Infinite Assassins: Daggerland Online Novel 2 A LITRPG Adventure

by Peter Meredith

  The manager behind the counter didn’t get up when Roan came in. His round belly rested on his thighs and propped ten inches from his knees was a tv blaring the laugh track of a sitcom. “Yeah?” was the man’s greeting.

  “I need a room,” Roan said, speaking just above the volume of the tv. He pulled out two twenties, which was ten dollars more than the advertised price.

  “We got a few,” the manager said, “but I’m gonna need a credit card. You know, for incidentals. I’m sure a discriminating gentleman such as yourself understands.”

  Roan forced himself not to react to the verbal jab at his appearance and took out another twenty, adding it to the other two. “I’m low maintenance.”

  The manager took a long look at the money before he shrugged and reached out, wiggling chubby fingers until Roan leaned over the counter and gave him the twenties.

  “You got a name?” he asked. Roan went with John Smith. “Right, Smith,” the man said, jotting the name into a journal. He didn’t bother standing to hand the key over to Roan. With maximum effort, he lifted a butt cheek and stretched out a hand. “Since I got no card on you, you’re gonna have to stay close. Room 01.” He jerked his thumb at a dark hall that was only steps away. The first door on the right said 101.

  Roan grunted, took the key, holding the stained placard by the edge, and went to the room. He wasn’t expecting much, yet he still made a face of disgust. Even if he hadn’t been worried about leaving his fingerprints, he wouldn’t have touched a thing in the room. The bed practically screamed bedbugs and the bathroom was vile.

  After surveying the sordid room with it 1970’s furnishings, Roan pulled a chair to the door, but instead of propping it beneath the handle as he had been doing for the last few days, he sat down and pressed his ear to the door.

  The room probably didn’t live up to its one star rating, but its location was perfect.

  Chandler was somewhere in the forty-two room motel and Roan couldn’t exactly go knocking on random doors. He needed to get at the room ledger. After everything he had been through as a thief, it wouldn’t be difficult. Two minutes was all he needed and Roan guessed that when the man got up to use the bathroom, it would be such a noisy, prolonged production that he would have all the time in the world.

  The wait was longer than expected. He sat with his ear to the door for forty-three long minutes before there came a grunt, a second grunt, a muttered curse and labored breathing as the manager came down the hallway. The floor groaned under his ponderous bulk.

  The sound of a door opening and closing down the hall spurred Roan. Quickly, he left his room and headed for the front desk. In his mind he set a countdown clock of about three and a half minutes to get to the ledger, find Chandler’s name, and if he was lucky, find a master key.

  He went right for the ledger without bothering to lock the door or flipping the vacancy sign over. Squatting down behind the counter, he opened the book and ran a finger along the names until he came to an entry from nine days earlier: Chandler Burt-129. And to make things even easier, there was a wooden board just under the counter. On it were forty-two numbered hooks with keys hanging from them. Most had two keys, but among those that only had one were rooms 101 and 129. These were the occupied rooms.

  “Bingo,” Roan whispered and grabbed the extra key to room 129. He got up and turned down the hall just as the front door opened. Before he knew it, his hand was on his gun and his nerves were tingling on full alert. Whoever had opened the door hadn’t stepped further into the lobby. And whoever it was, was almost certainly an assassin.

  Chapter 39

  The City View Hotel, Hoboken New Jersey

  Whoever had walked in was utterly silent and unmoving. His breath was so light that Roan, who was right around the corner, couldn’t hear it.

  No normal person would act that way, only someone expecting trouble would. Roan guessed that he had been double-crossed by either Tarranon or one of his lackeys and now he was square in the trap he’d been trying to avoid from the start.

  He was in a terrible position. The assassin would not look like Tarranon or Corvo, and it definitely wouldn’t look like the drow witch with her velvet ebony skin and four-inch ears. The assassin would look like some poor schmuck who thought that he or she was just logging in to play a game.

  If Roan ended up killing him or her, it would be murder and it wouldn’t be his first. The year before, he had shot Joanna Niederer to death; an act of self-defense that still haunted his dreams. And here he was once again, almost without a choice. The hall was too long and narrow to run down and there was no way he could get back into his room without giving himself away. He could picture the assassin calmly stepping into the hall and emptying his gun into Roan’s back. He would then reload, walk up, and empty a second magazine into Roan’s quivering body. There was only one way to be sure, after all.

  Roan would not run. He stood his ground, waiting for the assassin to make his move or to make any move at all. Almost thirty seconds had passed and the assassin was only just standing there as if the possibility of an empty lobby was a sign…and maybe it was to a real assassin.

  How would a real bloodthirsty assassin have handled the motel counter clerk? Would he have waited in his room as long as Roan had? Would he have snuck around like a thief? No, he would have immediately moved the clerk at gunpoint to an empty room and then killed him quietly before moving on to his main target.

  Perhaps the assassin was listening for the sound of torture. When he didn’t hear any, what would he do? It depended on whether he knew which room Chandler was in. If he knew, he would head for the hallway, if not he would go for the ledger.

  It was fifty-fifty. If he came down the hall, there’d be a gun battle and even if Roan lived, things would fall apart fast.

  The assassin took his first creeping step and in response Roan felt a trickle of sweat run down his back. He had the strongest urge to flatten himself further against the wall and draw his gun, but he remained perfectly still, his breath feather soft. With the patience of a true assassin, he listened to the steps coming towards him and refused to give in to his growing excitement and fear.

  The steps came closer and Roan felt a muscle twitching just below his eye. The rest of his muscles were so tight, they felt spring-loaded. As the assassin undoubtedly had his gun out and ready, Roan would have to draw and fire faster than the eye could follow, while at the same time keeping his aim perfectly centered on his…

  At the last second, the assassin turned to the counter. A moment later, there came a soft clunk. It was not only the sound of a pistol being placed on the counter, it was the sound of a tremendous mistake.

  Roan leaned around the corner and saw a middle-aged man in a grey sweat suit kneeling in almost the same spot Roan had been two minutes before. The man had his back to him, still he could see the edge of a neural coupler. The assassin in Roan wanted to slit the man’s throat and end the threat. It would be quick and quiet. He could then move on to the manager and take him out as well. After that, he’d lock the front door, flip over the vacancy sign and finish the job he had come here for.

  It was a compelling urge especially when he considered the seer, who had told him he’d have to truly become an assassin in order to win.

  Roan wasn’t that desperate yet. He stepped lightly around the corner, drawing his gun as he did. The assassin heard him and went for his gun. He was too slow. “I wouldn’t,” Roan said, bumping the back of the assassin’s head with the business end of his Glock 22.

  The assassin lifted his hand away. “You can’t blame a guy for trying, right?”

  “You can blame a guy for double-crossing you,” Roan said, reaching out and taking the gun. “Who is that in there, Tarranon?”

  This brought out a laugh. “Hardly. That fool has complete faith in you. He thinks you’ll deliver the girl. And maybe you will, I don’t know. I just know that killing you cuts out the guess work. It’s the smarter play.”

  By the wa
y the assassin was talking, Roan figured this was Corvo. Unfortunately, there wasn’t time to find out. Not only could the manager come back at any second, someone could walk through the front door and Roan would have a potential witness to murder on his hands.

  Thankfully, ending the threat Corvo represented would be quick and clean. “Nice try, Corvo,” Roan said and then pulled off his neural coupler from his head.

  The middle-aged man’s conscious mind had its connection to Daggerland severed and he “woke” in a strange hotel. “Huh? What the…? What’s going on? Where, where am I?”

  Roan was already around the corner, moving silently to his room. Once there, he went back to listening as the man wandered out from behind the counter. “Hello?” he called down the hall. “Is this part of the game?” The motel remained more or less silent, with only the sound of the sitcom’s laugh track blaring out every ten seconds and the furnace thumping away in the basement.

  After a few more confused noises, the man left, wandering out into the old, dirty section of the city. Roan stayed in his seat next to the door for another six minutes until, with more wheezing and muttered words, the manager came back. He was too obese to simply sit back into his chair, he dropped down making a great deal of noise.

  Roan used the sound to slip out of his room, taking his neural coupler with him. Corvo had given him an idea. Chandler wouldn’t jeopardize his position with Arching by giving up Amanda to Roan, but if he saw a disheveled man wearing a coupler, he’d naturally assume it was one of the other assassins.

  He went to room 129, which was the last room at the end of the hall, the one closest to the back exit. The assassin had chosen well; he could come and go with the least chance of being seen. Roan went to the door, gun in one hand the key poised at the lock in the other. He stood there listening as long as he dared.

  The room beyond the door remained silent.

  Standing to the side of the door, he slid the key into the lock and slowly turned it until the bolt drew back. Fully expecting gunfire at any second, Roan turned the knob again slowly and carefully. He only opened the door an inch, wide enough to see Chandler on the bed, a coupler across his forehead. He also saw that the security chain was in place.

  Although the chain would not hold if Roan threw his bulk into it, he couldn’t smash in the door without alerting the manager, who would come huffing and puffing as fast as he could. Roan decided to take it on in a different way. Instead of using explosive force, he slid one arm through the crack and began pushing as hard as he could, straining his two-hundred and twenty pounds of muscle against the screws holding the chain casing in place.

  The screws held, however the chain broke and the door swung in after a few seconds. Roan stepped into the room and shut the door behind him. Chandler hadn’t moved. His body was here, but his mind was in Daggerland. He was utterly in Roan’s power.

  2—

  Chandler Burt was skinny to the point of being emaciated and so pale it looked as if he had been born in a cave deep below the surface of the earth and had never been allowed outside of it except at night. His dark hair was long and shaggy, and his beard had crumbs and a piece of string in it. Clearly, he didn’t care about either his real-world body or his real-world life. He lived solely for the game. Not for long, though.

  Carefully, Roan slid him off the bed and dragged him into the bathroom. Roan stripped him naked and laid him on his back on the cold linoleum. He then tore strips of sheets; some he used to bind the man’s hand so that his arms were above his head and slung around the base of the toilet. More strips were tied at his ankles. Roan spread his legs—one foot he hung over the edge of the tub and tied to the hot water faucet. The other was in the air, the strips of sheet tied to the doorknob.

  The last strip he used to make a blindfold.

  With his victim secured, Roan turned the television and the radio on, plugged in the hair drier and got it going and then ran the cold water in the bathtub creating a curtain of ambient sound. These precautions wouldn’t drown out a scream, but it would help.

  Finally, he took one Chandler’s own socks and stuffed it into his mouth.

  Only then did he pull the coupler off Chandler, who jerked immediately. There was a pause as he assessed the terrible position he found himself in, and then he began thrashing about fighting his bindings and gag. “Relax,” Roan said, straddling the man’s chest and bearing down with a good chunk of his weight. “We haven’t even begun yet. You should save all that for when I cut off your balls.”

  Chandler immediately went limp, though his breathing picked up; his nostrils were flared like two tunnels. “That’s better. Let’s start by laying some ground rules. I don’t want to hear complaints and I don’t want you begging and I don’t want you to try to bribe me. This will only make things worse for you. Do you understand?”

  Roan hoped by preparing Chandler mentally for the horror of torture he would break even before any of what he had said became necessary. He would start small and hope that he wouldn’t have to paint the bathroom in the man’s blood, especially because he didn’t know if he could. Yes, he could feel the evil inside of him. It was an ugly sensation, yet it was dwarfed by his sense of duty and honor and his innate goodness.

  Steeling himself for what he might have to do, he took a breath and said, “Let me demonstrate.” Roan reached out with one hand and pinched off those flaring nostrils. Chandler immediately began whipping his head from side to side. Roan was forced to use two hands to hold him down. He hissed into Chandler’s ear, “I’m going to release you in exactly thirty seconds and then you’ll tell me what I want to know. But if you start to beg or any of that nonsense, I’ll put the gag in again and go longer. Do you want that?”

  Chandler’s face, what could be seen of it, was red and already glistening with sweat. He shook his head as well as he could with Roan bearing down on him.

  Roan counted to thirty before releasing the man’s nostrils. Chandler sucked in air and that evil part of Roan wanted to plug him up a second time just out of spite. He didn’t give in, however. “Okay, now you’re going to tell me what I want to know. You’re just going to blurt it out and this might be all over.”

  He pulled out the gag and Chandler began to gasp. “Wh-what d-do you w-want to know? I…”

  Before he could close his mouth, Roan stuck the balled sock right back into it. “I think you’re confused. I ask the questions and you answer them.” He knew he hadn’t asked anything; he was still trying to set Chandler up with the notion he was dealing with either a mad man, or someone far more evil than Roan really was. He pinched off Chandler’s nostrils again. This time he counted to forty before he released the man’s nose.

  “This isn’t that hard,” Roan said as Chandler sucked air into his nostrils. “I’m here for information. I’ll give you a hint: it’s something that’s important enough to torture you to death. How many secrets do you know that are that important?” It was somewhat of a loaded question. Roan had no idea how many secrets this guy possessed, and he had no idea what he thought was important, other than freeing his beloved “Infinite One.”

  Still, Roan had time to go through his secrets one by one. Corvo had taken his shot and Roan doubted if he would have the guts to try again. It meant he had hours and the only question in his mind was who would break first.

  Roan gave him a few extra seconds to recover before he pulled out the gag. “There you go, Chandler. Suck up some air. Clear your head and tell me what I want to know. What’s your greatest secret?”

  “Y-y-you w-want the girl, right?”

  Although this was a question, Roan let it go. It was about the girl. Despite his growing excitement, he remained still, saying only, “Tell me about the girl.” It made sense that Chandler’s mind would go to the girl. If he had other secrets, they probably took a backseat to getting Roan and becoming the Infinite One’s favorite.

  “She’s in Veldai,” Chandler said, rushing out the words with desperate eagerness. “She
’s at a cabin near a hidden lake about eight miles due north of the town.”

  “Did I tell you to stop?” Roan asked, deadly menace in his voice. “Keep talking or I’ll put the gag back in your mouth. That’s how this is going to work. When the gag’s out, you’ll tell me everything I want to know and when the gag’s back in I get to hurt you.” Roan was shocked how easily Chandler was giving up the information—it was as if he wasn’t nearly the fanatic Tarranon had claimed he was. This opened up whole new avenues. With enough of a pain inducement Chandler would probably let Amanda go altogether.

  For a few seconds Chandler’s mouth began to open and close like a carp’s. “I-I mean y-yes of course. There’s an Effigy Curse on the door’s handle and inside there’s a Greater Darner’s Hound guarding her.”

  “And?” Roan asked when Chandler paused. When the pause drew out, Roan pinched off the man’s nose and stuffed the gag into the man’s mouth. It wasn’t enough that Roan could find Amanda, he needed to know how to break the spell. Roan spoke to him as the man squirmed: “I like this. You’re being very cooperative. I was afraid I was going to have to slit open your eyeballs. At this rate you might even survive. You want to live, right?”

  He pulled the gag and Chandler gasped out, “Yes! Please!”

  “Then tell me about the spell. How do you…” Just then he heard the first warble of a siren. It was joined by a second and then a third. They were converging on the City View Motel. Roan had almost everything he needed. He needed to know about the spell and he needed to assassinate Chandler to complete his mission and fulfill Magenlune’s vision.

  “Tell me about the spell, damn it!” he practically yelled into Chandler’s face. But Chandler had heard the sirens as well and even though his eyes were covered, Roan could see the hope on the man’s face.

  “The…the…spell? Which spell?” The sirens were growing louder now. In a rage, Roan reared back and broke his nose with a single punch. Chandler began to choke on his own blood. It took him a few seconds to be able to breathe and when he could, he smiled up at Roan showing bloody teeth. “Tell Tarranon that he failed. The girl is only useful if she’s still alive and she won’t be for much longer. Since he won’t be able to break the spell, he’s going to have to come to me. Are you listening?”