Alpha Zero (Alpha LitRPG Book 1)

by Arthur Stone

  The fort was situated on the elevated section of the island, protected from its uneven part by a crude wall of mostly uncut large stones. Standing roughly fifteen feet tall behind a picket fence, the structure implied that caution on the approach was justified.

  The other sides boasted a wall as well, but nearly half the height of this side, the residents ostensibly relying on the natural protection of precipitous cliffs. Only one other spot had something resembling a tower with a gated pass-through pathway.

  A suspension bridge stretched between this tower and a similar one on the right bank, no longer than seventy-five yards. Two ropes serving as foundation, though quite thick, could be easily cut in the event of assault, forcing the attackers to storm the far more imposing section of wall in the lower part of the island. Getting there in the first place would be challenging.

  The fort itself amounted to a tight cluster of wooden structures. Whatever reserves of stone the builders might have had access to had been spared. Most were low residential dwellings and service buildings, with only a single two-story mansion dominating in the central section.

  The caravan had been spotted. A string of greeters stretched out along the undulating bridge, clustering together upon reaching the shore. Perhaps the arrival of guests was such a grand event for the locals that nearly all were expected to come out and welcome them. More likely, these people were lining up to start unloading the wagons, which were too large and too heavy to pass over the flimsy bridge. Even horses ought to be wary of stepping on it. Which meant that all the crates, boxes and barrels would be lugged into the fort manually.

  “Look alive back there!” Kashik yelped, turning to the tail of the convoy. “Move those feet, slackers! You’re nearly home!”

  Chapter 13

  Human Commodity

  Degrees of Enlightenment: 0 (60/888)

  Attributes: none

  Skills: none

  States: none

  “Foolish kid, I only want what’s best for you.”

  Kashik’s voice sounded strange, leaving the impression that he really did wish me nothing but the best instead of trying to dodge unpleasant matters.

  Which he had already dodged with flying colors, anyway. Rycer had been spot on with his warning. Before I could even bring up the issue of getting back my money, Kashik countered with an extensive bill for services rendered: rescue from animal fangs (that I hadn’t ordered), comfortable passage with the caravan (most of which I had walked on my own two feet), and, naturally, food costs, which, according to the caravan’s chief executive, included breakfast, lunch, dinner and an afternoon snack. And judging by said costs, he would have me believe the meals had consisted exclusively of delicacies flavored with high-end spices.

  The short of it was that my debt was high enough that my money wouldn’t cover even half of it. Yet, the debt needed to be paid. And right away.

  I shook my head stubbornly.

  “That barley porridge isn’t even worth a single coin. Besides, I saved a sack of your spices from the river. For that alone you should give me back my money and pay me the same amount on top.”

  At that, the caravanner scowled. That job doesn’t cost anything. Everyone had to pull their weight, including you. Where were you when my people were fighting off the bandits? If it weren’t for them, you’d be long dead. And now you demand payment for the sack? The stones on you, boy. You must have been spoiled as hell. Now quit being so mulish. Master Ash will take care of you. You’re weak and useless, no way you can survive on your own.”

  I shook my head again.

  “No. I am a free man. I have no master, and I never will.”

  “So you want to die from cold and hunger? Weak as you are, you won’t last one winter.”

  “Then I will die free.”

  “What do you know of freedom? Foolish whelp! All right, the hell with you. Do what you want. But remember my words when you’re on the verge of a hungry death. Maybe then you’ll realize Kashik only wanted the best for you.”

  The caravanner turned around, indicating an end to the conversation.

  I was content with this. Sure, I didn’t recover my money, but at least I wasn’t sold into bondage to some Master Ash. Though he might have provided me with food and shelter, I would mean nothing but cheap labor to the unknown master, the kind that wasn’t worth much around here. You needn’t look further than yesterday for proof. Sending me on a suicide mission to recover spices from a ford teeming with kote had seemed a perfectly reasonable request to Kashik.

  No master for me, thank you very much.

  Serfs weren’t technically slaves. These were people who had partially lost their freedom, but had the opportunity to gain it back. Some fell into this state for a particular stretch of time, others potentially forever. But their freedom was always there for the buying, whether by a third party or by independently accumulating the required amount.

  A master had no right to kill his bondservant or subject him to serious bodily punishment without valid cause. It was well within his power, however, to make the lives of his subjects unbearable. Or to set them up by sending them on deadly missions like the one I had miraculously survived. Besides, regulations outlining a master’s obligations toward his bondservants were like expiration dates—more suggestions than hard, enforceable laws. And the farther you were from civilization, the less weight they carried.

  And you couldn’t get any farther from civilization than this dump. Here in the Wild Wood, a master could do whatever he wanted with his bondservant. Especially if the latter was weak and without protection. Like me.

  Had I been given a choice, I would keep far away from this place. But I was without an alternative. I wouldn’t survive in the forest on my own, and persuading Kashik to take me back south was doubly risky. By the end of the trip he would stick me with a bill I’d have no chance of repaying, making bondage all but certain. Besides, I shouldn’t forget about the events at the homestead. The killers had come to put a bloody period in the annals of the Crow Clan, and for as long as I lived, their task remained unfulfilled. Chances were, the clan’s enemies were scouring the area thoroughly, and my return would not go unnoticed.

  Kids my age weren’t in great supply, and especially those that looked like me. Moreover, wherever I went, I would be without friends or family, which would draw instant suspicion. Finally, as the amulet’s charge expired, I would become completely immobile, only adding to my infamy. The local world might be free of the Internet, but news of unusual developments spread quickly enough. It would be a toss up as to how I would die: a cripple unable to provide for his basic needs, or at the hands of those thirsting to finish the job by snuffing out the clan’s last scion.

  After weighting all my options, the clear winner was to lie low in the boondocks somewhere. Practically speaking, that meant sticking to the fort.

  So, my immediate objective would be to gain entry. As the caravanners and their loaned workers unloaded cargo before the bridge, all the bondservants and free men in search of work were herded off to the side. These were all the people intended to remain in the fort, and I was among them.

  For the next half-hour, we were largely ignored as the caravanners and the locals were more concerned with the cargo. The latter were especially concerned with the fact that some of it was missing. In response, Kashik was putting on quite a show, yelling dramatically and flailing his arms as he relayed the story of a deadly sniper striking his targets in the eye from a distance of one hundred paces, the wagon stuck in the ford, and the pack of kote set upon the caravan by some wicked magic. Going by his gesticulating and the scraps of phrases I was hearing, we had been beset by none other than a pack of monsters from the movie Jaws, and fired at from the bushes by a special ops division of Robin Hoods and William Tells. And that if it hadn’t been for the incredible heroism of his right hand, Atami, the caravan would have suffered losses far greater than one sorry wagon. Besides, some of the valuable cargo from the wagon had, in fact, been
recovered. (To no one’s surprise, my own role in making said recovery happen was omitted.)

  Our collective neglect didn’t last overly long. Having disposed of the cargo, the movers and shakers of the local world turned and headed our way. There were three of them, not counting Kashik, and they all looked completely different. One was so tacky, it reminded me of a pimp wannabe. Despite the warm weather of a late spring evening, he wore an expensive fur coat and a big bushy hat heavy with massive gilded ornaments. And he might have had more rings and signets on his fingers than actual fingers.

  This must have been Ash himself, the face of the Three Axes and the top dog in the Blackriver fort. Everything I had gleaned from conversations with Rycer and Krol on the way here suggested this walking fur store shop-window could be no other. The man flaunted everything he had with the fervor of a cheap whore turned runway model.

  As for the other two, I had no idea. My former companions hadn’t been overly generous with information, assuming they even knew themselves. Being part of a caravan meant long stretches on the road and scant knowledge of the fort’s internal affairs. One thing was certain—these were people with authority. One was a hulk of a man, the other a plain-looking craftsman in his middle years. The former could be a bodyguard, but the latter? He didn’t look like a person with power. A closer inspection quickly changed my mind. The man had a heavy, intense stare that belied his nondescript appearance.

  Looking at us the way one might look at the most revolting sight in the entire Universe, Kashik began to speak, scorn dripping from his voice.

  “Listen up, worms. Your life of leisure is over. From now on you’re going to have to earn your keep. Ash is your new master. His every word is to be obeyed without question. If at any point you have a problem with Ash, your matter will be resolved by Ash himself. The gentleman to his side is Makyr. He is a master miner. Those of you who wish to pay off your debts quicker will have to show him that you’re worth something. His jobs pay best, but he won’t hire just anyone. And this is our local celebrity, Hugo the Ambidexter. He has garnered quite the reputation already, and I’m sure that some of you have heard about him. Mostly bad things, but I’m here to tell you not to believe the rumors. The truth is that he’s much worse than the rumors claim. Hugo’s job is to maintain order in the fort. Nothing happens here without his knowing and consent. Everyone got that?”

  “Where are my bondservants?” Makyr asked impatiently.

  Kashik gestured to a few peasant families standing to the side.

  “Here are your spongers.”

  “Why are two of them on the ground?” the miner inquired.

  “Like I said, they’re spongers. Caught a few bites from the kote and are using it as an excuse to slack.”

  “I don’t see a single healthy man among them. Nothing but women and snot-nosed kids. You can’t keep bringing us this crap, Kashik.” Ash groused.

  The caravanner gave a noncommittal shrug.

  “It’s not up to me, you know. I bring whoever I’m given. And I do it well. Besides, is it such a bad thing to get women without their men?”

  Ash grimaced. “These women are either pregnant or uglier than Hugo. Bedding them is more of a chore than anything.”

  “They won’t be pregnant forever,” Kashik reasoned. “And they’ll get prettier after popping out those kids. And I’m seeing some great asses. Cushion for the pushin’ and all. There are no more men in the village, and a widow on every corner. So they decided you can use some free women here.”

  Ash gave a bitter chuckle.

  “Free women are good and all, but there’s little use for them in Makyr’s mine. We’ve started a new drift, and we need manpower above all else. Makyr thinks the new vein will be richer than the last. But how can we test it without masters? Of all the people we’re getting, none of them have Mining skills. Even if we could train some of them, that takes time. Bloody lots of time. Which we don’t have. Our quotas are due now, not months from now. So what do you expect me to do?”

  The caravanner shrugged again.

  “This is your fort, not mine. I run the caravan. My job is transporting cargo, not giving out advice.”

  “So you’ve got nothing to say, huh? Color me surprised. Whatever. I’ll write a letter for you to deliver personally. Count it among the cargo you so love to transport. What about the rest of these people?”

  Kashik pointed to a large family standing to the side.

  “These aren’t in debt, but serving a sentence of ten years. They were given the option of a shortened five-year sentence at the fort, and they agreed. The old man is a seasoned miner, and so is his son, that one over there. Not as experienced as his pops, but hardly useless.”

  “Where did they learn their talents?” Ash asked.

  “The old man swung his pickaxe in lots of places, and his son did some work in the Sathenar Quarries in the off-season.”

  The fort commander frowned again. “Work in the quarries don’t mean squat. And the old man doesn’t impress me. Better than the rest of these dung beetles, but his old bones won’t last long in our mine... Who else?”

  A well-built man in his early thirties stepped forward. Paying no mind to Kashik’s attempts to speak over him, the man introduced himself.

  “Svent Dahar of the free Dahar family. I’ve got high-level talents for snares for small game and traps for large game. Also a unique talent for storing game. Advanced disguise on wooded terrain, decently leveled dressing, and I’m working on leveling up my spear and bow. The higher powers have taken my elder son from me, but the younger one is growing fast, and he’s got all the makings of a hunter. My wife is a herbalist, but the blight that took our son also deprived her of sight. She can only tell light from darkness. Our daughter is studying herbs as well, but her talent is as weak as she is. Still, she can be of assistance. I want to spend a few years here, enough to earn my hunter’s post. And, of course, our primary goal is restoring my wife’s eyesight. She’s a good herbalist and should be plenty busy here.”

  Ash nodded approvingly.

  “You won’t be lacking for work here. And if you do good, we can discuss a loan toward a guild healer. Now see, Kashik, here’s someone we’re happy to take. Bring as many of these guys as you can. Svent, meet Hugo. He’ll explain our distribution system and assign you to a team. Is that it, Kashik, or are you hiding a few elite masters in one of your wagons that can smelt superior ores?”

  The caravanner looked behind him, as if ready to actually produce some high-level specialist. Alas, there were none. There was but one person that remained unaccounted for.

  Kashik pointed at me.

  “We picked up this one along the way.”

  “Fugitive?” Ash asked non-threateningly.

  “Says he’s an orphan from a free family. Lost everyone to the blight. It has wiped out lots of folks in the north.”

  Ash shook his head.

  “He doesn’t look like a northerner. Fine facial features, like an Imperial. And his eyes are almost blue. That’s a rare color even for an Imperial, but you’re never going to find it here.”

  “Why do you care who he is or where he’s from?” Kashik said. “He’s just an ordinary kid. Two arms, two legs. He can work.”

  Makyr shook his head.

  “I don’t want him in my mine.”

  “That’s not a surprise. Everyone knows you can’t stand Imperials,” the chief caravanner scoffed.

  “You misunderstand. I don’t give a damn who shafted his mom and grandmas. Look at him. Skin and bones. The first draft in the mine is going to put him down. What need have I for such a comical worker?”

  “Second degree only?” Ash squinted at me.

  “Yes,” I replied bravely.

  A free man ought to speak for himself, and not rely on thieving caravanners to do it for him.

  Ash chuckled. “Some make it to fifth at your age. Not even a full omega, I’m guessing?”

  “A future alpha,” I said in the same res
olute tone, holding the gaze of the fort’s head honcho.

  He laughed in response.

  “The twerp is amusing. He’s got character, at least. Too bad he’s useless. If we hand him off to our Carps, they’ll eat him alive the moment he mouths off like that.”

  “You could give him to Fatso Oren,” Hugo the Ambidexter said with an ominous smirk.

  Ash shook his head contemplatively. “Not a free one, that would set a bad precedent. Besides, Fatso only likes a certain type of boys. Plump like him.”

  Ash’s thoughts seemed to be far away from me. And he kept looking back, as if waiting for something.

  It turned out to be not something, but someone.

  Three more men traversed the suspension bridge. A couple of gorillas in light armor of leather and stone reed were dragging a scrawny older fellow, his face swollen from beatings and his beard caked with blood. Having made their way here, they forced him on his knees and froze on either side.