Path of Spirit (Disgardium Book #6): LitRPG Series

by Dan Sugralinov

  “Stop!” I raised my hands. “One thing at a time. What about the essence?”

  “We don’t have any of it,” the gnome spread his hands. “And I’ll tell you right now, nobody has it in the Alliance or any other clans. In the under twenty years of Dis’s existence, the champions of the Demonic Games have obtained it only eighteen times. In seventeen of them, the winner used the essence — it’s hard to refuse a bonus of three thousand points to a priority stat. It was sold only once, because the champion, a Grand Master of Fishing, didn’t need the boost, and planned to retire from Dis anyway.”

  “Who bought it?”

  The gnome raised his index finger. I looked where he pointed and saw a gleaming green arrow aimed at him. The arrow moved up and down and shimmered. Illusion magic. A suspicion formed in my mind and I even felt Pecheneg to make sure he was there. He croaked:

  “I’m here, I’m real!”

  “Uh-huh. So the one to buy the essence was Hinterleaf, that is Sergei, and…”

  “And I used it as soon as I got it,” the gnome finished. “It was a long time ago, so I feel no pangs of conscience. If you really need that essence, there’s nothing to do but compete in the Games. But I wouldn’t suggest risking it while Mogwai is at large. Did you know he’s declared you enemy number one? No? Log out of Dis more often, plenty happens in the real world. My analysts track Fen around the clock. He streams practically all the time — both in Dis and in real life. Everyone saw your demotion in the hierarchy of the Destroying Plague. Your rating is struggling, and much depends on it. Your escape from the desert also did nothing for your popularity.”

  It annoyed me so much that I couldn’t explain why I’d done that, that it wasn’t cowardice! Breathing in and out slowly, I changed the subject:

  “What’s the point in putting your life up for show?”

  “Of course, when he’s doing something special, the streams cut off,” Pecheneg interjected. “The rest of the time he sells advertising time and brand mentions. Both real and in-game. He’s used to being at the center of attention. The psychologists say it’s a kind of mania. Fen often continues to stream even when he knows it’s a disadvantage, because he can’t help it. He always needs an audience.”

  “Any ideas for neutralizing him and the other legates?” I asked.

  “Oh, Scyth, we have plenty of ideas, but so far we’ve relied only on our own strength,” Hinterleaf laughed, rubbing his hands. “But first, you must confirm the partnership — in the presence of an Arbiter, certainly — or refuse it. We don’t need neutrality or friendship to the grave, but reasonable and mutually beneficial collaboration.”

  “First tell me about this friction between you and Mogwai.”

  The gnome and barbarian exchanged glances. Hinterleaf pulled out a comm amulet and spoke into it:

  “Yary, any news on the supreme zombie?”

  There was a cough, then the knight’s familiar voice from the amulet:

  “Sure, Hint. The scouts say there’s activity at the stronghold. Legates with hordes of raised zombies are moving out from there in various directions. They all have a speed buff of unknown nature; they’re moving as fast as flying mounts. Mumbler said they’re attacking all the main castles of the Alliance, as per the Supreme Legate’s plan. They’re splitting up so they don’t lose Immortality. Each legate has his own personal horde of raised desert beasts. Mumbler got the main castle of the Ferals, he’s approaching from the desert to the south.”

  “Who’s coming to us?”

  “Mr. Xiaoguang himself. Estimated arrival time — twenty-two hours. How’s the meeting going?”

  “He can hear you, Yary,” Hinterleaf answered.

  “Hey, Scyth!” Yary said cheerily. “Hope you’re going to be with us. Having an A-class Threat on our side would be awesome!”

  “Enough, too soon…” the gnome muttered. “Over and out.”

  Done talking, he looked at me. It occurred to me that the whole conversation could have been rehearsed start to finish, including Yary’s friendly phrases. I was against a huge machine with limitless resources and had only my classmate friends, non-citizens and a few retired veterans on my team. Although… why against? Why not with after all? Modus would be worth a lot as an ally, and I would have agreed if not for a suspicion that I was being taken for a ride.

  “Who is Mumbler?” I asked, to buy time.

  “Liam Driscoll,” Hinterleaf answered. “You know him, he’s the nephew of the Ochre Witch, who you know of. She’s my girlfriend. I know you and Liam had a conflict, but he was acting on Mogwai’s orders. The boy is torn between family duty and friendship, but he continues to provide us with information that he believes will not harm him personally.”

  “I don’t understand…” I wanted to ask why Mogwai preferred the Alliance castles to Kharinza, but thought better of it. “Tell me, do you know what my strength is?”

  “We thought we did,” the gnome answered. “Thanks to Mogwai’s loose tongue, we know you had Immortality and Plague Fury. That same ‘nuclear explosion’ that you first demonstrated at Kinema. We also know that you abandoned the Destroying Plague. But all the same, you remain a Threat, your potential hasn’t gone down, and that means your main abilities are from the Sleepers, right?”

  “Let’s say they are.”

  “Yesterday, a certain aggressive orc from the Broken Axe clan was seen in Shak. He entered the Circle and defeated all his opponents, including the previously undefeated champion, the ogre Tashcherra. Do you know what he bragged about once he’d drunk enough free wine? He shouted that he had gained the power of the Sleepers, and that this power is in unity. Could you explain what that means?”

  “That’s exactly what it means,” I answered, deciding to go all-in. “It isn’t the Sleepers that give power to their followers, it’s the followers to each other. And the more followers…”

  “The more power! Bingo!” Hinterleaf clapped his hands in excitement, jumped up and started pacing back and forth along the edge of the ravine, thinking. Once done, he stopped. “Initially, Scyth, I wanted to offer you an alliance only for the duration of the war with Mogwai. But now, in the name of Modus, Taipan and… uhm… the Travelers, I think, if you agree to us inviting Horvac here, I can guarantee to an Arbiter that I will do you no harm through word or deed or inaction. As a lifetime commitment. Even the trillion reward from Snowstorm pales in comparison to what we could achieve together!”

  “Shame, I wanted to keep all that money for myself,” Pecheneg said, making as if upset. “I hoped Scyth and I could sweep away the Alliance and go conquer new continents…”

  “Continents?” Hinterleaf snorted. “You think too small, Otto! What about the other planes? The Astral, the Inferno, the Nether, the divine plane! Without Scyth, we’re more likely to end up worm food than reach any of the above!”

  “I get that,” Pecheneg waved a hand. “But I hope you won’t forget about Taipan when you conquer Meaz, heh-heh…” The character looked young, but his laughter sounded more like an old wheeze.

  “Who could forget you, Otto?! Hah-hah-hah…”

  I waited for the old men to finish laughing — apparently, the situation had reminded them of something in common from their past, — then asked:

  “Why did Mogwai go after you? He knows where to find me, he could have…”

  “He’s out of the loop,” Pecheneg noted, glancing at the gnome.

  “Indeed,” the little man said. “Scyth, Mogwai is on the brink of bankruptcy. Few know this, but Fen has been a Triad man from the start. He gave half of everything he earned to them, then frittered away the rest like every day was his last.”

  “The kid has no idea how to manage his finances,” Pecheneg grumbled.

  Hinterleaf objected:

  “That’s true, but not the whole story. Fen used to have enough income for everything. However, now that he’s on the side of the Destroying Plague, Mogwai, once a much-lauded customer of the Commonwealt banks, has lost access to
all his accounts in one swoop.”

  “What about the goblins? They don’t care what race their customers are.”

  “The goblins are indiscriminate, so they have the highest fees,” Hinterleaf answered. “Mogwai kept his savings in the Darant Royal Bank. He kept something with the goblins, but the League High Council declared the undead an enemy faction today.”

  “Yeah, funny how it turned out,” Pecheneg commented.

  “The Elites still have living members, but the trouble is that this affects Mogwai’s personal funds, not the clan treasury. It isn’t clear yet how Snowstorm plans to solve that problem, but they’ve trotted out their ‘it’s all within the limits of gameplay’ line. Mogwai got infected and turned undead, which has hatred with all factions.

  “That’s robbery!” I cried, putting myself in the former legate’s shoes.

  “No, Snowstorm will no doubt think of something. Maybe an undead city will come along, with its own banks… I don’t know. That doesn’t bother me,” Hinterleaf muttered. “What matters is this. Mogwai, once he realized how deep a hole he’d fallen into, gave all the top clans an ultimatum: pay or die. And he wanted regular payments, tens of millions in tribute, in exchange for which the Destroying Plague would leave property untouched. So much for the clans! Similar threats went to King Bastian the First and Emperor Kragosh. I don’t know about the smaller clans, but all the Alliance leaders refused Mogwai, of course. Now Fen’s only hope is to capture the castles of the Alliance and anyone else he runs into. Losses are inevitable, but we’re better off fighting than becoming a laughing stock of the world.”

  I chewed this over for a moment.

  “Now I see why you need me,” I said. “This whole tale of future achievements, new lands… I can’t promise I’ll help you. I also can’t guarantee any benefits from the Sleepers in this partnership — I can’t bring in new adepts right now. By destroying the temple in the desert, you took that option away yourselves. How’s it going with Nergal, did he reward you well?”

  “Ah…” Hinterleaf waved a hand. “A few divine artifacts, reputation that was already maxed out, a few perks in the form of permanent buffs. Nothing that would work against Mogwai. Even our defense against Plague Fury is gone, let alone heat resistance. As for the temples of the Sleepers — we can help. We now have a vital stake in this.”

  “I see. Well, I wasn’t joking when I said I didn’t have much time. Let’s wind this down. I agree to an alliance in the war against the Destroying Plague. Once we make it official with an Arbiter, I’ll share my thoughts on how to deal with the legates.”

  “We have things to share as well,” the gnome answered. “Shall we begin?”

  After waiting for my nod, he spoke in ceremonial tones:

  “I, Hinterleaf, summon an Arbiter to confirm this agreement.”

  The space above the forest distorted, flashing with purple sparks, then the Eye appeared, several times larger than an ordinary one. Staring at us all at the same time, it spoke monotonously:

  “The Celestial Arbitration foresees an agreement between key sentients of Disgardium. The consequences will reflect on the balance of the world. A single Arbiter cannot take on this responsibility. Therefore this exchange will be registered by the Celestial Arbitration in full.”

  Then the Eye rose higher, and from the place where it emerged, others began to appear one by one. Even Hinterleaf and Pecheneg, who had seen so much in Dis, dropped their jaws at the sight. The twelve Arbiters arranged themselves in a semi-circle, and their leader asked dispassionately:

  “Subject of the agreement?”

  The delegation that had come to witness the contract consisted of twelve Arbiters. And the rank ‘Arbiter’ was just a status, like Grokuszuid’s ‘Auctioneer’ or Bastian the First’s ‘King.’

  Eye, Arbiter

  Celestial Arbitration.

  No level, no health indicator. An incorporeal being that probably couldn’t even kill a rabbit. All the same, respect for the impartial judges was universal across the game universe.

  Each of the Arbiters who appeared was called an Eye, all identical in appearance and system text save the chief Arbiter, larger than the rest. Each Eye could be in many different places at once, mediating arguments, making deals and contracts, meting out punishments and sentences. If Nega was right in what she’d said of the role of the Arbitration, the Arbiters were above even the gods in the hierarchy: they had the power to disincarnate any sentient, or to send him into Banishment, into the great nothing. That punishment was a nightmare for any player. There was no way to ‘wait out’ your sentence by just not logging into Dis. Only time spent actively in the game counted as time served — in the dark of a cosmic vacuum, with no feeling in your hands or legs, the interface fully disabled. And, worse, Banishment was placed on the owner himself; even deleting your character didn’t solve the problem. Banishment could last years.

  Hinterleaf’s mouth was still open in amazement at the full assembly of the Celestial Arbitration.

  “Why has the entire Arbitration appeared?” he said. “Is not a single Eye capable of ensuring that the agreement is kept?”

  “It is seen: the fates of many sentients will be touched,” the chief Eye answered impassively. “Including the higher beings whom you call gods. Tracking the causal and consequential connections will require the full might of the Celestial Arbitration.”

  The Arbiters’ AIs have just admitted that they’ll need all their processing power, Hinterleaf wrote to me in a direct message.

  “That is correct,” the chief Arbiter said as if he’d seen the message, although that was impossible. Wasn’t it..?

  The contract procedure went as usual. I added the clarification that the agreement covered not only me, but the entire Awoken clan and the Sleeping Gods. Nobody objected.

  “We won’t complicate anything on our end,” Hinterleaf said. “We have a bunch of subsidiary clans, allied and partner clans, a few divine protectors… What if you accidentally hit someone? Let’s not give the Arbitration an excuse to banish our main ally.”

  The Celestial Arbitration registered the agreement. The Arbiters began to disappear, but one remained. He floated over and hovered before me. Text flashed up:

  Oaths that affect you have been registered!

  Human Oliver, level 338 Chef, gnome Barry, level 340 Chef, and elf Nobu, level 346 Chef, have sworn to do you no harm through word, deed or inaction.

  Registered on: April 29, 2075.

  The message disappeared as soon as I finished reading it, along with the Eye. Hinterleaf and Pecheneg nodded in understanding. Apparently, they’d encountered this before.

  “The Eye told you of some oath that affects you?” the Modus leader asked. “I see your fan base is growing! Ha-ha!”

  I turned to him and said the first thing that came to mind: “No comment.”

  “Of course, of course,” Hinterleaf nodded sagely. “You’re clearly very mature for your age. You know the value of information. And as for your fans, it is fully possible that another clan may be joining them today. The Travelers, as I mentioned earlier, will gladly join our secret alliance.”

  “Alright. Another question… What do you know about the Travelers’ progress on Holdest?”

  “They made progress?” The gnome feigned surprise. “If so, I know nothing of it. What do you need from them? Speak, don’t be shy.

  The group chat flashed with questions from my concerned friend: was I alright? When was I coming back? The first bosses in the instance were down and my clanmates were waiting for me before they finished off the last one. I told them I’d be some time, then answered Hinterleaf, frozen in expectation:

  “I want to know whether they have anything that helps with the frost debuff. Anything at all — food, potions, balms, gear, artifacts. You asked why I need the essence. I want to put an end the Destroying Plague. But to reach the Nucleus, I have to somehow beat that frost.”

  The faces of my newly minted allies turned seri
ous.

  “I’ll talk to Horvac,” Hinterleaf promised, then suddenly offered me some sort of flask. “Take this, ally. It won’t save you from the frost, but it’ll make the desert seem like Perfetto.”

  Heat Resistance Potion

  Epic potion.

  Use: grants 100% immunity to heat and burning sunlight.

  Crafted by: Amra.

  I couldn’t help but grin from ear to ear. I drank it right down, one excited thought in my head: Here I come, Grand Master Oyama, your new student!

  “My pleasure,” Hinterleaf murmured.

  “Oh, Nether, sorry,” I stumbled. “Thanks! Got a few more? For my…”

  “Not on me, sorry,” the gnome spread his hands. “I’ll send you some in the mail. Now that we have all this figured out, I suggest we not waste any time. We need to share our information on Mogwai and his abilities.”