Stunlocked: A LitRPG Thriller (Kings and Conquests Book 2)

by Shane Lochlann Black

  “It’s the path least trodden,” Jason said. “Way less competition. More risk, but a four to one income advantage.”

  “If that’s true, we will level faster too,” Rich said contemplatively. “The only problem is our combat skills. If we get caught out in the open in some kind of crossfire, we’re screwed. Neither of these characters can fight worth a shit.”

  “Well, maybe we can buy ourselves some muscle?” Jason replied. “As long as we can afford the rates, there’s nothing stopping even a level one from hiring henchmen and setting them to react to an attack. In fact, if we join the Salt Bandits, we can probably hire some pretty scary guys.”

  “And this doesn’t hamstring us at the other end? When we build our treasure team, we’ll still be able to get the quests we want and we won’t get hassled by the crown guards every time we order lunch?”

  “Once we start making enough money and buy enough NPCs off, the government of Yarshire will be working for us, not the other way around.”

  “Fuck it. Let’s do it. Hire us a level ten gorilla and set him to kill anyone who looks at us funny. Show me what we should do. I’ll follow you.”

  Rich selected Jason’s character in the game world and set his own character to follow. Rhanis turned towards the Yarshire wharf and began running through the rustic streets of the seaside village. The wood of the buildings was bleached and dried out, and the roofs of most of the shops were home to various kinds of seabirds. The NPCs all looked aged and worn out. Some wore protective fisherman’s gear. Others wore dingy and stained dresses and tunics. Almost all wore heavy boots. Rich and Jason knew well the hazards of low-quality footwear in Yarshire. It was the means by which residents knew the difference between tourists, visitors and people with authentic business.

  Rhanis navigated his way through the boxes, nets, discarded buckets, fish markets and rope until he reached the not-quite-savory section of the Yarshire wharf. Posted along the half-sunk merchantmen and transport boats were several unsavory-looking types, which Rich immediately assumed were colorful characters with stories to tell that would be far more entertaining than what the afternoon population of the auction house had to offer.

  “We’ll have to pay one of these guys for information that kicks off the first quest. I’m told it starts with a map. If you get offered that one, take it.”

  It took a grand total of 41 seconds for Jason to find the right quest giver. He paid the five gold bribe and took a copy of the map, then shared the quest with Peredone.

  “This is a minimum level six quest. We’re going to get crunched!”

  “Not if we go talk to this guy,” Jason said. Rhanis made his way to the far end of the dock, and stood before a misshapen only partially human combination quest giver and merchant named “Lood.” The NPC was level 66 and was armed with twin boat hooks. He wore a wide floppy hat that looked as if it were never fully dry.

  “Level 66! If this guy adjusts my collar it would instantly kill me!” Rich exclaimed.

  “Just relax. He’s the guy we’re going to hire our level ten gorilla from.”

  After several rounds of negotiation, which were unfairly burdened by the fact neither Jason nor Rich had bothered to acquire even a single point of skill in diplomacy, persuasion, intrigue or anything else resembling bargaining skills, Lood offered to assign them a bodyguard during their current quest for 100 gold monarchs.

  “We have to pay every time we hire this guy?”

  “Until we get a better faction reputation with the Salt Pirates, we’re going to have to pay full price for everything we order. Later, we may end up not needing bodyguards, as our reputation will precede us and discourage would be wanna-bes from screwing with our operation.” Jason replied. “It’s all part of a process of getting to a point where Yarshire is more afraid of us than we are of it.”

  “We’re going to be in this town for a long time, aren’t we?”

  “Probably. We’ve got plenty of funds to get us through the quest series, provided we maintain our trajectory towards building a treasure hunting team. If we are also high level Pirates, that could end up being a rather potent combination.” Jason said.

  “We’re going to have to do some unsavory stuff,” Rich replied.

  “The more unsavory, the faster we build reputation. The good news is once we overcome the low-level thug stigma, we’ll have an easier time dealing with sales and we won’t be stuck with the price limitations of the front-door auctions.”

  “I want a boat.”

  “I want a ship and a boat to go with it.”

  “Think we should tell Joe about our change in plans?”

  A level ten hand-to-hand melee combat specialist materialized next to Lood. He was apparently the same race and had a name equally as beautiful and lyrical as his boss: “Goom.” He added himself to Peredone and Rhanis’ party and immediately set his combat options to “defensive.”

  “All we have to do now is piss off whatever we want to kill and wait for it to get close enough,” Jason replied. “Wonder what this will do for our looting enterprise?”

  “Let’s go find out.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Attention Highwayman: Get your ass logged in. Shit is going down hard at the castle. That is all.”

  The text arrived moments after Jordan and Alyssa had pulled into the eastbound lanes of Interstate 40 not far from Albuquerque. The Condor V pulled off the highway at the next exit and rushed back to the diner with the superior wi-fi. The “Lone Star Grill.” They had just left.

  “I guess we’re going to need to double up on that iced tea,” Jordan said as he hauled his and Alyssa’s Airship laptops out of the trunk and half-ran back through the glass doors with her.

  “Back again so soon?” said the nice waitress lady. It was understandable. The two millionaire gamers had been her only table for hours. The $100 tip also made her rather friendly. “What can I get you?”

  “Is there a table near a power outlet?”

  Moments later, both players were logged in. Their pings were fluctuating between 100 and 160, but at least they could do something to help defend Shon Cloud. And by the looks of things, Shon Cloud needed a lot of defending.

  Highwayman zoned in where he had logged out, right next to the enormous steel and iron door he had commissioned to protect the Safekeep ingots. The door was intact, and the two level fifteen elite Lishian guards Ciera had posted to defend it were on duty and looked just as formidable as they did when they first arrived. Jordan opened the vault just to be certain and verified the sarcophagus and all sixty platinum ingots were still intact. He locked the door again and had Ciera refresh her orders to the two guards to defend the vault at all costs.

  Then she assigned two more guards to the same post.

  Highwayman and Ciera rushed up the stone stairs to the main keep. The interior of the growing fortress was still essentially a work camp. The outpost, worker barracks and general supply didn’t look like they would last long in a real fight. Fortunately, the delivery of Gorian stone had provided the Shon Cloud’s Lord with some more advanced options. The entire complex was now surrounded by ten foot walls with bonuses against bludgeoning and battering. There were no fewer than six short bastions, each with its own reinforced battlements. Highwayman hadn’t had enough raw materials to build the barbican he wanted, but it was next on the list of priorities.

  The iron-reinforced Gorian stone main hall near the center of Shon Cloud’s bailey was designed to be the facility’s inner keep. It was twice as tall as the original three structures, and protected the single lower-level of the fortress where the vault and provisions storage were located.

  Nash, Arianne and Thiridion were all stationed on the roof of the main hall, which was coincidentally the only structure inside the walls that allowed anyone inside the keep to see beyond the battlements. The main hall was roughly six feet taller than the walls themselves, and had battlements of its own. An observation tower was on the list of improvements, but withou
t further shipments of stone, further structures would have to wait.

  Highwayman was about to climb the wooden scaffolding to the roof of the main hall when he realized Ciera was not only practically unprotected, but likely the key to everyone’s survival if the attackers somehow broke through the gate.

  “You need armor,” Jordan said. “Go to the general supply and see what’s available. There should be an armor and weapons merchant in there.”

  “I have ceremonial armor,” Alyssa replied. “Will that help?”

  “Put it on. Let me see the stats.”

  Alyssa brought up her character page and quickly scrolled through her stored inventory. Jordan watched over her shoulder.

  “Where the hell did you get all that stuff?”

  “Princesses don’t go to war without their luggage.” Alyssa stopped at her apparel tree and slowly scrolled. “Here is some ‘Athaneum Chain.’"

  Jordan’s mouth hung open. The armor in Ciera’s inventory had four times the defensive value of his own.

  Athaneum Chain

  Heraldry: Daean

  Rare Chainmail Armor - Body Slot

  Requires Level 35

  Armor Value: 485

  Shock Defense: 40

  Solid: 100

  +8 Will

  +2 Might

  Improvements: None

  Enchantments: None

  Engraving: None

  Decoration: None

  “Where did you find that?” Jordan asked in an incredulous tone.

  “It came with the character. We got to choose from all kinds of stuff when we started. I picked this one because it’s pretty. I like the colors.”

  “You picked your armor because you liked the colors?”

  “Hey, you better be nice to me. I’m the only reason you’re going to get out of this alive, you know.”

  “Well, I can’t argue with that. What have you got in the way of weapons?”

  “Oh, there’s tons of those, but they’re all jeweled and frilly.”

  “Do you have any weapons skills at all?”

  “I have twenty six points in dagger weapon skill.”

  “Good enough. Find the highest level dagger you can equip.”

  Once again, Alyssa scrolled through her stored inventory. Sure enough, there were at least two dozen ceremonial weapons, most of which were valuable, but of limited use in real combat. The daggers were all worth hundreds of gold monarchs, but Jordan took one look at their damage output and craftsmanship and decided on another course of action.

  “Here, get this one from the general supply instead.”

  Footman’s Dagger

  Common One-Handed Weapon

  Requires Level 5

  Damage Range: 5-15

  Attacks per Round: 1.5

  Attacks Power: 80

  Solid: 40

  +1 Quickness on Attack Only

  Improvements: None

  Enchantments: None

  Engraving: None

  Decoration: None

  “That’s boring!”

  “It will keep you alive. You have to remember you have about ten times the health of any of us. It will take either a lucky hit equivalent to a lottery win or forty guys with shotguns to finish you off. That’s our ace in the hole.”

  “Well, okay, but only if I get to have the nickname ‘Ace’ from now on.”

  “Done. Let’s get to the roof.”

  Once Highwayman and Ciera had made the necessary arrangements, they joined the rest of the Shon Cloud civil defense authority on the roof of the main hall.

  In the Albuquerque diner, Jordan and Alyssa were drawing confused looks from the sleepy breakfast rush, which consisted of about nine people total. With their microphone headsets, expensive Airship laptops and mobile phones, the two young adventurers looked like they were trying to talk the stewardess through landing a passenger jet in a 1970s air disaster film.

  Meanwhile, the situation along the Natsein coast was worsening. Unlike the other buildings in the complex, the Shon Cloud main hall structure’s roof was built on the concept of it being used as a platform for all kinds of operations including stationing archers, launching artillery or command and control of ground forces. The entire building was reinforced throughout its interior. Even the underground level was little more than an overbuilt iron and stone foundation with metal-core columns every eight feet.

  What reassured both Highwayman and the rest of the No-Name Guild was this main hall design was only one option in the most basic level of structures. There was a voluminous list of upgrades that could be performed, provided they could withstand the onslaught facing them on this crisp Natsein morning.

  “What’s going on?!”

  “Nice of you to join us, my Lord Highwayman!” came Robb’s predictably acerbic greeting. “Basically, today is delivery day for shit by air mail!”

  “Where is Dave?”

  "4884 is parked at the forward gate, scaring the shit out of the battering ram detail.”

  Jordan looked. Sure enough, 4884 was involved in what appeared to be a long-running argument with someone on the other side of the keep’s main gate. He gritted his teeth in fresh frustration at the fact he hadn’t yet obtained his barbican. It would have solved a number of problems in addition to providing a defense for this kind of assault. Unfortunately, without a proper gatehouse, there was no way to mount a formal defense of the gate itself. Shon Cloud would have to rely on what defenses it could muster along the standard battlements.

  “What about the dock?”

  “Doesn’t seem to be drawing much attention. None of our ships are armed, but we do have six of the elite guards posted there just in case!” Marc said. Jordan had to admit he was more than a little impressed by their ability to convene an ad hoc conference call in the middle of a castle siege.

  “Supplies?”

  “Everything was delivered before these assholes showed up,” Robb replied.

  “I don’t think this is a siege. I think they are planning to smash down the gate and take the complex over,” Marc added.

  “How many guards did we get from Ciera’s request?”

  “Forty. We have ten at the gate, four at the vault, six at the docks and the rest waiting for orders.” Dave replied.

  “I need to see what we’re up against. Everyone stay here.” Highwayman made his way towards the scaffolding.

  “Careful there, my Lord castle-man,” Robb said. “They have archers.”

  “They’re going to have a tough time targeting me,” Jordan replied. Highwayman clambered down the wooden scaffolding and quickly ran across the bailey to the gate. The argument between 4884 and the attackers had graduated to banging and rattling the wooden barrier. Highwayman powered up the stone steps to the battlements and looked out across the eastern approaches to the complex. In the distance were what appeared to be two companies of infantry. One was equipped with a catapult. The other was more numerous, but had no heavy units.

  Closer to the complex stood about eight horsemen, two of which appeared to be officers of some kind. At the gates were a rabble of what looked like conscripts wrestling with a makeshift battering ram precariously balanced on three oxcarts.

  “Nash! Get your mutant ass up here to the gate!” Jordan snapped. “I have targets for you!”

  “But I just ordered eggs benedict!”

  “Now, you insect-conjuring twat!”

  Alyssa smiled as the others on the six way voice chat laughed. Nash came traipsing across the bailey. On this fine morning he was wearing a red bandana, a tan peasant’s tunic and trousers and a pair of elaborate harlequin festival shoes complete with the curled toes. Running along behind him was a small monkey carrying a metal cup. It was also frolicking about as if imitating its owner.

  “Would you knock it off with the safety dance and get up here, please?”

  “So impatient!” Nash and his simian companion finally made their way to the battlements and saw what Highwayman could see: two hundred pou
nds of firewood only a few yards away.

  “Nobody move! It is time for one of my mutantly delicious masterpieces! I have no idea what’s going to happen next, so hold on to your make out partners!”

  Nash held out his hands as if preparing for the downbeat of an orchestral overture. Then, out of nowhere, he began laughing maniacally. At first, Jordan was impatient. That is, until the monkey started laughing too. A cry of surprise and rage bubbled up from the area outside the walls. Highwayman looked, and could not believe what he was seeing.

  What appeared to be at least a half dozen chickens made of fire were running in all directions around and around the attackers. As they frantically flapped and crowed, feathers flew into the air and drifted back down to Earth. Some landed on the dirt. Others landed on the battering ram and the oxcarts. While this wouldn’t be a problem with normal chickens, these were mutant sorcery chickens, which meant their feathers were also made of fire. In a matter of seconds, the battering ram was burning in several places. The attackers tried to suffocate the flames, but only succeeded in frightening the fiery chickens further. What ensued was a delightful scene of unhinged higgledy piggledy.

  Attackers ran in circles trying to catch the chickens, which was about as likely as one of them sprouting wings himself. It also posed the question of what they would do with a flaming chicken if they managed to catch it in the first place.

  Jordan had to admit he was quite impressed. Nash had come a long way in his magical studies, not to mention his aptitude for entertainment.

  “Do you approve? I call it ‘Fried Chicken,'" Robb said. “Buh-CAWK!”

  The NNG voice channel roared with laughter.

  An arrow punched into Nash’s shoulder. A red '91' appeared over his head and faded. Robb was shocked back into reality and hastily guided his character off the ramparts and back inside the safety of the fortress walls.

  “Marc, get up here. We need healing!”

  “Open the gate! Let me out there so I can dismantle the battering ram!” Dave shouted.

  “Thiridion is pretty low level for this stuff, Jordan!” Amy said. “If he gets hit by one of those archers, he’s toast!”