Viridian Gate Online_The Lich Priest_A litRPG Adventure

by James Hunter

  But just like when we’d tangled with the Water Elemental, the attacks seemed to be next to useless. Only taking out that shiny blue jewel would do the trick.

  “I will raze your homes until not one stone stands upon another,” the creature continued, ignoring the assault as he reeled the ship in. “I will strip the flesh from your bones and salt your land so never again will any live there. It will be a graveyard forever more. A ruin that shall stand as a testament to what happens to those who defy order. To those who defy me.” Inside of the ship, I could hear the muffled shrieks of children. And suddenly I knew what I had to do.

  “Ari, get over here,” I shouted to the Pixy as I spun the wheel to port, lowered the mast rigging, and cranked the elevation switch. Ari alighted on my shoulder as the ship swung toward the Architect and pitched into a sharp nosedive, the bowsprit aimed squarely at the creature’s chest. “Hold on tight,” I mumbled, jacking the accelerator lever down. Between the Architect’s villainous monologue and his focus on capturing the escaping zephyr he didn’t even notice us careening toward him until it was too late.

  With the course set, I turned and hauled ass toward the rear of the ship, Ari clinging to my pauldron as though it were a life raft.

  The Architect screamed—the shriek of a buzz saw—as the wooden bowsprit lanced him through the chest and the zephyr smashed into him at full speed. The deck groaned beneath me, boards bucking, rippling, cracking, iron rivets exploding into the air like grenade shrapnel as ship merged with metal monster. I had no idea if the ship’s crushing mass would KO the boss, but it did accomplish the one thing that really mattered: his whip arm ripped away, the shoulder joint spitting sparks and oil as Cutter’s ship lurched away, finally in the clear.

  But I didn’t have time to celebrate. Not yet.

  Yes, we’d saved the kids and obliterated the second pillar, but the ship only had seconds left before the furnace blew and turned the zephyr into the Hindenburg. I sure as hell didn’t want to be around for that. Not even a little. I said a silent prayer and leapt over the waist-high retaining wall that ran around the stern of the ship; below me was nothing but open sky, stretching all the way down to the earth hundreds of feet below. Wind ripped at me as I tumbled, sky and earth reversing over and again as I flipped ass over teakettle.

  Devil, I screamed in my mind, thrusting out my arms and legs, flattening my body so I belly-flopped toward the earth like a skydiver without a parachute. I pressed my eyes shut for a second, breathing deeply, my heart -thudding, butterflies dogfighting inside my gut. And then something slammed into my chest like a baseball bat, the air exploding out in a whoof. I cracked my eyes, fingers scrambling over Devil’s scaly, serpentine neck as I grasped the reins and pulled myself into the saddle with a heave and a grunt, slamming my feet into the stirrups.

  Despite the heart-pounding terror, I suddenly found myself laughing like a maniac as the floating island burned behind me, flames filling the night sky with tongues of orange light and thick, curling plumes of gray smoke.

  TWENTY-FOUR_

  Victory Feast

  Cheerful music swirled around me.

  The twang of zither strings, the rhythmic strumming of a lute, the steady thump of a frame drum, the siren call of a young Satyr with the voice of a songbird. I eyed the girl, a little slip of a thing, maybe four feet tall with a long brunette braid pulled over one shoulder. Gwynne, her name was. Mother to two of the kids we’d rescued—Thomas and Cadence, three and four respectively. Her song was joyous, but I could see the shimmer of unshed tears rimming her eyes as she watched her kids prance and skip in the town square, dancing with abandon while they giggled.

  Intermixed with the music were the sounds of celebration—the muted clank of steins as folks drank, the drone of friendly chatter, the whoop of dancers twirling around in the center square, feet shuffling in time with the beat. This was a celebration of life, of reunions, though beneath it all was a sharp undercurrent of grief for those lost during the initial raid. Like Gwynne, the whole town seemed to harbor unshed tears for the dead, the lost. For those who would never come back, like Ari’s brother Tarvo.

  Watching the folks of the Vale celebrate and mourn all at once was a sharp reminder of what was on the line here. To them, this wasn’t a game. This was their home, their lives, their friends and family.

  I edged past a group of Gnomish men—all reeling unsteadily as they sang along, their voices rough and uneven—then headed for a hearty banquet table the Gnomes had kindly set up for us. These people didn’t have mead, only sickeningly sweet berry wine, but boy did they know how to do food. They’d laid out a true feast for us. Creamy mashed potatoes. Huge slabs of roast rabbit slathered in gravy. Thick greens bathed in a rich hollandaise sauce. Flaky bread, crisp on the outside and as soft as a cloud inside, sitting next to a wheel of sharp goat cheese the size of my head.

  I grabbed a tin plate and piled it with food as I watched the dancers in the town square.

  Gnomes and Satyrs swayed to the beat, their steps measured, reserved, and well-rehearsed while the Pixies, by contrast, filled the night in a cloud. They streaked through the air like an army of carefully choreographed ballet dancers, leaving trails of brilliant light in their wake.

  Abby was there, too, a wide grin on her face as she twirled and laughed, holding hands with a little Gnomish boy of maybe seven. She picked him up—he looked like an undersized toddler in her arms—and twirled him around, his brown hair fluttering in the gentle breeze as he laughed. She was so good. Kind. Better than me. As the tune wound down and another started up, she set the child down and ruffled his hair, scanning the crowd. When she finally spotted me, her grin split even wider and she waved, motioning for me to join her.

  I grinned back. “In a minute,” I called out, lifting my plate so she could see it.

  She rolled her eyes. “Fine,” she hollered, “but don’t wait too long or one of these Gnomish gentlemen is liable to sweep me off my feet.” She cocked an eyebrow at me and turned away, taking the pudgy hand of a wizened Gnome half her height and three times her age as the music resumed.

  I grinned and popped a bit of goat cheese into my mouth. It damn near melted on my tongue. So good.

  Cutter and Amara danced too, both laughing and smiling for a change.

  Cutter’s agility and acrobatic ease made him a natural dancer, his movements fluid and elegant as he twirled and spun. Amara was his equal, though her style was uniquely Dokkalfar, her arms flashing out, bare belly wriggling in time with the music as her legs whipped through the air in graceful arcs, her ceremonial ankle rattles quivering in time with the thumping drum. Murk Elves were serious people by and large—their lives hard, their land harsh and demanding—but not when they danced.

  Hell, even Jay was getting his groove on, his moves sharp and bold like a martial artist performing kata. And his partner? None other than Ari. The Pixy swirled around his head with a stein of berry wine—the size of a thimble—in each hand. She was trashed, her face flushed, her eyes glossy, her short hair mussed, her color the brilliant green of a polished emerald. She hiccupped and reeled, tiny hips gyrating.

  There was one person who wasn’t dancing though.

  Osmark loitered on the edge of the celebration, sitting in the grass, concealed by a pool of inky shadow, back pressed up against one of the cobblestone houses. Watching. But alone. Always alone, it seemed to me. He should’ve been ecstatic. When we’d pulled into the Vale and the kids all piled out of our hijacked airship, they’d practically swarmed him. Sure, the rest of us had helped with the rescue, but Osmark was the one who’d gone into the factory. The one who’d beaten back the monsters and liberated them from the enemy cook pots.

  I’d be surprised if there wasn’t a statue of him within the week.

  But he looked anything but happy. He had no food, and instead nursed a large flagon of the berry wine.

  I cut through the ebb and flow of revelers, nodding politely at each one in passing.

 
“Mind if I take a seat?” I asked him.

  “Knowing you, Jack, I very much doubt you’d listen even if I said no.” He motioned to the grass beside him.

  I grunted and offered him a tightlipped smile as I plopped down beside him, leaning back against the house. He took a slug of wine, the liquid sloshing as he lowered the bottle, never taking his eyes off the festivities. I took a bite of rabbit, the meat dry and crispy, similar to chicken but with a gamy aftertaste mixed with smoke and char. Grease rolled down my chin, but I ignored it, instead savoring the meat. It’d been ages since I’d had a proper meal, and the roast rabbit was succulent heaven. I ripped off a piece of the flaky bread and dipped it in a smear of meat juice decorating the bottom of my tin plate.

  We sat that way for a few minutes, him drinking quietly while I mowed through the rest of my food.

  “Mind if I ask you a question?” I finally said, setting my plate aside then absently wiping my grease-smeared fingers in the grass. “Why’d you do it? Save the kids, I mean? If there’s one word I’d used to describe you, it’s pragmatic. Saving those kids instead of taking out the pillar?” I shook my head. “That’s anything but pragmatic. So, why’d you do it? You don’t strike me as a kid person.”

  He was quiet for a moment, swirling his bottle of wine. “I never had kids,” he finally said. “It was never the right timing for me. Too busy with school. With the business.” He paused and glanced up at the double moon overhead. “With the end of the world. I had a brother, though. Jerry. He had a daughter. My niece, Eva.” He smiled, a faint quirking of the lips.

  “She was a good kid. Sweet. Fun. Loved to read. She was obsessed with princesses but also with pirates. She was six years old when Astraea hit.” He raised the bottle of berry wine to his lips and took a slug to fortify himself. “I tried to transition her, but …” He faltered, forehead creasing. He shrugged. “She didn’t make it. Osmark Tech never made it a public announcement, but the very young—under ten—had painfully low odds of success. Only one in seven survived on average. She never had much of a chance, even with the best nursing staff money could buy. Devastated my brother and his wife, of course. Especially since they both made it. They live in New Viridia now, but they seem different. Empty without her.

  “But the girl, the one with the pigtails? She could’ve been Eva’s kid sister. Same smile. Same eyes. The upturned button nose? It’s her to a T, though in miniature. I know up here”—he tapped at his temple with one finger—“that they’re procedurally generated. That she’s not Eva any more than that house over there is Eva. Intellectually, I know she’s not even real. Not like us. But my heart wouldn’t listen. Probably, that’s Sophia’s doing. Her way of manipulating me. She’s certainly devious enough to do something like that.”

  “Manipulated you into doing what? The right thing?”

  He offered me a tired, half-hearted grin and nodded. “Just so. This whole quest, Jack, is meant to bring us closer together. She manipulated me into being empathetic. Into doing the thing you would normally do, instead of the thing I would normally do. My whole life, I’ve put the good of the many over the good of the few. I’ve done terrible things, Jack. Made awful deals with merciless people because I believed in the grand scheme it was the only way forward. But when I saw that little girl … It was like I had a second chance to do things over again. To save Eva. To make things right.”

  “I bet it felt good, too,” I said. “Being the hero for a change instead of the villain.”

  His grin widened into a genuine, toothy smile. “Of course it did. I didn’t set out to be hated, Jack. To be feared. You think I’m the villain, but I can quite assure you I’m the hero of my own story. I’m the hero that has had to make the hard choices. The hero that has done ugly things so other people can live. I’ve done the dirty work while people like you galivant around the world I created wrapped in a shroud of idealism and naivety.” He fell quiet for a moment, the silence heavy and thoughtful.

  “For what it’s worth, Osmark,” I said, “I am grateful for what you’ve done. You gave me a second chance. You gave Abby a second chance. Jay and Vlad and Forge. You might think the NPCs aren’t real, but I do, and they all owe you a debt of gratitude. The government? They wrote all of us off as casualties, but you did something. Sure, there’s a lot about what you’ve done that I disagree with but …” I faltered, shifting uncomfortably. “Well, since becoming the leader of the Alliance—with people depending on me—I can sort of see why you’ve done some of those things. Why you made the compromises you made.”

  “Doing the right thing in reality is never as easy as it is in theory,” he replied, setting the bottle down with a thud. He hunched over, searching his hands. “Little compromises at first, but they build and grow, until you hardly recognize yourself anymore. Hard choices, but necessary. I’m not proud of the things I’ve done, but in hindsight?” He frowned, shook his head. “I still don’t see another way. Sometimes, though, I think about all the blood on my hands. I think it will never wash clean, no matter how much good I do in the world.”

  “It’s not too late to change,” I replied with a shrug. “To turn things around.”

  He sneered, his eyes hazy and distant. “You don’t know the kind of people I partnered with, Jack. A handful of them, perhaps, are good souls—or as good as you can find among the mega-elite. Most, though, are monsters. Saudi princes. Chinese military dictators. Drug lords and arms dealers. US Senators worse than all the rest combined.” His face darkened for a moment. “Someday, I’ll introduce you to Senator Sizemore, and then maybe you’ll reevaluate your opinion. If I ever showed them even the slightest hint of weakness, they’d turn on me. Again.”

  He stood and extended me a hand. “But, enough moping about,” he said, pulling me to my feet. “This is a party after all, and despite my shortcomings, I still know how to celebrate.” He slipped a lanky arm around my shoulders and strutted toward the town square, pulling me along, leaving his bottle of berry wine behind. A new song was just starting as Osmark and I entered the square—a jaunty, up-tempo number. He patted me on the shoulder, then broke away as a pack of dance-crazed kids flocked toward him, shouting, yelling, squealing in delight, their hands waving in the air.

  He might’ve been one of the most feared men of Eldgard, but here in the Vale, he was just fun ol’ Uncle Osmark.

  Abby made her way over to me, her skin flushed, sweat beading on her forehead, her eyes meeting mine and never letting go as she entwined her hands with mine and pulled me toward her. “If Osmark can let his hair down for a little while, then so can you, Lord Grim Jack Shadowstrider.” She pulled me into a kiss, her lips hot and urgent, her chest pressed into mine.

  “Get a room,” Jay barked at us, lurching past. He was swaying on his feet and his glazed-over gaze told me he’d been hitting the berry wine. Hard.

  Abby just pulled away and giggled, leading me deeper onto the impromptu dance floor. For the next hour we cut loose. We laughed and danced, moving from slow songs where we clung to each other—swaying in a circle, her face pressed against my chest—to fast numbers that left me breathing hard after a handful of minutes. The fair folk of the Vale also had a bit of fun, showing us a variety of fleet-footed jigs, part line dancing, part Irish jig, and complicated reels that had me moving and grooving with Abby, Amara, and Ari all in turns.

  The whole while, berry wine poured like a fountain.

  At a quarter after midnight, when most of the kids had finally turned in for the night, Abby took my hand with a sly wink and ushered me from the town square. We headed into the dark, our feet crunching softly on gravel, following the main boulevard for a handful of feet, then dipping left onto a side street. We passed several houses—dark, their windows shuttered to the night—before stopping at one of the grass-topped mound homes with a circular door set into the front. Abby dropped to a knee, pulled a slim brass key from a pouch at her belt, and slipped it into the door’s lock.

  It clicked open, and she disapp
eared inside.

  The door was far too small to enter upright, so I dropped down onto my hands and knees and scrambled in after her, pursued by the fading sound of music and the chatter of voices in the distance. I used my foot to nudge the door closed and crawled forward into a small living area with wooden floorboards, lit by white tallow candles. Bedrooms lay to the left and the right, connected by circular doorways, while a kitchenette sat at the back of the hut. A stout wooden table and a trio of chairs had been pushed all the way up against the far wall.

  Abby had created a little pallet for us in the center of the room, built from silky gray animal pelts—giant rabbit at a guess—thick cotton blankets, and a handful of down feather pillows. She lay in the pile, smiling at me as I flopped down beside her.

  She flipped onto her side, eyes boring into mine. She reached out and ran a thumb over my cheek, then draped her hand over the back of my neck. “I’m proud of you, Jack. I feel like I don’t say that enough, but it’s true, and I am.”

  I glanced away. “What makes you say that?” I asked.

  She shrugged one shoulder. “A lot of things, I guess. You just constantly amaze me, is all. Everything we’ve gone through? It would wreck most people. It has. This place has changed a lot of people for the worse, but not you. You’re still you. Sweet. Caring. Thoughtful. Compassionate. You have the weight of the world sitting on your shoulders, but you can still care about other people. You can still dance. And kiss me.” She darted in, pressing her lips against mine again. The kiss lingered and lasted forever. It also ended far too soon.

  “But more than that,” she said, easing back, “you make the people around you better. You bring out the best in people. Even Osmark. I was watching you with him.” She frowned, lips pressed into a line. “He’s lonely, I think. He comes off as cold and calculating and domineering, but I’m not sure he ever really wanted this.” She took her hand from my neck and traced a finger over the stubble on my chin. “He respects you, you know. Fundamentally disagrees with you, but he respects that you’ve held your line. I respect that about you, too.”