Class-A Threat (Disgardium Book #1) LitRPG Series

by Dan Sugralinov

  The Bubbling Flagon tavern, which I had spent so much time outside of, was always full of people. Bots after work; noncitizen laborers, in the sandbox on a job, relaxing after a long day in the quarries; a group of bards, kicking out retro-rock jams on some archaic musical instruments; the usuals too, like Patrick when he had the money; the backup dancers, who earned money and experience at the tavern... All kinds.

  There were also duels for money in the back yard and, from time to time, the bot owner Tashot put on tournaments. It, of course, was no Arena but there were no formalities, and it was closer to town.

  Considering the limited number of seats, the principle of, "If you don’t order anything, don't sit down!" was loudly espoused by the owner. So for a moneyless noob like me, getting inside was unthinkable.

  Fortunately, I could reach the individual rooms via another entrance. And I did just that.

  I went up to the second floor, walked down the hall which had just twelve rooms, to my door. Eleven of the rooms were just like normal: for tavern visitors who wanted to have some private time. There was no sex, sure, but you could make out as much as you liked. And many did just that.

  But door twelve was special. Individual rooms were generated like instances – an independent space, different for each player. And you could get into your room from any tavern in Disgardium. You could upgrade your room all the way up to Royal, which would make it both larger and more luxurious. And yes, you could decorate it however you wanted, as long as you had the money.

  And in that I had never had any money here, my room spoke to that. It was a little room that fit only the basic eight-slot chest, a bed the game designers had made creak and a small wooden nightstand, which had somehow been broken.

  I didn't spend any time in my room, just tossed the loot from Dargo in. But when I came down to the first floor, I heard a lively dispute coming from the kitchen. I got interested and walked up closer. From behind the closed door, I could hear voices:

  "That's what I'm saying, I just splatted it out on the floor! With this very boot!"

  "You really splatted it, Mr. Arno!" a girl's voice egged him on.

  "That's what I'm saying, I swatted the thing dead. But then it jumped up like nothing happened and ran!"

  I cracked open the door and glanced into the kitchen. A well-fed chef of around five-hundred pounds, waving a broad knife, was arguing with a young female cook. He cast a dismayed gaze at me, opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted by the lady shouting in fear. She jumped up onto a chair and yelled:

  "There it is!"

  Me and the big guy turned to where she pointed. There we saw a small gray rat walking aimlessly in a circle with its head turned one hundred and eighty degrees. It's fur was all matted, in places it had open wounds. One of them had a bone jutting out.

  A level-eight zombie rat! How'd this hostile mob get into town? It must have come up from the temple crypt. But that was impossible! An instance is an instance, mobs have no way out...

  "Mother of my wife!" the chef yelped in a falsetto, awkwardly flinging his knife at the rat.

  It hit the floor handle first and flew away. The rat bared its teeth, gave a ghastly squeal and ran at the knife, biting at the blade and trying to grab it. Realizing the target was not alive, the rat stayed in place and turned its head to point its eyes at the chefs. The zombie rats chose a new target and started off. Their squealing went ultrasound.

  The fat one darted off for a pan filled with boiling oil.

  "Lord, lord, lord Nergal the Radiant..." the lady muttered. "Reveal your light and destroy this stinking creature..."

  Arno poured the bubbling and hissing oil on the zombie, then quickly jumped back. Just like a dog, the rat shook it off, then ran on the attack. One solid jump was enough to get next to the chef. Then the rat jumped high and bit at the chef’s thigh, going through his pants and his whooping joined the rat’s screeches and girl’s screaming.

  The cook threw the rat away, yelling all the time. The creature twisted its body and landed on its feet. Its head turned forty-five degrees threateningly. Its tail was twitching nervously, tapping on the floor.

  But I bucked up, gathering courage. Just one rat? I killed a whole pack last night!

  My blade found its own way into my hand and I threw myself into the fray.

  "Die!" tore itself from me when I cut into the zombie.

  You have critically damaged Zombie Rat: 2!

  Health points: 55/60.

  My rusty sword cut the rat in two with a dull thud and sunk into the well-oiled wooden floor. "Yes sir," came a whisper echoing in my head.

  Zombie Rat is dead.

  Wait, what? I looked at the dead mob in astonishment. Based on the logs, it had enough life left to send all the kitchen staff running for the hills, then eat me to death. And it gave no experience.

  On autopilot, I crouched and picked up the loot. It was more innards. I threw them in my inventory and turned my head in incomprehension when the chef's soft hand touched my shoulder. I only then realized that it was completely silent, even the crackling of logs in the stove had stopped.

  "How are you, little one?" Arno asked.

  "Fine."

  I got up, reaching for the outstretched hand.

  "You came just in the nick of time!" the chef laughed. He started speaking quickly like a person who had just survived a test of their nerves: "At first I thought: what does he want down here? All kinds tread these floors! The fact that you're a visitor to Tristad is obvious! But are you a guest of the inn or not? We have a strict rule here, outsiders are not allowed. And we don’t hesitate to call the guards. But just look how it all turned out! You do good work with that hunk of metal, well-heeled warrior!"

  "I am no warrior, I just got lucky... Mr. Arno."

  "Fortune favors the bold," the chef said, raising his pointer finger to share that tidbit of wisdom. "Thank you, Scyth!"

  Rada the chef girl came down from the chair and pulled a big tray of pies out of the oven. The smell of yeasty pastry wafted into my nose. She deftly cut a slice, walked over and extended it to me.

  "Take this as a sign of gratitude, warrior!" she said, her eyes downcast. "It's filled with porridge, herbs and meat. Only Mr. Arno knows how to cook like this."

  I took it and couldn't hold back. I bit right into the burning slice, savoring the flavor.

  "One won't be enough," Arno announced. "I've heard that visitors to Tristad are generally amenable to learning the ins and outs of a new craft. So Scyth, would you like me to teach you to cook?"

  The Chef of the Bubbling Flagon, Arno, would like to teach you the basics of the Cooking trade.

  Do you accept?

  Limitation: no more than one trade for every ten levels.

  While the chef patiently awaited an answer, I thought, studying the mobs as I did. Something in his status seemed strange. A debuff icon?

  Arno, level 22

  Chef of the Bubbling Flagon tavern.

  Infected.

  I focused on the icon and a moment later an explanation popped up:

  Hidden debuff, visible only to emissaries of the Destroying Plague.

  Effect triggered. Will turn into a zombie after death.

  Chapter Fourteen. Non-War Craft

  "AND NOW, we take the meat off the flame and serve, wrapping it in a tender lettuce leaf. And that's all, Scyth! You wanna try cooking something?" Arno asked, shaking off his apron. "Ah, okay. I guess the hearth is occupied. Don't forget to bring flint and steel, a pot and some wood."

  We had just finished studying the basics of Cooking. It took ten minutes. While the infected chef told me about cooking methods, some system messages jumped in.

  Cooking trade discovered!

  You now have the ability to cook food. Prepared dishes can give various temporary effects when eaten. These effects may improve attributes or, in rarer cases, give you an unusual ability. To prepare food, as a rule, you must first light a fire.

  Current
level: Pupil (0/100).

  Chance of cooking a dish with known recipe: 100%

  Chance of inventing a new dish: 1%

  Cooking recipes added: spiced bread, fried rabbit, boiled chicken egg, spider-egg omelet, rat soup, roast lamb intestines, herb-encrusted venison filet, needler kebab...

  To improve your skill in this trade, prepare dishes with known recipes, come up with your own recipes and experiment with ingredients.

  You have received experience points for learning a new trade: 50.

  Experience points at present level (2): 267/900.

  "I have nothing more to teach you, Scyth. If you bring your craft up to level one hundred, come back. I'll teach you new methods and increase your professional rank to journeyman." The chef gave me an approving pat on the shoulder. "Sorry, I've gotta get back to work."

  While he was teaching me, several times panicking waitresses had run back demanding some dish be produced at once, and Rada just got mad and looked at the chef.

  "Thank you, Mr. Arno," I said, squeezing his hand.

  Outside, I stopped to think. The city was still vibrant at night and lit by street lamps. A cart came up to the tavern, and some grubby miners poured out, then holed up in the tavern all together. I turned my head and crossed the street, nearly landing under the hooves of a guard horse. There I sat on the bench that felt almost like home and thought.

  The main question was not about the infected chef, but my plans. I was so exhausted that the flow of the game was just carrying me at this point. How would this help me in the future? What was the point of leveling this character? Could I earn any money here? Would it cover even part of what it would cost to go to university? I had no idea. On the other hand, what else could I do? Half the planet couldn't come up with anything more lucrative than working in Disgardium.

  Well, I'd play actively for a month at least then I could make some conclusions. But for now I'd get back to Arno's strange status.

  Maybe I was a newbie in Dis, but I wasn't stupid. If the chef's debuff was only visible to emissaries of the Destroying Plague, I must have been one. The message from the developers led me to that conclusion when it listed the traits of my threat, but now I had that confirmed.

  Another question: how had it happened? Dargo? But he gave me the entirely concrete achievement and skill Mark of the Destroying... Son of a…! Of course! The name contained the answer to my question!

  Then there was a different question. What should I do with that? Would some messenger be coming tomorrow from the Destroying Plague with a special sabotage mission? And what was this Destroying Plague? A global raid boss? A spirit? A deity? An anomaly? I'd have to browse the forums.

  Also, where should I go from here? The plague ability was geared toward the idea that I would die, or reach the edge of death. Then something would trigger and a system somewhere in the bowels of the servers would roll dice to see whether I would be made invulnerable or not.

  So I'd rather die in a place where the chance of encountering others was minimal. Otherwise they'd take me guts and all and that would mean goodbye to increasing my threat class. I set about studying the interactive map. Almost its entire surface was concealed by a murky fog of war and I could only see the outskirts of Tristad, the same as I'd scouted out in the first few weeks.

  To the south down the river was Gloomwood, which teemed with high-level mobs. Many dozens of miles to the east of that was the unending impassable Mire. To the west it was calmer, and that was where the Dementors usually trained, but if they took a risk and went too far they could end up captured by a patrol of snake-like nagas or ambushed by murlock fish people. Beyond their chaotic settlements was a shore lapped by the treacherous waters of the Bottomless Ocean. To the north, the Nameless Mountains towered over Tristad...

  "What are you frowning for, Alex?" Tissa asked, coming over to me and waving her hand in greeting. For a second, light enveloped me. Another friendly push from the priestess of Nergal, +5 to strength.

  "Hi! Thanks for the buff!"

  "It's nothing," Tissa sat next to me and rubbed her forehead. "Ugh, I messed up healing on Crusher! We got a bunch of scrubs in a group, then they just went past Bomber toward the boss! Wipe on wipe! Dang! So, you gonna wear through your pants outside the tavern again? And where's your girlfriend, Aphro-fatty?"

  "She already worked off her punishment. And I'm thinking where to go next in my uber gear. Do you know where a guy could rack up bunnies around here?"

  "Bunnies, you say... I could power level you in the Jail.." Tissa looked me from head to toe. "But I'm afraid we'll get wiped. We’d need a decent tank, but that’d want gold. I've had enough of scrub tanks for today."

  "And where are your badass friends?"

  "Uh..." Tissa waved a hand. "I told them to screw themselves! They need to think about their behavior and about how they'll get along without a heal."

  Up until we were in fourth grade, me and her used to talk all the time. Then she changed. Her mom got in an accident: some psycho slammed into her at full speed with his flying car. That was hard on her dad, and Tissa had to grow up early in all senses. She blossomed as a lady, started thinking more seriously about the future, her interests changed. And two years ago, she started hanging out with Ed, Malik and Hung and stopped talking to me once and for all. My attempts to interact came across as naive and childish and, due to my successes in school, she started looking on me as a geek.

  Strange that she started talking to me again recently. It was... unusual to say the least.

  "Thanks, Tissa," I couldn't find the words, and squeezed out something I never would have said in a normal situation: "You wanna go somewhere together?"

  "What? With you?" her pretty eyes went wide.

  "Crap, sorry. That isn't what I meant..." feeling my cheeks go red, I started to spin a yarn. "You just said you could power-level me and that would mean we'd go somewhere together... Right? Or did I misunderstand you?"

  "Ah!" her face lit up. "I thought you were asking me out on a date, and..."

  Was it just me or was she embarrassed too?

  "Come on, what’re you talking about?!" I protested. "I would never ask you on a... date, not at all..."

  "And why might that be?" Her eyes narrowed and she raised up. "Do you think you can't ask me out?"

  "Come on Tiss, you're misunderstanding me..."

  "I'm understanding you just fine! Go on a walk with your tub of lard friend, idiot!"

  She threw her head back, adjusting her hair, straightened her spine and walked proudly into the tavern. I was such a dumbass...

  I spent five minutes getting my thoughts in order, trying to stop thinking about Schafer. It wasn't easy, but I managed, remembering what I stood to lose if I tanked in Dis.

  To nether with girls! What was I thinking about before the priestess of Nergal showed up?

  Ah yeah, how to level the Mark of the Destroying Plague. I needed to die somewhere no one would see. That could be arranged. In theory, there were two options: an instance or a badass mob that cannot be killed so no one comes near. Like that Crusher thing.

  The second option was perfect for testing another of my ideas, too...

  First I dropped by Underweight and sold him all the shitty gear I gathered in the Temple crypt. There was no sense in dying that many times just for this sad equipment. But still, at least it was a few copper. I kept only the rusty sword and zombie rat guts (I had four, but Undy wouldn't buy, saying he had no idea what they could be used to cook). He payed me four whole silver for everything – more than an NPC vendor would have given.

  Then I put my basic novice clothing back on. From there my path went to a merchant's stall. Not a weaponsmith or an armorer, just a normal trader of anything and everything. That part of the plan was not supposed to take much time, but only Nergal knew when I'd get back to the city.

  There was a line in front of the vendor. Friday evening: many were buying up stock of ingredients, food and other small items so they could lea
ve the city for a while. No one here had their own mount, and a week was not enough to cross the whole sandbox on foot. And that was without grappling with any mobs, which grew both more numerous and ferocious the further you got from town.

  While I waited, I decided what to buy. First a pot, some wood and firestarter. Thank all the gods that it was only a formality, but basically, if you had all that in your inventory, starting a fire was something like activating an ability. Second, ingredients: herbs, spices, flour and spring water. I'd have liked to have gotten some fishing stuff too. After all, that would make a good combo with leveling Cooking, but I didn't have enough money.

  After making my purchases, I left town and walked into the forest. In a clearing, I started a fire and began baking bread. It was the simplest recipe made of the cheapest ingredients: flour, water and spices, then wait ten seconds by the fire and it was ready to be pulled out of the pot.