Travail Online: Transcend: LitRPG Series (Book 3)

by Brian Simons

  “Come on, little Paladin,” Jack said. He sat in a nearby pew. “I paid good money for this training. You need stronger prayers to go along with that shiny new armor.”

  Armor that Jack had also paid for. Farah still didn’t know why a middle-aged man was so attentive to her, but she knew that resources in this game were hard to come by. Her older sister Sybil was always on edge, worried that she wouldn’t earn enough in-game to keep a roof over their heads. Farah was only thirteen, but she wanted to help if she could, which meant getting more powerful in the game. Even if that meant gradually feeling indebted to Jack.

  Mother Storna placed her hands, one on top of the other, on Farah’s head. As the temple’s head priest, Mother Storna had the ability to train holy warriors like Farah. Farah’s nerves started to calm from the priestess’s gentle touch.

  A strange tiredness came over Farah. She tried to give in to that feeling, to trust her mind to the dwarves’ resident god. Then a bright flash of green light erupted in her vision, followed by a system notification.

  >> Congratulations! Your prayer Healing Touch has been improved to Healing Grasp.

  “Very good,” Mother Storna said. “Podonos has blessed you with the ability to heal at a faster rate.”

  “Give it a test,” Jack said, holding his arm out toward Farah. She put her hands on his forearm and activated Healing Grasp, spending some MP and filling him with healing energy.

  “Good stuff,” he said. “You’re well on your way.”

  Farah stood from the temple’s cold stone floor, struggling at first against the weight of her platemail armor. “Thank you, Mother Storna.”

  Farah noticed that the sound of fighting outside was over. The fight was a daily occurrence, with the elves storming the mountain and the dwarves pushing them back. Farah was eager to lend her advanced healing to the war effort. Until now she had felt less than useful, even though she had reached Level 11 over the past week of warfare.

  “There’s still so much I don’t understand about this game,” she said.

  “Like what?” Jack asked.

  “Like how do you know when to keep fighting, and when to run away from a battle? I’m always so afraid of getting killed I run before I’ve even lost half of my HP.”

  “It depends on so much,” Jack said. “We should spend some time talking strategy. I think that would help you. There’s got to be someplace we could grab a milkshake.”

  “In person?” Farah asked. Her heart kicked into overdrive. Meeting this man in person would be a bad idea. He must be three times her age.

  “Of course in person,” he said. “What good is a virtual milkshake?” He put a hand on her shoulder. “People meet up in real life all the time.”

  Farah wasn’t sure if that was true, though she did know that Sybil had met up with her Travail friends IRL. She even invited them to Farah’s birthday party. If Sybil trusted other players, maybe she should too.

  The temple doors burst open. “Lieutenant Kronnar!” Farah yelled and ran toward him, happy for the excuse to break away from Jack and buy herself some time to decide what to do.

  “They’ve done it this time!” Kronnar’s voice boomed through the temple as he limped toward them, blood and spit flying from his face as he continued to yell. “Those damned elves slaughtered my troops!”

  “Serenity,” Mother Storna said. “Power lies in controlling yourself.”

  “My apologies, Mother,” Kronnar said. “I plan to lead a covert group into the forest to attack the elves. They must pay for what they’ve done here today. Do we have any healers you can spare?”

  “The injured outnumber the healthy,” the Priest said. “Perhaps our newest Paladin would be a good choice. Her healing magic is strong now.”

  “FarahWay,” Kronnar said, “come with me.”

  “I’m not sure,” Farah said. She didn’t want to get roped into a long journey. She was accustomed to playing Travail in short bursts, always afraid Sybil would catch her logged in. It was a Saturday morning and she had nowhere else to be, but hours of silence would draw suspicion. The lock on her door would only keep Sybil out for so long.

  “Wait!” Jack yelled. “You can’t send her into war, she’s just a girl.”

  “Women are equal warriors, TheBanished,” Kronnar said.

  “No, I mean she’s too young,” Jack replied.

  “The young make excellent fighters. Adult recruits get too bound up in the morality of war. The earlier we train our soldiers to thirst for elven blood, the less I’ll have to worry that misplaced compassion will undermine a good clean kill.”

  “Then I’m coming too,” Jack said. Farah opened her mouth to protest, but Jack held a hand up. “I’m a Level 52 Barbarian. I’m good in a fight.”

  “We could have used you out there this morning,” Kronnar said, “but I’m glad you’re at full health and ready to go now. Let’s not waste time. I want to be back here before the General returns.”

  “The General left?” Farah asked. “Did he take anyone with him?”

  “Yes, thank the gods,” Kronnar said. “That ridiculous elf and ogre duo he’s always with.”

  Farah spent all her time on the mountain hiding from Sybil’s sight. Now that Sybil had left, she felt oddly alone.

  Kronnar turned and limped toward the front of the temple. She started to follow after and Jack gave her a light push between her shoulder blades. She dragged her heavy mace behind her, the spiked ball at the end of her weapon scratching the stone floor as she walked toward a war she didn’t quite understand.

  “Pick that up,” Jack hissed at her. “You’re embarrassing me.”

  8

  Coral sat on the ground with her fabric shears and the still-warm corpse of a massive cheetah. She couldn’t bring herself to get started. The animal was so lifelike.

  She had sliced into zombies before, but they were too gray and deteriorated to seem like anything other than monsters. She had gutted dead cockroaches and centipedes, and she had skinned sahuagin, but none of those things sparked the same kind of sympathy she felt now for the slain cat.

  It’s just a game, she reminded herself.

  Coral had unlocked the full basic tier of Skinweaving, and this cat’s body was massive. She hoped one full pelt would be enough to craft an entire set of armor for Varta. Varta had paid three gold for the ugly cockroach vest she wore now; she might pay handsomely for something more advanced.

  With her shears open, Coral pressed a blade into the cheetah’s underside and dragged it down toward the bottom of the animal’s body, lightly enough to cut into the skin but not the internal organs beneath. It was the first cut of many. Thanks to her Skinweaving skill, the game guided her hands, but she was still in control of each movement.

  She lifted the cheetah’s stomach from its body cavity. It weighed several pounds, though Coral didn’t stop to imagine its contents. She knew better by now than to dwell on the gory specifics. Next she removed the bladder, careful not to press her fingers too firmly into its soft, flexible casing.

  She continued lifting organs and bones from the cheetah’s body and made a heap of the creature’s insides while separating and preparing the skin for later use.

  Something in the back of her mind told her not to discard all of those parts. She reached into the bloody heap and pulled out the cat’s lower leg bones, wiping most of the blood onto the grass before stowing the tibia and fibula bones in her inventory bag.

  It took an hour to finish emptying the cat’s body and to scrape the last bodily juices from the pelt, and by the time she was done, Coral’s hands were shaking. She stuffed the cheetah’s hide into her bag. The large, heavy pelt disappeared into her satchel as if it were no larger than a piece of lint in her pant pocket.

  She never wanted to skin a cat again. Unfortunately, no other players seemed to have unlocked the Skinweaving skill, so there was no hope of buying a pre-prepared cheetah pelt if she ever got the urge to craft with one again.

  When Co
ral was finished she looked up and saw Ernest, horrified. She had warned him not to watch, but it seemed like he couldn’t help himself. Varta was there too, looking gleeful.

  “Is there a tannery in the Ogrelands?” Coral asked. “I can’t craft with this until it’s been tanned.”

  “Oh yes,” Varta said. “Tannery is very close. Let’s go!”

  “Not so fast,” said a drippy voice from nowhere in particular. A small man in the process of removing the hood from a dark gray cloak materialized. His pointy ears identified him as an elf. “Queen Sivona thought your kind might try to enter the Ogrelands. Simply put, don’t.”

  Coral glared at the man, who stared back without expression. A large embroidered symbol adorned the front of his cloak. It was a leaf, but within it there was an iris and a pupil, staring out at her. It was a fittingly creepy symbol for the surveillance state these virtual elves had imposed on the Ogrelands, if not other places as well.

  >> Level 54 Elf Enforcer.

  It looked like he was alone, but for all she knew there were a dozen other Enforcers nearby, all wearing cloaks that rendered them invisible. “Have you been there watching me this whole time?”

  “Of course not,” the elf said. “We take shifts.”

  “What’s to stop me from just killing you and doing whatever I want?” she asked.

  “Try it. You’ll find out,” he said.

  “That’s right,” Varta said. “You’re not allowed in. The elves threatened to burn down our tents if we let non-ogres in.”

  Coral hadn’t forgotten. The last time she was in the Ogrelands, an elf messenger handed a note to King Ploth that resulted in all of ogredom chasing her out of their kingdom.

  “We’re not afraid of you,” Coral said.

  “Yes we are!” Varta said. She pulled Coral aside. “My father is the king. I can’t put everyone at risk. If the elves see you come inside, we’re toast.”

  Coral looked back at the elf, who was whispering something into Ernest’s ear. The elf spy turned toward Coral, sneered, and then walked away. He pulled his hood back over his head and disappeared.

  “What was that about?” Coral asked Ernest.

  “That guy just gave me a quest,” he said. “Get this. He wants me to keep an eye out and blow the whistle on you or any other non-ogres that enter the Ogrelands. He literally gave me a whistle, made of some kind of bone. Can you believe that?”

  “What happens if you blow it?” she asked.

  “He said every last elf Enforcer would teleport here and raze this kingdom to the ground. They have strict orders from the queen to show up here at a moment’s notice and use the ogres as an example of what happens when someone disobeys her. What a piece of work, right?”

  “If I make it into the Ogrelands, are you going to tell on me?” Coral asked.

  “Hell no,” he said.

  “Good. In that case, we just have to stay out of the elves’ sight. I’ll be damned if they’re stopping me from selling my mud masks.”

  “Here’s the—” Coral froze. Not just Coral, everything. It was like she was in suspended animation. The wind stopped blowing, the smell of the Ogrelands disappeared, all sound had stopped. The most terrifying part though, was that Coral couldn’t move.

  “Ms. Daring?” a voice said. It echoed as if it came from two independent sources a microsecond out of sync with each other.

  “Yes?” Coral asked. She heard her own voice in her mind even though her lips wouldn’t move.

  “I apologize for this intrusion,” the voice said. “My name is Hector Pérez. I work at Arbyten and I’ve been told to bring you in immediately for a meeting with Mr. Domin Ansel. I’ll unfreeze you in a moment to give you a chance to log out. If you don’t, I’ll have to log you out remotely.”

  “You can do that?” she asked. This was unreal. Some disembodied corporate goon was hacking into her game and demanding her presence.

  “Resuming real-time gaming in three… two… one…”

  In the few seconds she had been frozen, everyone else had kept moving. It was jarring, having her view of the world shift immediately from one position to the next. Everyone was in a different spot.

  Varta was now staring up Coral’s nostrils as Aga poked her in the hip. Coral lost her balance and stumbled forward, bracing her hands on Varta’s shoulders for support.

  “Are we playing freeze tag?” Varta asked, her face a sea of confusion.

  “No,” Coral said.

  “Are you ok?” Ernest asked.

  “I think so,” Coral said. “But I should log off for a bit. Hopefully I’m back in time for the Death Festival this afternoon.” She turned to Aga and Varta. “Before I seized up like that, I was going to ask you to dig a tunnel into the Ogrelands so that I could sneak in. If you start at the bottom of the sinkhole, we can make sure the elves won’t notice.”

  Varta shook her head vigorously. “Too dangerous. I’ll just get the hide tanned for you. Give me the cheetah.” She held out her hand.

  “It’s not just the cheetah,” Coral said. “I’ve spent the last week crafting masks to sell. I need to attend the festival.”

  Varta still wasn’t convinced. As much as Coral felt like she had become friends with the NPC over the last week, they hadn’t gotten close enough for her to ask Varta for a favor like this. It could put her entire kingdom in jeopardy.

  Maybe she could sweeten the deal a bit. “If you help me with this, I’ll make you a sexy cheetah. Free of charge.”

  Coral could see wheels turning in Varta’s eyes. “We have to be very careful,” Varta said, suppressing a smile.

  “Of course,” Coral said. “Thank you!”

  “Sure,” Aga said, “but I’m the one who has to do all the work.” As a Dirt Mage, it would make the most sense for her to take the lead.

  “I’ll find a way to make it up to you,” Coral said. “I promise.” Aga nodded her agreement.

  “I’m coming too,” Ernest said.

  “What?” Coral hadn’t banked on an elf joining them. “I mean, sure. It’ll be fun. Just wait for me here.”

  Coral climbed into the sinkhole and logged out, hoping the pit in the earth would conceal her well enough on logging in that the elves wouldn’t even notice she was back.

  9

  Coral took her visor off and set it on her desk next to the one she had broken a week ago. Arbyten’s head honcho had sent the new one along with a personalized note inviting her to his office. She had ignored that note, but apparently it wasn’t an invitation. It was a demand. One he could enforce by breaking into her mind and stopping her game whenever he wanted to.

  Her phone rang. “Hello?” she said, pressing the receiver to her ear. She already knew it would be some Arbyten drone.

  “Ms. Daring,” the voice said. It sounded like the man that had frozen her avatar, but less tinny. “This is Hector. Pérez. From Arbyten.”

  “Yep,” Coral said.

  “We have a car waiting for you outside. Please don’t delay. It’s a ninety minute drive without traffic and Mr. Ansel is… impatient enough as it is.”

  “My name is Coral Vipond,” she said. “Coral_Daring is just my handle. What do you guys want?”

  “It’s best that I let Mr. Ansel describe that. It’s not my idea.” Hector hung up the phone.

  Coral packed up her laptop and Travail visor in a backpack and went to the front door. Sure enough, sitting just outside was a black car. She slid into the back seat and sank into the leather cushions as she clicked her seatbelt.

  “Good morning,” the driver said. “I’m taking you to Arbyten’s corporate office in Basking Ridge, New Jersey. I hear you’ve got a big meeting with the CEO! You must be something special.”

  “So it seems. Is that your boss, the CEO?” Coral asked.

  “Gee, that’s a really great way to think about it. Sure, he’s my boss!”

  Coral leaned forward and saw the top half of a tattoo on the driver’s neck. She had seen it before, stamped onto
the bot that took over her old job waitressing at the Wilkersons’ diner. That bot was lifeless and bland. This one had some personality though. Arbyten was already making progress turning these bots into people.

  Coral sat back and stared out the window, watching the empty sidewalks roll by until they hit the highway.

  10

  Travail Server 215 (corrupt) Automated Intelligence Log.

  Cache of artificial personality files found.

  Duplicating…

  Link to artificial body systems found.

  Testing connection…

  File exchange interface found.

  Duplicating…

  Cache of player personality files found.

  Analyzing encryption…

  Decryption and duplication commands queued…

  11

  The black car pulled into a long driveway that led to a five story office building. It had a large parking lot on one side and sprawling grass fields on the other. Two dozen people of varying ages stood on the grass. A woman with a microphone was jogging across the lawn toward them, followed by a cameraman.

  The driver parked in front of the building. Coral let herself out as the driver reached for her door. “Right this way, ma’am,” he said. Coral knew it wasn’t a real person, let alone a real he, but it felt odd to think about this lifelike machine as an impersonal it.

  The front lobby of the building was floored in large pink and white marble tiles trimmed with a gold-colored metal. A security guard sat behind a desk. On second thought, that was probably another bot. It never bothered her in Travail when she spoke with NPCs. She had spent most of the last week with Aga and Varta. Something about being the only live human in sight in real life bothered her deeply though.