

  “Certainly, sire,” Crash replies, deadpan. Mur walks toward the cots and Crash doesn’t fill a long moment of uncomfortable silence. I roll my eyes, but luckily, he gives up on pointing out my inattentiveness. “The pages and some of the owner’s previous notes suggest that [Paired Cultivation] is the answer. It seems quite simple and is an act in which two people can intertwine their qi, creating a phenomenon that counteracts a Spiritual Body’s hereditary effects.

  “It is most effective with as much skin contact as possible, but despite the picture you just drooled on, it can also be accomplished through holding hands. It appears that this effect will be helpful for both parties involved.”

  “Both parties?” I question as I blink rapidly. That sounds like a mistake.

  “Yes, Master, according to the journal, frost is a higher-level qi state. When you take it in and break it down for your friend, you will not only gain additional qi, but also a greater understanding of how higher-level qi is made.”

  “And you’re sure we don’t have to—” I cough but gesture to the page in front of me to finish my thought. Half of my body rails against the question, telling me to use this knowledge to accomplish something that I can’t help but fantasize about. The other part is adamant; that would be wrong.

  “Sire, you do not have to do anything but hold hands. However, it will limit the speed of circulation in both of you. The more skin you have in contact, the faster cultivation will progress. So, it is entirely up to you.”

  At that point in the conversation, I begin focusing on the page again. How can I explain this technique to Veronica? Crash is definitely speaking still, but my brain has other things that are much more interesting to think about. Like, is there a chance for Veronica and me to end up in the situation on the page? Eventually, Crash vanishes, and the absence of the blue man startles me enough to remind me it is far past my bedtime. I close the book and leave it where it is.

  The blue light from the table makes my eyes water, and I stumble through the training room to find a cot. I’m not even sure it’s my usual cot that I fall into but I’m asleep as soon as I wrap the blankets over me.

  I wake up, and it is already well into the morning. A quick glance at the time tells me it’s almost noon. Even the layabout Mur, who admittedly went to bed before me, has gotten out of bed already. I blearily make my way to the kitchen and distractedly go through the process of making breakfast for both myself and the goblin.

  Despite having found a solution for Veronica’s problem the previous night, my stomach is extremely uncomfortable. I feel like I ate a rock that is slowly twisting my gut around it instead of being digested in it. How am I supposed to broach the subject with her?

  I play the conversation over in my mind for a long time but come up with nothing that doesn’t make me sound like a total idiot. After the workout, I will head into town again and just show her as best I can. If she asks any questions, I will try my best to pretend someone told me. That should be easy to do. Mostly because Crash scanned the book, found the answer, and did tell me.

  The workout is already being set up by Mur, and I can’t help but notice that he places the same number of weights on both of our bars—for every exercise. I eye him somewhat bemusedly. I know for a fact I won’t be able to lift half of them! Then it hits me . . . did he read the daily quest—in English? I see Crash nearby and wonder . . . did the AI help him set it up?

  I approach the holographic puck and read over the day’s routine. Mur only made a mistake on a single one.

  “Mur, do you understand English now?” I ask in the language in question.

  “Mur gots basics, donkey!” he says, his voice starting in almost a singing cadence and his last word shouted like an accusation.

  Did he just call me a donkey? I don’t even know what that is. . .

  “Crash!” It doesn’t take me long to figure out who is behind this. I turn toward the blue hologram and point to Mur.

  “What did you do, and what is a donkey?”

  “Master, we didn’t do anything. We have been teaching Mur English when you are out of the Training Room. Our favorite shows are Dante’s Kitchen and Fresh King, and sometimes Mur just listens to R&B music. As for ‘donkey’ it is a favorite insult of the head chef of the show. Everyone seems to be a donkey. . .”

  “Wait.” I place a hand on my forehead. “How has he been playing music and these shows?”

  “Quite easily, we assume, Master.” Crash stares at me.

  “I mean with what feature or device that you haven’t shown me?!” I respond, my voice rising in volume slightly.

  “Master, the table can play old digital media from the previous world. The more English Mur learns, the better descriptions of food he will provide.”

  My eyes close, and I begin breathing far shallower than is probably healthy. Why is everything with Crash like this? Why can’t the damn blue man just volunteer information?

  Then again, if I did insist on him volunteering knowledge, he would just tell me a whole bunch of useless information. Like how come the water in the toilet rotates in the direction it does, which he has already explained—several times.

  Instead of reacting, I choose to take out any frustrations in the workout. I fix the single exercise that Mur mistakenly added, changing the deadlift bar to a solitary plate to perform Dead Bugs. The bonus is I don’t need to have Crash demonstrate exercises anymore, so I won’t have to deal with him at the moment. Now each exercise is like a friend that I have just been away from for a time—or a nemesis to overcome, I correct mentally.

  Glancing at the weight Mur added to each bar, I debate about lowering them. Looking at the quest screen decides it for me. Every exercise is rated D according to the blue color, and if I complete it, I will get ten free physical points.

  “Let’s do this,” I say to myself.

  “Yeah, cooking time, fam,” Mur responds in his version of English. I raise an eyebrow. What does cooking have to do with the workout?

  More than two hours later, I am down to twenty-nine extra Sun qi drops circulating through my body and am rounding Beach again to avoid Ride or Die. I choose to go with the known factor of the entrance I used previously and make my way to the hunters’ entrance.

  I’m dreading walking by the hard gazes of the hunters. Still, so far I’ve only had to deal with some heavy smells of unclean men and women. Compared to my own Fetid Odor stench, it could be considered mild. Definitely much better than leading Markus or Jamie back to the house. Or even running into Markus or Jamie. I shiver, the thought getting me over my small trepidation.

  I reach the paved thoroughfare and walk down the sidewalk to the front of the non-truck entrance. Again, the guards wave me through, and
I enter without a problem. I don’t recognize a single face among the guards or the hunters. Still, some of the merchants are familiar from the day before. I also suspect the people clustered around the warehouses will be the same as the previous day. They seem to lounge about in small groupings, some chairs or other pieces of dusty furniture pulled into circles of merriment. I shrug; it’s probably a hunter guild or something like that, and the members are just enjoying their time off.

  A nearby bare-chested seven-foot-tall giant of a man catches my interest as he stares down a merchant. The merchant looks tiny, not only due to his height. The girth of the larger man makes him seem to be almost double the size of everyone nearby. And there are others around him that I failed to notice because of it. The large man isn’t talking to the merchant, but a similarly bare-chested, shorter individual is. The merchant stands toe to toe with the speaker and makes large gestures with his hands. I study the others and see many other cross-armed hunters all staring at the interaction between their representative and the merchant. Each man looks hard and dangerous, but my eyes continue to be drawn to the giant.

  If I were the merchant, I would more likely be shocked into silence instead of selling or buying goods. But a quick scan tells me that this scene is repeated all over the yard, and that the merchants are standing their ground in each situation. The hunters must not be quite as scary as their expressions and looks suggest, right?

  I rush through the streets between stalls and approach the four-sided corkboard. The same man from yesterday stands atop the stacked stones and takes money in exchange for pinning a slip of paper. Hunters gather around and pull off notes with the same frequency as the day before. I can feel my face splitting into a smile, sure that my message for Alrick is going to be gone.

  Yet, when I get to the front, I can still see it pinned and semi-concealed by another note. As I watch, a hunter grabs the one that blocks mine from full view, and I smile again. Maybe Alrick just missed it.