by Ryan DeBruyn
“Sorry, kid,” Willow says as he approaches me. I take a deep whiff and smell something out of place, but it isn’t putrid. It’s more reminiscent of something my brain associates with campfires. “Come by my smithy sometime, and maybe I can help you get a job that pays you well enough to buy something better.” Willow pats my shoulder and walks off in a direction I recognize. He’s heading toward the Hunters’ District, and he said smithy. My racing brain finally manages to put together the black stains and the fire smell.
I slowly turn back to the four remaining, and Larry gives me a slight shrug before he too leaves and heads into his house. Tin’s smile grows larger in small increments, the man’s glee morphing into mania. I step back involuntarily, but a glance over my shoulder tells me Boyle is now behind me. I cross my arms defensively over my chest, fighting my urge to pull my naginata out and attempt to fight my way free. I can guarantee that they aren’t prepared for an F-ranker with nearly three hundred drops of qi. That goes against the plan, though. Jacque and Darren told me they would likely surround me and take me into the ruins.
“What—” I begin and then cough to bring a bit of volume to my voice from my tight throat. “What do you plan to do with this old piece of junk?” I ask, trying hard to sound uncaring. Tin steps closer, his smile raising goosebumps on my arms.
“Well, kid, we might just live here for a time,” Tin says while holding up the paper Willow just handed him. “We made a significant sum of money thanks to some restitution payments.” He rushes forward the last few feet, and his smile vanishes so fast I feel like I imagined it. He is right beside me in a blink.
“Or you can hand over the subspace item and tell us how you’re making all that money so fast,” Tin whispers right into my ear. I try to jump away, but his hand lands on my shoulder, holding me firmly to the ground. I remind myself again that this is part of the plan. Tin steps back and waves the paper under his wrinkled nose. “Wow, kid . . . I’ll trade you this deed for the item and information. Then you never have to see us again, little stinky fish.”
I eye the paper in his hands. What exactly is a deed? From the way Larry and Willow acted, it isn’t good. At least, not for me. Still, my mind doesn’t want to stay focused on this deed or even the plan—it wants an answer to where the two other members of Ride or Die are. The real monsters!
“Where are Jamie and Markus?” I ask, my words quiet and fast. Boyle laughs loudly from behind me, and I turn to look at him. He has his spear over both shoulders behind his neck and seems to be lounging in place. People are starting to congregate around us to watch whatever is going on—somehow, the scene alerts people to something going on that might be interesting.
“They ain’t coming today, kid. This here is the friendly discussion, see?” Boyle says, looking around at the crowd and smiling at them. While sounding casual, his words clearly carry a menace that I’m not the only one to hear. Some observant people step back from him as if sensing it.
“Kid, you can have this house back. We just want the subspace item and the locations of the dungeons you keep raiding,” Tin whispers, lower this time. The crowd clearly puts a timer on the whole ordeal.
“I just joined the Star Bucks guild, Tin. I’m not sure what that paper says, but they told me to ask you to politely leave, or they will get involved,” I say with as much volume as I can manage under the eyes of the crowd. Some people definitely hear me because gasps of shock can be heard, and I can also hear people repeating the guild’s name to each other, spreading the word.
“I can see you don’t understand how deeds work, kid. We bought the deed for this house,” Tin begins and sneers at the roof and broken timbers before continuing, “from Old Man Willow. According to the law, we own this house. The Star Bucks and you can ask all you want, but we aren’t going anywhere.”
Something is off. The calm in his voice and the fact that they let the crowd continue to grow sends my mind searching for what’s wrong. What’s changed? What am I missing? They own the house, sure. But really, they don’t want to live in it. They can’t know about the Training Room, right? What am I missing? What do they think they have? Tin leans close again, and his breath ruffles my hair, which hides my ears. I clap a hand to the side of my head, and Tin flinches back, likely thinking I was trying to hit him. He squints at me for a long moment as I clutch the side of my head.
“We know what’s in the basement,” Tin whispers and then grins his too-wide smile again. As if claiming victory. My jaw clenches tight. Someone at Star Bucks told them about it? Why would anyone at the guild share it with these degenerates?
“We will just live here for now and give you some time to think about our offer,” Tin adds quietly. I tilt my head and look at Tin like he is an idiot. If I have a subspace anchored in the house, their living here doesn’t affect its use. How do they think this is a threat?
That piece of paper is clearly a ploy to force me to turn over the subspace item and the dungeon locations. It’s a really odd threat, and I squint at Tin, trying to figure out their play. This hasn’t gone anywhere close to how I—no, we—thought it would. I look back toward Beach. I don’t see Darren and Jacque watching from rooftops or mixing in amongst the crowd. What should I say?
“You see, if we can’t have the subspace, we don’t think anyone should be allowed to have it,” Tin coos, his words driving home their idiotic plan. My brain goes into overdrive as I think about every possible scenario. Crash said if they destroy the anchor, the Training Room will most likely slip to a new location, and I will never find it again. Of course, that was the best-case scenario. If they destroy the anchor, it could do one of a million things, including self-destruct.
If that happens, what would happen to Crash and, more importantly, Mur? I’m pretty confident that the goblin made it inside based on Boyle claiming they lost what they were following the other day. Still, would he try to sneak out of the training room? That would mean certain death for my friend if Ride or Die is outside! If they destroyed the anchor, where would Mur and Crash end up? Would they be okay? So many questions. . .
I want to argue with them. With what they know, destroying the anchor gives them no leverage at all. Would they stop anyone from having the subspace out of spite? From Tin’s grin, they plan to do exactly that.
“Oh, I should mention that, since we own the house and the subspace anchor,” Tin whispers, “we are in the process of bringing another case against you for stealing the item itself from Ride or Die.” I shudder at the memory of the last trial. Could they do that?
“But maybe it’s time to start rebuilding this neighborhood. You know, demolish what’s here and start over,” Tin calls out, raising his arms. A few people in the crowd actually cheer but then go silent, probably sensing the strange mood that hangs over the speakers. I spin on my heel as tears threaten. A million plans run through my head; all I need to do is get inside the Training Room. I don’t have to ever leave after that. I’d just need to wait till the move feature is ready. Still, Markus and Jamie may be downstairs. Would Darren and Jacque help if I rushed inside? Are they even here?
I begin walking away, a hand on my chest.
“Go get the link out of your special place. Bet that’s why the freak smells so bad!” Esmerelda crows from behind me, clearly referring to the hiding place I told them about. Boyle laughs as I pass him. He winks at me and my heart falls further. But I don’t have an item to trade! What options are really left to me?
The crowd parts around me, and I hear some discontented murmurs and even claims of cowardice thrown my way, but I’m still trying to chew through what just happened. I’m literally trapped by the idiocy of a group of adventurers and a lie I created to save my life.
What options do I have left?
“You can stay in this guest chamber for the night,” Darren offers, providing another useless suggestion. The clock is ticking down along with the sun through the windows. This will be the first day in weeks I will miss daily quests. I can feel te
ars threatening to form as my throat tightens and loosens with the rumble of my stomach. I’m worried about Mur and, to a lesser degree, Crash. What if the goblin chooses to try to attack Ride or Die in the middle of the night. . .?
As soon as I returned to the guild high-rise, Jacque and Darren met me inside. Once alone, I told them the story they were mostly aware of. They said they were hidden in the crowd earlier but I hadn’t seen them. Now? Their grand plan was to let Ride or Die have the house. It was a pile of junk anyway, right? They want me to appeal to the courts through something called squatter’s rights. They say it’s a start, and further claim that if the Star Bucks claim ownership of the subspace, it may put the anchor under the Church’s protection until the trial ends.
“So your plan now is to wait?” I choke out.
“No,” Jacque answers, sounding tired. “Our suggestion is to find this informant and use them against Ride or Die. Today they were a step ahead. Tomorrow we will be three.” That answer has the same vagueness as before. I don’t have access to the Training Room, to my friends, and all they can offer me is platitudes. But the same problem I saw earlier still exists.
“Why would anyone in Star Bucks sell information directly to Ride or Die?” I repeat, and Darren nods along.
“They wouldn’t, Jeff. This is why we must find the person and figure out who they did sell the information to. Ride or Die might have their own guild connections, and we need to find out who. Because in court, that’s who we will be facing.”
“I feel like this is my fault, Jeff. If you didn’t save me, no one would have discovered your anchor. If we didn’t think you were ready to join us, our members wouldn’t have known about it, at least. I’m so sorry,” Veronica says, her voice heavy with emotions.
I shake my head, not upset with her, at least not for this. I’m upset at the Star Bucks, certainly. They should just go in and blast Ride or Die out of the house. Problem solved. But now that Ride or Die might have powerful friends, they are too scared of them to act. Even our earlier plan to defend a guild member is off the table. Why did I even join the Star Bucks if this is all they can do?
“I’m going to bed,” I state as I stand and head for the guest chamber bedroom. Jacque, Darren, and Veronica watch me go. Each of them wears a different expression when I sweep my eyes over their faces, but none of them are ready to help.
I need to take care of this problem myself.
I lie in my bed until I hear the door close, which signals that they’ve likely left. Should I have told them the truth? There is just too much of a risk. They could be the ones who betrayed the plan. I move back to the sitting area and pour myself some water after finding that everyone is gone. I sit down on the couch to think.
Ride or Die isn’t this smart. In fact, I suspect that they left Markus and Jamie out of the negotiations today to specifically prevent the kind of violence that was key to our plan. Those two are definitely the group’s hotheads, and for them to have that much foresight reeks of more betrayal. The only ones who knew of the plan were the three in this room, but whom could they have told? Who is backing Ride or Die?
Taking a deep drink, I lean back and stare at the ceiling, making a mental note to buy some comfortable lounging furniture for the Training Room. That reminds me that the Forge and Home Bookshelf applications are likely completing. What will happen to the Training Room if Ride or Die go through with their threat to destroy the anchor? My heart thumps madly in my chest, and I start pacing.
Okay, since I have no way of knowing that outcome, I need to calm down and develop another solution. I thought of one earlier. All I need to do is get inside the Training Room. Then their destruction of the anchor is less of a threat, right? Well, I guess it’s more of a gamble. . .
My brain circles back around to an earlier solution I dismissed. I can speak Gartuski, and I even know the location of some Gartusk dungeons. If High-Orcs kill Ride or Die, no one can be blamed. The only question in my mind now is if I will survive trying to convince them to help.
Chapter 49
September 6th, 151 AR
Jeff Turle
High-Orc Dungeon
Rank: B-6
I stare at the floating letters, which reveal the high-level Gartusk dungeon. It appears that there is an old buried manhole cover below the blue hovering plaque, and I’m standing here trying to convince myself to continue. I reach a decision.
Instead of this dungeon, I’m going to find a lower-ranking one. If I go into this place, and the orcs refuse to help or don’t even listen to what I say, I am probably dead. Actually, being this close to the entrance at night is perhaps already dangerous. The minions must have to eat, and my guess is they hunt late at night.
My pace turns into a sprint as I rush away from the area, realizing I am flirting with death over access to the Training Room. It might be important for me to get back in there, but it isn’t worth that risk. So, am I trying to find a Goblin Dungeon? I saw how easily Ride or Die dispatched those already.
My best bet is probably a Hobgoblin Dungeon then, but I haven’t seen one of those. That or a Troll Dungeon. Still, the D-rank Trolls pose the same problem as the B-rank High-Orcs. Both could kill me with ease, before I get a chance to explain. My body gives an involuntary shudder as I move through the overgrown areas of the ruins, trying to take paths that Mur and I haven’t explored yet.
I see plenty of dungeon plaques, but none meet my particular criteria. I continue to think about my issue and wonder how urgent this course of action truly is. Can Crash pull carcasses from my subspace for Mur to eat? Probably, and if not, then Mur knows how to get bitcoins from quests. With those, he should be able to get food from either the shop or the kitchen. So Mur’s chance of dying is low unless he does attack Ride or Die through the portal. Or Ride or Die destroys the anchor, which isn’t a guaranteed death. Still, both are real possibilities.
I begin burning a single drop of Sun qi in each of my legs as I increase my searching pace. There has to be a Hobgoblin Dungeon out here. The increase in my speed does bring me farther into the ruins, and I begin seeing letters for higher ranking dungeons. These dungeons all are a minor rank six and above, which tells me that they have been open longer. I begin finding a pattern around high-ranking intelligent monster dungeons. There are either no other such dungeons nearby, or if they do exist, they are all below the third minor rank. I find a Ghoul Dungeon, D-7, at the epicenter of this phenomenon, and I wonder if the undead creatures are policing a zone. Even the E- and F-rank monster dungeons nearby are low minor ranks. But the C-rank minor Ursidae Dungeon is a higher rank. That must be because the Ghouls can’t compete with whatever this monster is. . . If they can’t, I definitely won’t.
I rush away from the high rank dungeons into the ruins, but now with a pattern to look for. I find Lizardman Dungeons, Ant Dungeons, and a high-level Dire-Wolfkin Dungeon before I finally stumble across a Hobgoblin one. There is some good news with the find as well. Maybe it’s because of its proximity to the B-rank Beastkin Dungeon, but it’s a relatively low rank at E-3.
The dungeon is nestled into a semi-crumbling steel building. It might have been a factory or warehouse of some sort. Now it’s rusted sheet metal with vines, trees, and other foliage holding it in an odd shape that is far from the rectangle it once was.
I peek through the opening that I think might be the door and scan what I can see of the interior. The light inside comes from an object on the floor. My study of the cylindrical container leads me to believe it’s metal. The way the light dances and shifts inside of it suggests a fire. I scan the walls next and find a deep, rich green reminiscent of a forest but spongy in appearance. I reach out and touch the stuff to confirm my suspicions. It’s moss, and it’s so thick it hides the sheet metal behind it, obscuring the shape of the structure it conforms to.
Standing there for long minutes, I fail to find an enemy and so step into the space. The room I studied turns out to be the entryway, which doubles back on itself and
then opens up into a massive interior, likely two to three times the Training Room’s size. There are quite a few green floor-to-ceiling posts that I would mistake for trees if I didn’t know that the building’s outside is metal. Spread out at regular intervals, animal skulls hang on the walls with something burning inside them. These pair with the metal cylinders to light the space in a flickering, almost candle-like glow. The floor, while hard, seems to be dirt that is packed tightly together. I kneel down and dig through it for a few centimeters to find the concrete below. Blinking, I scan the large space, wondering how an E-3 rank dungeon can change the area this thoroughly.
I hear something click on my next step, and I jump backward, using my toes to push off as hard as I can. Three projectiles fly from the nearest post and whiz by my nose. I swallow hard and look at my footprint in the earth. I guess I just found out why they want dirt in here. I can find no distinction between that spot and any other spot on the ground.
I pull out my naginata and plan to use it as a guide to trigger any traps, when I remember why I’m here. I am not so much trying to sneak deeper in but trying to be caught. I glance behind me and actually step closer to the exit before turning back into the dungeon.
“Jeff need help for tribesman Mur. Gartusk here?” I grunt-growl at the loudest decibel my throat will allow. I hear a few grunts from deeper in the room but wonder if that is my own words echoing back to me, right up until an arrow thuds into the dirt near my feet. I hold up my hands. “Jeff mean no harm. Jeff member of Basement Tribe. Jeff Chief.” I add a fist bash to my chest, which I have seen Mur do several times.
A large green hobgoblin head pokes itself around a nearby pillar. When I say large, I am comparing it to Mur’s, and the hobgoblin’s head is much closer to the size of my own. When the rest of the body follows, I can’t help but compare it to the four-foot-tall Mur as well. The hobgoblin is easily five and a half feet tall, maybe taller, but again much closer to my height.