This Quest is Broken! (This Trilogy is Broken (A Comedy Litrpg Adventure) Book 1)

by J. P. Valentine

  Alex’s eyes turned upward at the for-sale weapon she held over the counter. She lowered the tip away from the salesman.

  “Okay,” Eve exhaled. “Why don’t you put the spear down? You don’t need it.”

  “Well of course I don’t need this overpriced piece of crap, but I do need a spear. But that’s not the point—”

  “No, that is the point. Or more importantly”—Eve gestured at the spear’s tip—“you won’t be buying that point.”

  Alex glared at her.

  “Gods below.” Eve paled. “I’m turning into Wes.” She shook her head. “Look, I meant it to be a surprise, but we commissioned a new spear for you. Got a blacksmith to turn some of those Mana cores into weapons that can store Mana.”

  “What?” Alex froze. “Eve, that’s…”

  “Don’t thank me yet. I couldn’t afford it, so I told Wes you’d pay him back.” She jerked her thumb at the salesman behind the counter. “Still less than half what this guy’s charging, though.”

  “Well what are we waiting for?” Alex dropped the too-expensive armament, its steel shaft clanging against the wooden floor. “Let’s go.”

  Eve followed her out of the cluttered store, scurrying to catch up with the warrior’s long strides. “No, it’s—uh—it’ll be ready tomorrow.”

  “Oh.” Alex stopped. “Damn. I was hoping to get some practice in with the new weapon.”

  “I mean…” Eve stepped in front of her. “You don’t have to practice today. We’re all getting together for drinks at the guild hall tonight…”

  “You know I don’t do that, Eve.”

  “You can’t keep distancing yourself. Look, I know you’re still recovering from what happened with your old team, but we aren’t them.”

  “Eve, I…”

  The Striker sighed. “We just survived a gods-damned dungeon, Alex. We got a huge payout in silver and exp, and you even got your Rare class. If that’s not worth celebrating, I don’t know what is.”

  Alex didn’t reply.

  “Okay,” Eve said. “You don’t have to spend time with us if you don’t want to. I hope you’ll change your mind.” She shrugged. “If you do, you know where we’ll be.”

  With a quiet breath, Eve turned to stride away from the quiet Survivor. Her skirt swayed in the breeze as she navigated the busy streets towards the guild hall. Eccentric or otherwise, Thander had been right about one thing.

  With or without her warrior friend, tonight Eve was going to have some gods-damned fun.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Jet!

  EVE AWOKE TO a world of pain. Her head throbbed with the gallop of a thousand stallions, each kicking up a cloud of sand from the desert that was her throat. She reached for the cup of water she kept by the side of her bed, but found it already knocked to the floor, its contents long dried.

  She groaned.

  In a battle that should’ve rewarded exp for all its difficulty, she fought her way to her feet, keeping care to maintain both her unsteady footing and her unstable stomach. At least her chest didn’t hurt.

  She braced herself against the wall as she swung the door open, stumbling more than stepping into the hall. Through the hazy gaze of her squinted eyes, Eve barely spotted the familiar set of white robes.

  “Healing,” she wheezed.

  Preston stopped at the top of the stairs, turning back to spot her. “Eve! I—um—right. Let me just…” He raised a hand and the hall flashed gold.

  Eve didn’t even wince as Ayla’s light coursed through her, patching up her various wounds all the while judging her for the actions which had inflicted them. She simply stood as the goddess of mercy rifled her every rash decision and impure thought, forgiving them all with the same vigor as always.

  By the time Her divinity vacated the premises, Preston was gone.

  Eve pressed on down the wooden steps, too distracted by thoughts of breakfast to wonder why a priest who normally slept at Ayla’s cathedral had been in the guild hall at such an early hour. She found Wes in the common room with a plate of eggs and meat.

  “G’mornin’,” he greeted through a mouthful of sausage.

  “Ugh,” Eve replied, snatching his water-skin as she sat. She drained half of it before speaking. “What happened last night?”

  “Whiskey happened last night. Among other things. The main one you need to know about is over there.” He pointed over his shoulder at the wreckage of a wooden table stacked upon the log pile to be burned with the rest of the firewood.

  “Shit.”

  Wes smiled. “Let’s just say you aren’t the first adventurer to get drunk and destroy guild furniture, but you’re almost certainly the first to do it by exploding.”

  Eve checked her Mana to find it resting at a neat 10/0. It ticked up as she took a bite of sausage. “Well that explains why my chest didn’t hurt when I woke up this morning. They’re not kicking me out, are they?”

  “Nope,” Wes chuckled. “Like I said, you’re not the first. If they kicked out everyone who broke one of their tables, they’d run out of adventurers pretty quick. They just make you pay for it.” He snapped his fingers. “Speaking of which, you owe me five silver.”

  “Only five?” Eve raised an eyebrow.

  He shrugged. “They buy it cheap. No point splurging on nice tables if drunken idiots are just gonna destroy them.”

  “Well this particular drunken idiot will pay you back once we finish the next job.”

  “Broke again?”

  “Yep,” Eve sighed. “Turns out speeding tickets and custom daggers and new clothes are expensive.” She didn’t mention the two copper pieces that still rested in her pocket. Those had one purpose and one purpose only.

  “In that case, you know where the desk is.”

  As she turned to see who sat behind said desk, Eve threw her head back, groaning for the third time that morning. “How is that clerk always there? Don’t they take shifts or something?”

  “Hells if I know. High-levels work in mysterious ways.”

  “If by ‘in mysterious ways’ you mean ‘at the front desk,’ then yeah.” Eve chuckled at Wes’s annoyed look. “Alright, alright, fine.” She pushed herself to her feet. “I’ll go negotiate our way into another job.”

  “Fair luck, brave hero!” Wes called after her. “Keep your wits as you venture into the dragon’s maw!”

  Bereft of witty replies, Eve gave him a rude gesture over her shoulder as she approached the desk.

  “Let me guess,” the receptionist greeted her, “you can’t afford to pay for the table you destroyed?”

  “You know, most people consider eavesdropping rude.”

  “Who said anything about eavesdropping? Half this guild couldn’t afford to buy a new table.”

  Eve gave the woman the most incredulous look she could muster. “Do you have a job for me or not?”

  “Ooh, the Common-er thinks she’s hot shit because she survived a dungeon. Did you fail to satisfy your death wish?”

  Eve bristled. “You know as well as I do we only took that job because I got slapped with a bullshit speeding ticket.”

  “And you’re only taking this one because you broke a table.”

  Eve sighed, forcing herself to relax her shoulders and unclench her fists. “Whatever I did to piss you off, I’m sorry. I know I’m not from here and I’m new to the guild but for fuck’s sake I’m trying. You don’t have to be such an asshole about it.”

  The woman tilted her head. “Alright. Apology accepted.” She spun around to rifle through a file cabinet behind her, withdrawing a single sheet of paper. “Here you go. It’s a solo job, but I’m sure you can handle it. Pay’s ten silver.”

  Eve narrowed her gaze at the rude clerk’s sudden about-face but declined to comment. Further antagonizing the tier 4 with control over her jobs didn’t feel like a wise choice. Instead, she snatched the parchment off the woman’s desk, muttered a quiet “thanks,” and made her way for the exit.

  “Where a
re you off to?” Wes called after her.

  “Solo job!” she answered from where she stood with her hand on the door. “Just gotta run some errands first.”

  “Try not to die!”

  “No promises,” she laughed. “Enjoy your day off.”

  Wes raised a forkful of sausage as if in toast as Eve stepped out into the busy street.

  The Striker lingered just outside the guild hall, considering which of her two destinations she should visit first. In the end, it was the chance the blacksmith hadn’t quite finished with her daggers yet that made her decision. A goal in mind and a task at hand, Eve turned to weave her way through the passersby to find the practice field.

  She had an ability to test.

  * * *

  The loose sand crunched beneath Eve’s boots as she stood alone at the back corner of the training yard. Clangs and grunts and shouts echoed all about her as guards and soldiers and adventurers alike sparred against training dummies and each other. Eve paid them little mind.

  Her eyes flashed blue as she reread the skill description.

  Active Ability - Jet

  500 Stamina

  Momentum is a tool just like any other, and you’ve learned to wield it. Massively increase or decrease your personal momentum.

  Sure would be nice if I could spend Mana on this, she mused, trying to ignore the spread of the white lines across her skin.

  Truth be told, she’d been remiss in her duties as a teammate and adventurer to ignore the ability for so long. At eighteen hundred, she had more than enough Stamina to pay its hefty price, and her list of excuses not to maximize her toolkit had run dry.

  Shaking her head as she dismissed the azure screen, Eve mentally prepared herself for a long morning of falling on her face.

  She grit her teeth. She bent her knees. She leaned forward. Here goes.

  Eve Jetted forward.

  She shot across the training yard like from a cannon. Her heart raced. Her torso pitched forward. She jerked her foot forward, just barely catching the ground in time to make her first stride.

  There would be no second.

  Even with her Haste-empowered run speed, Eve’s legs failed to keep up with her body’s momentum. She tumbled.

  The coarse sand and packed earth scraped against her bare palms as she caught herself, skidding a dozen feet down the training ground. At least her face remained unscathed. For now.

  “Okay,” she muttered to herself as she stood, shaking her skinned hands to either side. “Gotta Charge! before using Jet.”

  She brushed a tangled lock of hair behind her ear as she reset for another attempt. She readied herself. She breathed. She activated Charge!, keeping still as the first few seconds of the ability ticked away.

  And off she went.

  Eve hit her maximum speed in less than a second, Jet accelerating her forward beyond what even her Surefooted-enhanced traction could ever manage. Wind rocketed past her, sending her hair billowing as her feet shot forward to catch each stride. She made it three steps this time before her legs lost pace with the rest of her.

  In all it took four attempts before Eve got a handle on the fundamentals of Jet, including a twenty-minute break halfway through to recoup her Stamina. The trick, as she found, was to hit the first step at a backwards angle so her knees could absorb some of the superfluous momentum. Perhaps she could maintain the full speed once her Haste scaled a bit more, but for now she needed to slow herself.

  Her palms stung and her wrists ached from the series of falls, but she took pride in the fact not once had she caught herself with her face.

  Gods-damned Ethereal Metabolism, she cursed to herself during one of her recharge breaks. I can’t eat to restore Stamina because I’ll end up overloaded on Mana too. A quick check told Eve that her meager breakfast had already imparted over fifty points of the pulsing light.

  Her stomach growled even as she reminded herself of the cost of Mana burn. She’d exploded enough times for one day.

  Pushing herself to her feet as her Stamina closed in on half full—high as it would get without food or sleep—Eve continued on to the next maneuver: Jetting to a standstill.

  She managed this one without a single tumble, though her first attempt did send her stumbling backward as her legs instinctively moved to keep running even as the rest of her stopped short. The sensation itself was strange. It wasn’t as if she collided with a wall or skidded to a halt. To Eve’s eyes it seemed the world itself had simply decided to stop moving around her.

  The key problem she came across with the technique wasn’t one of balance or traction, but of convenience. With every Jet, her body leapt into or out of motion, but her clothes lagged behind. In her form-fitting pants and well-fastened blouse, the effect was little different than a bit of air resistance. She quietly praised her earlier judgment to wear the outfit, imagining how troublesome a skirt would be in such a situation.

  The real trouble was her hair. Sure, the wind blew it back and away from her face as she Charged! forward, but each time she Jetted to a halt it flew into her eyes—an annoyance for now, a possible death sentence in a fight. She’d have to buy some pins and ties for it once she had money to spend.

  Her final step—so she began after yet another Stamina break—was to put the skill through its paces. She started with the most obvious use case: dodging an attack.

  Her tests proved… less than stellar. However she contorted her body or placed her feet, time and time again Eve found herself skidding on her hands or shoulder after a failed sideward Jet. The ability simply didn’t leave enough time to rotate her body before sending her into the dirt.

  She was, after hours of trying and failing and waiting to recover, able to develop a sort of compromise: jumping. Eve found that if she leapt and turned her body midair, she could activate Jet to shoot off in the new direction, hitting the ground running with the same minor slowing method as before.

  The maneuver required some setup, precious seconds she might not have in the middle of a fight, but even with limited control, the ability to turn on a copper could be lifesaving. Eve ended the session on that win.

  That afternoon, as she caught her ragged breath and allowed the late summer sun to dry the sweat off her brow, Eve’s mind wandered through the less conventional uses for the costly ability. She daydreamed of Jetting upward for a mighty leap or backward to evade an attack.

  Of course she didn’t attempt such foolishness. She may have been inexperienced, but she wasn’t stupid enough to try complex acrobatics without a healer present. Another time, perhaps.

  Eve walked away from the training yard battered, bruised, scraped up, and bleeding, but she smiled nonetheless. She knew every skinned elbow and twisted ankle here was one avoided in the heat of battle, and she’d take that trade any day she could.

  Besides, as Eve stepped along the uneven cobblestones of the glass city, she had another reason for grinning from ear to ear.

  The time had come to retrieve her new daggers.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  A Little Off the Top

  “GODS FUCKING—” EVE cursed as she slit the tail off yet another sewer rat. “I swear by Loia’s bloody middle finger if I ever see that receptionist’s smirk again, I’ll wring her fucking throat, tier four be damned.”

  Sewage sloshed against her chest as she tied the severed tail to her belt, making nine by her count. Solo job my ass, she swore internally this time. A level two could do this. As it was, Eve avoided using any of her abilities as she waded through the filth. Charge! had splashed enough of it onto her face for her to learn that lesson.

  Given the stench of the streets above, Eve had been surprised Lynthia even had a sewer. She wasn’t any more. Having seen the crumbling stone walls, the complete lack of any sort of maintenance walkway, and of course the unmoving chest-high river of shit, Eve instead wondered how the city didn’t smell worse.

  The ground—for lack of a better term—beneath her feet was the worst. Eve tried not
to think about the sticky substance that clung to the soles of her boots with every step. Just one more rat to go, she told herself.

  Eve spun the dagger in her hand, admiring its sleek form and the mastery with which the Burendian Mana core had slotted into the crossguard. She Appraised it for the ninth time that day.

  Manacharge Dagger

  Rarity: Rare

  Mana: 18/500

  Its twin at her waist sat uncharged, ready to store the magical results of her next meal—another thing she tried not to think about. The smell of sewage didn’t mix well with daydreams of dinner.

  Her hair clung to the back of her neck, tied back with the first rat tail she’d claimed. She’d already managed to splash too much of the vile sludge onto her chestnut locks; the concern at this point was keeping it out of her face. The makeshift tie did little good.

  An echo tugged at the edge of Eve’s attention. She froze, straining her ears to track the sound: light scratches across stone. She smiled.

  The Striker pushed on through the horrid waste, dagger at the ready as she crept towards the skittering rat. She spotted it in her periphery, crawling along a crack in the stone wall. She held her breath.

  Eve lunged, swinging her weapon in a sideward strike. The creature squealed and stilled as a notification appeared in her vision.

  You have defeated Level 3 Sewer Rat: +0 exp!

  Eve sputtered as the motion sent her hair flying into her face, leaving a trail of filth across her cheek. “You know what? Fuck this.” She grabbed the end of her ponytail, pulling it above her head with her left hand. Her right raised the dagger to it.

  A single, quick motion sent the razor-sharp blade through the chestnut strands, severing them. Eve reclaimed the rat tail holding them together before letting her once shoulder-length hair fall to the sludge.

  She left it there, floating atop the river of sewage as she cut her final trophy and waded away to claim her reward.