Chronicles of Ethan Complete Series: A LitRPG / GameLit Fantasy Adventure

by John L. Monk

  Shocking Blast.

  Naroo’s Twisty Tangle.

  Mighty Lightning Bolt.

  Shrieking Gale, blowing it nearly off the bridge.

  Mighty Flame Bullet.

  Actinic Strobe, dazing it.

  After that, I cast regular Sprint and ran until I was barely in range. Eight minutes after the kraken grew big, Shrink Ray came off cooldown and I shrank it again. Then I restarted the rotation with Discern. Very slow going against a creature with 200,000 health points, yet surprisingly easy if I stuck to the script.

  When the creature had less than half its original health, I finished it with the throat-scorching Word of Death.

  ENEMY DEFEATED, The Terrible Kraken, 5,000,000 EXPERIENCE POINTS

  YOU HAVE ADVANCED TO LEVEL 436!

  +5 Stat Points

  +1 Class Point

  +1 Skill Point

  I applied my stat points to intelligence and my class point to sorcerer.

  Interesting that I’d gained a full level off that fight. It seemed the game thought the bridge guardian was symbolically important, because 5,000,000 was the exact number needed to level for Hard Mode players between 100 and 499. My guess was if I were Normal Mode, I’d have gotten 10,000,000.

  After first making sure all the parasites were dead—they were—I circumvented the fully-sized corpse and approached the large bronze chest waiting behind it.

  During our travels, Rita and I had found a few chests after defeating various “boss” creatures. They always appeared after the monsters were dead and were made of different materials: wood, tin, rough stone … This one was nicer than those, though not as beautiful as Myrialla’s. Unlike hers, it had a stylized relief of me—Ethan Crane—fighting and defeating the kraken. The artwork was exquisite. It actually looked like me.

  I lifted the lid.

  Lying inside were thousands of gold pieces with the Everlife logo on them. If I still had my bottomless money pouch, I could magically swoop them up and count them in one motion. But all I had was my tiny noob pouch.

  “A sandwich would have been better,” I said dejectedly.

  Thinking of food, my stomach growled.

  I packed my noob pouch with as much gold as it could hold and then started toward the far shore. When my two Sprints came off cooldown, I used them back-to-back. A half-hour later, I passed beneath a massive triumphal arch and received a game notification.

  EXPLORATION AWARD: Ward 2, 50,000 EXPERIENCE POINTS

  Chapter Forty-Five

  EXPLORATION AWARD: Heroes’ Reach, 55,000 EXPERIENCE POINTS

  LOCATION FLAGS: SANCTUARY

  Heroes’ Reach was only a few hours walk from the bridge. I encountered no other travelers between there and the city gates, which were wide open and unguarded.

  Guided by two twinkling blue candles in the window of yet another Mediocre Marauder, I wondered if there’d be three in Ward 3, and four in Ward 4.

  Standing at the bar was none other than Bernard himself, eternal bartender of both The Slaughtered Noob and the other Mediocre Marauder back in Heroes’ Landing.

  “Did they get you in a sale?” I said, smiling.

  It was good to see a friendly face. Also, I was starving.

  “What an original and witty joke, Ethan,” Bernard said in a grumpy voice.

  “Really?”

  “No,” he said and stalked away, arms folded, grumbling to himself.

  Intrigued, I followed him.

  “Bernard! Hey, what gives?”

  He turned and regarded me. “What makes you think something’s wrong, Ethan?”

  The way he said it—with such genuine puzzlement—might have had me laughing under other circumstances. Instead, I felt oddly spooked. What could be so wrong with the man that he’d break from his programmatically jovial self? The old Bernard would have had a party going to celebrate my recent success. Or maybe not. The place was almost empty. The only other patron was one of those “cowled in the corner” types, nursing a drink and brooding over weighty matters.

  Even so, the Bernard I knew should have been pounding me on the back and showing off his knowledge of my various activities. Not shuffling around muttering and frowning.

  “You’re muttering and frowning,” I said. “Bernard, the barkeep, never mutters and frowns.”

  He shook his head. “You noticed.”

  “I tried not to.”

  “Thank you, Ethan. Always liked you.” He leaned over the bar, and his voice dropped to a whisper. “We’ll talk in the back—away from him.”

  “Him who?”

  Bernard cocked his head toward the cowled patron. “He him, that’s who.”

  After a quick glance at the guy, who seemed to be looking at us, (though I couldn’t see his face), I followed Bernard to the back room.

  In all my visits to The Slaughtered Noob and the Mediocre Marauder, I’d never been in the back room. It was a big storage area with cheese wheels, hams hanging from the rafters, loaves of bread all stacked up, and big barrels of ale stamped with the Everlife logo.

  “Nice,” I said.

  “Whatever,” he said. “Do you know that man in there, Ethan?”

  I blinked in surprise. “Huh? No. Why?”

  “He seems to know you. Knew you were on the way. Told me to send you over when you got here.”

  That was strange. “So why didn’t you?”

  Bernard snorted. “Because I’m protecting you, that’s why. Part of my job is to guide you dummies.”

  I worried it was another assassin from the Crimson Sigil. But no, Greenie Red had been on a horse. They couldn’t have gotten someone here that fast. Still, I worried.

  “Am I in some danger?”

  Bernard scratched his beard, eyes troubled. “I’m not quite sure.”

  “Well, who is he?”

  “I … I think he might be a god, Ethan.”

  “A god?”

  He shrugged. “Maybe. I can’t tell. Were there two candles outside, or one?”

  “Two. Why?”

  “Just as I feared,” he said. “Well, I can’t stat him. Which means he’s insanely powerful. Stronger than me, and I’m a god of sorts. But this one? He’s off the charts high. And he shouldn’t be here.”

  “You mean he should be in Heaven?”

  Bernard shook his head. “No. He shouldn’t be here. This place is prohibited to beings lower than level 100, and those between level 600 and 1,000,000—an arbitrarily high number, no hero will ever reach it. This god’s clearly over that level, so he slipped past the constraints.”

  The bartender chewed his lip in frustration, and there was a tick forming in one of his eyes.

  “He asked for me,” I said, “so I should probably go talk to him. What’s his name?”

  “Calls himself Cipher,” Bernard said. “Odd sort of name, wouldn’t you say?”

  Not pausing to gasp, I dashed from the storeroom into the common area, but the man was gone. Not without a trace. On the table was an envelope sealed in wax with the letter C.

  I opened it.

  Lo, Mighty Ethan, of Clan Crane!

  One of my powers allows me to slip from the memories of gods and fiends so as not to disturb their equilibriums. Fear not for poor Bernard. He’ll be right as rain in no time.

  Sorry to rush out, but my imperative requires a mysterious and elusive spirit. By now, Jaddow has told you my true nature: a half-formed feature of this world, never fully implemented. This, I hope, causes you no discomfort. Like you, I’m alive in all the ways that matter.

  I must say your devotion to Melody has been a joy to watch, and a ray of hope in a world where the Why is so often occluded by the How. As a being stuck between How and Why, I’ve managed to forge my own destiny. Contrast this to Myrialla—or yon Bernard, doomed to wash mugs and greet weary travelers for all eternity. Unlike them, I am a free spirit, and shall ever remain so. Everything in Mythian has a role, and because of you and Melody, I have found mine.

  Make haste to
the Vale of Solace, where you’ll find Jaddow and the one known as Rita. There they fight a losing battle to protect your wife from an army of unworthy suitors. Your friends desperately need your help. On the back of this note is a map that will lead you there.

  I turned the note over. Sure enough, there was a map—which immediately copied into the Maps section of my character sheet.

  After you and Melody have reunited, my part in your lives will finally be over. However, if ever you have need of me again, I shall know immediately and come to your aid.

  Until that day, I remain yours truly,

  Cipher

  Chapter Forty-Six

  “Ethan,” Bernard boomed from behind me. “You finally made it! In record time, too. Bravo! I knew you could do it! Though looks like it took a try or two to get that nasty kraken down. A little worse for wear, sure. Ah, but wiser!”

  I whirled in surprise. Gone was the cautious, troubled man from a few minutes ago. In his place was Bernard the Innkeeper, smiling and excited about all things adventurous.

  “You okay, Bernard?” I said cautiously.

  “Never better! Wish I had more patrons, of course, but most of your kind are incredibly lazy, so it’s to be expected.”

  “Cipher,” I said.

  “What’s that?”

  “I said Cipher. Don’t you remember?”

  Bernard frowned, scratched his beard, and shook his head.

  “Afraid not, Ethan. Funny sort of name, though—don’t recommend it. Come have an ale. On the house! Get it? Because it’s always free. You want the fancy stuff, go down the street and hang a left. Fewer choices than Heroes’ Landing, sure, but we’re closer to the frontier. So to speak.”

  Bernard had acted this way in Heroes’ Landing whenever I’d asked him about Jaddow. Now he was glitching on Cipher.

  I folded the note away. “Thanks, no, but I’ll need a room. I’m beat.”

  After a day of traveling, fighting, and more traveling, if I didn’t get to sleep soon I’d start losing health points.

  Bernard spread his arms wide. “Pick any room you want, Ethan. The place is empty.”

  I thanked him, found a room, and took advantage of a side-benefit of Myrialla’s acorn amulet. Because I was immune to pain, I was also immune to body aches and minor discomforts. My sleep, therefore, was sound, untroubled, and as close to oblivion as I was likely to get this side of true death.

  In the morning, Bernard lavished me with eggs, home fries, cheese, berries, and of course, ale. Before Hard Mode, a spread like this would have been entertaining more than anything else. Now it was as important as oxygen—as well as entertaining.

  As I took my first bite, Bernard said, “You seem in a hurry. Off to fight a dragon?”

  Not waiting for a reply, he said, “Excellent idea. Provided it isn’t too big, and you have help. And lots of luck. At your level, you could go it alone, but maybe pick something safer. I suggest the Eastern Reaches…”

  Bernard told me all the best places in Ward 2 to find basilisks, minotaurs, banshees, manticores, and even cloud giants (this last while pointing vaguely at the ceiling). I ate quietly and nodded in all the appropriate places. When I felt stuffed near to bursting, I thanked him profusely, promised to do all the things he’d suggested, and left in search of a horse.

  In Heroes’ Landing, horses were sold in the southeast part of the city. They also sold a collection of more fantastical mounts that were too expensive for my needs, not to mention dangerous looking. A flying mount would have been faster, but with 16 lives, I didn’t relish the thought of flapping through the sky on a giant eagle or griffon.

  Wishing I’d asked Bernard who sold horses here, I set out for the southern section of this much smaller city. More of a town, really. There were no soaring towers or glorious archways, and very few people flew overhead. Not many at all, actually, and those I ran into seemed less snooty—more serious—than the laughing snobs of Heroes’ Landing.

  One of them, a warrior, told me where to buy a horse. Like everyone else, he seemed oddly professional—driven, even, and I thought I knew why.

  In Ward 1, Normal Mode players had infinite lives. Here, they started with 1000. Quite possibly, the warrior and the other people I’d seen had even fewer lives than me.

  After picking a horse, I galloped through the northern gates of Heroes’ Reach on a feisty charger I quickly named Asshole because he was so hard to control. He was fast, though, and he only cost 50 gold.

  With the Vale of Solace several days ride north and then west, I hoped he’d eventually calm down and settle in for the long trek.

  In vain, as it turned out.

  “Dammit, Asshole, slow down!” I said for the hundredth time in three days.

  The dirt road we were on ranged through rolling tree-covered mountains similar to the Blue Ridge. The area, though remote, was surprisingly busy. Overhead, a steady stream of flyers traveled in roughly the same direction as me, though much faster. As the monotony of the trek set in, I caught myself wistfully looking up and wishing I could fly. Maybe not on one of those flapping things, but a flying carpet, maybe.

  Like most of the Mythian roads I’d seen, this one followed a stream, which made it easy to water Asshole. There was also plenty of green grass for him whenever we stopped, though I’m sure he would have rather had apples. For my part, I was sick of apples. As a way of getting easy protein, I took to zapping the stream and waiting for fish to float up. There were no encounters with anything dangerous—no muck monsters lurking in the deep pools—and for that I was thankful.

  Early on our fifth day out, we’d made it to within two miles of the Vale of Solace. The entrance was demarcated by two cliffs facing each other over the road, a good fifty feet to either side.

  With the Vale so close, my map had expanded to show something of its shape: a perfect bowl in the mostly grayed-out vastness of Ward 2.

  Between me and all that promised solace was an army. Several hundred tents filled the space between here and the cliffs. This, I realized, was the destination of all those travelers I’d seen on the way in. They were here for Melody.

  Shaken, I followed the road to an opening in the line of tents where a female warrior, level 316, was sitting in a wicker chair. Beside her was a small table with a tankard on it. Like most women I’d seen in Ward 2, she wasn’t a stunner. A little prettier than Earth-average, but that was it.

  “Horse lover, huh?” she said with a sardonic smirk. “Some kinda role player?”

  I nodded. “Sure. What I—”

  “You Hard Mode or just high level?” she said loudly, cutting me off. “Either way, Lord Beast’ll wanna talk to you. He’s setting up the next run at the champion—big kids only. Got a portable rez stone, too. You’ll need it. Couple o’ turncoat high-levels helping the champion. Totally not fair, but that’s Mythian.” She chuckled. “Supposed to be a shit-ton of points if you kiss the sleeper. Or so they say.”

  “How’s everyone gonna kiss, the uh … her? I mean, at the same time?”

  She looked at me like I was crazy. “You shittin’ me or something? Ain’t you ever been on a raid before?”

  Affecting a faraway look, I said, “I walk these lands alone. So, no. Never. How’s that work?”

  “Raid leaders split the points, dummy.” She snorted. “What, you think I’m after the sex slave? I don’t swing from that vine. And don’t get your hopes up—she’s Lord Beast’s. Got it?”

  I nodded absently and clicked my horse forward, shocked into furious silence.

  “His tent’s up front on the right,” she called. “Biggest one. Can’t miss it!”

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Asshole didn’t like these so-called “raiders” any more than I did. He bucked and tossed his head when any drifted too close or crossed our path, and it was almost impossible to keep him to a comfortable gallop. In no time at all, we made it to a huge tent straddling the road at the far side of the army, closest to the vale’s entrance.


  There were several guards lounging outside the big tent—normals in the 350 to 400 range—and a woman whose level I couldn’t tell.

  “Roleplaying high level,” one of them said.

  “Or Hard Mode,” a wizard/priest/monk with a permanent sneer said. “Coming to piggyback off our work.”

  A familiar tickle coursed through me.

  “Oh, my,” the woman said in a surprised voice. “You’re right, Ander. Diviner. But he’s also four thirty-six.”

  Ander said, “Diviner too? That high?”

  A commotion of sorts kicked up as they discussed what appeared to them as something unusual.

  “What the hell’s going on out there?” a voice boomed from the command tent.

  Everyone stepped aside as the tent’s flap opened and a massive man in red-painted steel armor stepped out. He was all muscle—easily seven feet tall—and sported a long black beard bound in three places with fat gold rings. The spitting image of the biblical Goliath. Floating over his head was a single word: Beast. A title, just like my Hard To Get title, except he chose to display his. He was also level 430, a mere 6 levels lower than me.

  “Lord Beast,” the lady diviner said nervously. “It’s this guy here. I discerned him.”

  Lord Beast squinted at me and frowned.

  “Well?” he said. “What is he?”

  “Sorcerer one seventy-eight, diabolist one forty-nine, diviner one forty-nine. He gets forty free, don’t forget. Uh, sir.”

  “Call him Lord, you idiot,” the one with the permanent sneer said.

  “Sorry, Lord.”

  Ignoring them both, Lord Beast said, “What’s your name, hero?”

  My first instinct was to lie, for fear one of them belonged to the Crimson Sigil. But the woman had cast Discern already and knew my name. And she’d know if I lied in any event.

  “Ethan,” I said. “Nice to meet you, Mister Beast. I just got here.”

  “Lord Beast,” the sneerer said.