Viridian Gate Online: The Jade Lord: A litRPG Adventure (The Viridian Gate Archives Book 3)

by James Hunter

  The soft chanting started again as we headed into the secret tunnel, winding our way down a claustrophobic hall lined with more bones and bits of scale. We emerged into an enormous rounded chamber with an arched ceiling and thick gray walls. Along the back wall, directly ahead, hung a beautiful crimson tapestry: an exquisitely woven thing, depicting some epic battle from long ago. A monstrous dragon posed mid-swoop, while a Murk Elf man waited, his feet spread wide, his beefy sword upraised. Behind them was a volcano, frozen in time as it spewed magma and smoke into the sky.

  The final battle between the Jade Lord and the Sky Maiden, no doubt.

  Everyone stared at the mesmerizing piece in utter silence, except for Cutter, of course, who let out a soft whistle, then mumbled, “I wonder what that’d go for on the Black Market,” under his breath.

  “It’s priceless, I can assure you,” the Priestess replied, strutting across the room, then lightly—reverently—trailing her fingers over the fabric. “We have many treasures here. Not just the belt you’ve come in search of. We have tomes of forgotten knowledge, some even dictated by the Sky Maiden, Arzokh. We have dragon bone weapons. We have ritual spells. But this tapestry is among our most valued possessions. For its beauty, of course, but more so because like these other artifacts”—she touched the belt fondly, then gestured toward my crown—“it contains a bit of her essence, though willingly given. With it, we can see her mind. Her memories. Some of them, anyway.”

  She wheeled, robes flashing out. “Sky Maiden Arzokh, these visitors would know the truth about your Downfall. They would know your tale.” As the words left her mouth the floor began to tremble, to shake, bits of dust raining down as piles of bone, strewn around the room, danced and clattered. Then, the gorgeous tapestry shifted—morphed and changed—as the picture sewn into the fabric took on a strange semblance of life. It was like watching a movie made of embroidery and silk. The volcano in the background zoomed forward, consuming the tapestry, as a voice, stately and female, boomed in the air:

  “They came for the gold,” the voice said. “Svartalfar miners, sent by the Jade King and his brothers.” On the tapestry, a host of Dwarves—squat, bearded men with pickaxes slung over their shoulders—trudged through thick grass with their heads bowed. Ahead of them, riding on an immense ebony puma, was Nangkri. “I’d been hibernating for a hundred years, then,” the voice came again, “while my mate, Irrinth, stood watch over the mount. I woke for the hatching, though. You see, the great volcano lies dormant, often for many years—hundreds of years—but it always wakes, eventually. And, when it does, it spews molten gold up from the bowels of the world.”

  Suddenly, the mining party was gone and we were inside the volcano, perched on a wide brim of rock pitted with shallow pools of burbling liquid gold. In each pit were eggs, each the size of a basketball, their shells shimmering with metallic rainbow light. Like giant diamonds held up to the sun. There were twenty or so in total. “The Jade King knew this thing,” the voice said. “He knew of the gold. Knew it was protected by fierce dragons, though he didn’t know of the eggs or that the gold was necessary for them to hatch. To survive. He soon learned, though.” The voice paused, engulfing us in a sad, sullen silence. “Not that it changed anything,” she finished.

  A hole appeared in the side of the volcano as a pickaxe burst through, accompanied by a brilliant shaft of sunlight, followed shortly by a Dwarf. Then, another Dwarf, and another still. “I was weak, too weak even to move,” the voice said, “but Irrinth, he fought.” A dragon with slick green scales, not much larger than Devil, threw himself from the ledge, taking wing over the volcanic fumes and burbling lava, then diving at the invading miners. “The battle was fierce—my Irrinth was a warrior to his core—but the Jade Lord had powerful magics and a quick wit.”

  In an instant, the dragon was on the floor, wings broken, hide scorched, one eye gone, while the Jade Lord stood over him, his face somber as his sword whooshed down. Emerald scales and pink muscle parted as Irrinth’s head rolled away from a flailing neck, leaking viscous golden blood. Dead. Murdered. “Nangkri didn’t stop there, though. No, he and his miners came for the gold. I pleaded with them, too weak to fight, but strong enough to speak. To explain. They didn’t listen …” Mining picks smashed through fragile multicolored eggshells; young dragons, only partially formed, squealed as they died. “Just business. That’s what the Jade Lord told me. He needed to finance a war so that he could defend his kingdom.”

  The voice died away and the vivid images on the tapestry faded, reverting to the picture we’d first seen.

  “It hurts her to remember,” the Priestess murmured, tears welling in her eyes. “The Jade Lord, burdened by guilt, spared her—an act he very much regretted later because eventually she regained her strength and flew south, consumed by revenge and rage. The Jade Lord killed her, then, but only after she extracted a terrible price upon his kingdom. Afterward, driven by a blind rage, Nangkri formed these artifacts, trapping a portion of the Sky Maiden’s soul so she would never be able to leave the Twilight Lands and enter Kuonela, where the souls of her mate and children wait for her. The only way to free her from her fate is to gather the three artifacts of the Jade Lord and destroy them—”

  “That is enough,” Amara spat, slashing one hand through the air as though to physically cut off the words. “Lies. Deception. As I said. Lord Nangkri and his brothers were honorable men, they would never do such a disgusting act. You and your foul magic pervert the truth, and shake us from our purpose.”

  “Amara, maybe we should finish hearing her out,” I hedged, uncertain. I wanted to believe the Dark Conclave’s version of events, but this wouldn’t have been the first time in history a leader had done something terrible for the sake of power, then covered it up. Heck, that’s sort of what world leaders did. “I mean all that stuff happened a long time ago. How do we know the Dark Conclave didn’t—”

  “No, I will hear no more of it,” Amara snapped, wheeling and bolting for the door, leaving the way we’d come, the ghost of tears building in her eyes.

  Cutter shot me a tight-lipped grimace, then turned and went after her. “Amara,” he called, feet click-clacking on the stone floor.

  “The truth can be hard to hear at times,” the Priestess said, watching them go with a frown. “The Jade Lord and his kin are the most honored ancestors in the Murk Elf society—to hear this tale is to lower their eyes before their ancestors. A grave sin.” She shrugged and folded her hands. “But such is the way of truth at times.”

  “Jack,” Abby said, grabbing my sleeve and offering me a fake smile. “Can we speak privately for a moment?” She didn’t even let me answer; instead, she hauled me over to the other side of the room. “Look, we can’t do this, Jack,” she said in a whisper. “We can’t. Either we need to find a peaceable solution or we need to abandon this quest.”

  “What?” I said, genuinely shocked, though trying to keep my voice down. “You can’t be serious. Obviously, what happened is awful—assuming it’s true and it might not be—but we need these artifacts, Abby. We need them. We don’t have any choice. Osmark is breathing down our neck, but if we unite the Storme Marshes … it’ll change everything. Besides, it’s not like any of that stuff really happened. This is a bit of tragic backstory some overzealous Dev came up with. There was no Sky Maiden. No Jade Lord. No massacre.” I paused, glancing over a shoulder, making sure no one was close enough to overhear. “It’s a game, Abby. But this war with Osmark? That’s real.”

  She folded her arms across her chest, wilting beneath my words as she chewed on her bottom lip. “Look,” she finally said, “everything you’re saying is true. But this all feels off, Jack. This whole scenario”—she waved her arms around at the temple—“it’s exactly like the story we just heard, except we’re the bad guys. Think about it. Nangkri killed Arzokh and her family, who were all innocent, in order to fund a war for the greater good of the Storme Marshes. That’s messed up, right? But now here we are, preparing to kil
l a bunch of innocent people in order to go kill Arzokh again—all in order to help our own war effort.

  “The parallels are too close for comfort,” she continued. “It feels like history is repeating itself, and not in a good way. Plus, this seems a lot like what Osmark’s done. The things we’re fighting against. I mean, he broke laws, hurt people, and made a lot of morally questionable decisions—teaming up with Carrera, and others like him—all in service to the ‘greater good.’” She used air quotes, showing exactly what she thought of his motivations. “I’ll support you whatever you decide, but I’m not sure we should do this. Just call it gut instinct.”

  I blew out my cheeks and absently ran a hand through my hair. She was right, of course. Killing a bunch of innocent people—well, potentially innocent, I reminded myself—was exactly the kind of thing Osmark would do. At the same time, we did need that belt. It could change everything. I glanced away, unable to meet Abby’s gaze, entirely unsure what to do.

  Before I could make any decision, though, a shout rang out—Cutter, yelling an inarticulate curse—followed by the ring of steel on steel. “What treachery is this?” the Priestess hissed, lips pulled back in a snarl, one hand dropping to a small bronze knife riding her hip. “You are no better than the Jade Lord, then. Merciless killers. I’d hoped this could end differently, but if it is a battle you demand, then none of you will leave here alive.”

  And just like that, the decision was out of my hands: the Priestess pulled her dagger free and began chanting as the bones, piled around the room, rattled and danced along the floor, rising into the air.

  TWENTY-FOUR:

  Bones and Battle

  The Priestess chanted, and as she did she morphed into something new and terrible. Her skin sprouted thick green scales—tough as plate mail, no doubt—her limbs elongated, her fingers grew gleaming black talons, and a reptilian tail broke free, lashing wildly at the air. Her nose melted away, replaced by a pair of flat slits, her eyes took on a golden hue, and her mouth filled with row after row of needle-sharp teeth. She wasn’t a dragon, but she sure wasn’t human. She was something else, somewhere in between.

  Meanwhile, the bones from the floor continued to swirl in a miniature tornado, ancient magic sculpting and welding them together. A broken and distorted skull took shape, filled with jagged tearing fangs, followed by a serpentine neck of yellow bone. Squat legs and powerful arms materialized in a flash, connected to a streamlined torso cobbled together from broken shards of bone and dusty rock. A whipping tail came next, along with powerful wings. In seconds, the frame of a dragon, a little longer than Devil, hung patiently in the air. Then, the oddest thing of all happened: the magical tapestry tore free from the wall, flew along on a powerful gust of air, then wrapped around the conjured creature, creating a thin skin of colorful fabric.

  Oh no.

  I moved on instinct, pushing away all of my uncertainty as I summoned Devil from the Shadowverse. The dread lizard emerged in a puff of sooty smoke, took one quick scan of the room, then bolted into action, propelling himself into the air. He flew like a torpedo and slammed into the necrotic bone dragon like a freight train. Their bodies came together with a thunderclap that shook the room and reverberated in my teeth before both creatures dropped to the ground in a tangle of limbs, thrashing wings, and snapping jaws.

  The tapestry-clad Bone Dragon was a force of nature to be sure, but Devil was no slouch in a fight—especially not with a bit of backup. With a thought and another effort of will, I summoned Nikko to the fray, grinning as the chimp exploded into existence and took wing, soaring among the bone rafters above. Help Devil, I sent. Nikko offered a primal howl in confirmation and swooped toward the battling dread lizards, dropping onto the Bone Dragon’s neck, then digging down with teeth and claws, ripping bits of fabric and bone free.

  I spun around, turning my attention back to the Priestess.

  Forge was in front of her, lashing out with his magically imbued axe and dodging her brutal strikes in return. Vlad loitered ten feet away, lobbing Frost Orbs at the Priestess’s back while trying to stay more or less invisible. But even two on one, the pair was severely outclassed. Forge’s strikes, when they landed, did almost no lasting damage. A shifting barrier of fiery magic clung to the Priestess like a second skin, absorbing the blows with ease as she attacked with her bronzed dagger in one hand and a spectral sword of molten flame in the other.

  And Vlad, try as he might, never seemed to land a solid hit, period. She was just too fast, too nimble: a major-league Battle Summoner, with some serious agility. Great. Even worse, it wasn’t just the Priestess or her pet dragon we had to worry about.

  Nope.

  Wild-eyed cultists were pouring in from the adjoining hallway, forcing Cutter and Amara back as swords flashed and spears jabbed. The Thief and the Ranger fought like a pair of desert whirlwinds, Cutter hurling conjured daggers, Amara firing meticulously well-placed arrows, both ducking and dodging with practiced ease. But there were simply too many Disciples. On top of that, many of the Disciples were spellcasters—a combination of Clerics and Shamans—and they used their defensive abilities to absorb attacks or deflect them outright while protecting a small group of frontline fighters leading the charge.

  Thankfully, Abby was leveling the playing field—at least a little. She unleashed her trio of flame serpents, which darted among the cultists, and they laid in with reckless, murderous abandon. Attacking with flaming fangs and wildfire tails. Dragging down the unwary in a blink. Strangling or incinerating them before moving on. With that done, Abby started hurling fireball after fireball with her right hand while simultaneously summoning a single firewall with her left, funneling the invaders away from Forge and the Priestess. Watching her was like watching a maestro conduct a symphony of fire and death: terrifying, but strangely captivating.

  I cast Shadow Forge—a wash of purple light momentarily enveloping my team and me as the active aura took hold—followed immediately by Umbra Bog. Black tentacles of writhing power emerged from beneath the feet of the onrushing cultists, snaring arms and legs, pinning them down, which gave Cutter, Amara, and Abby a little breathing room.

  The quarters were far too cramped for Plague Burst or Umbra Flame, so instead, I opted for a couple of Umbra Bolts. The spell itself didn’t do much damage against the spell-shielded warriors and casters, but since I’d upgraded Umbra Bolt to the Journeyman level, it now had a 10% chance to confuse enemies, causing them to attack other hostile forces randomly. The first three blasts landed without much effect, but the fourth smacked into one of the frontline brawlers—a stout female Dwarf in leather armor, wielding a shortsword—who turned and promptly jabbed it into one of the Clerics behind her.

  Satisfied, I pulled a Spirit Regen potion from my belt, killed the thing in one long pull, then spun, focusing on the Priestess, since she was clearly the biggest threat … Well, the Bone Dragon was the biggest threat—both literally and metaphorically—but he was a minion, which meant if I could take the Priestess out, he would fall too. Just because she was smaller in size didn’t mean she wasn’t dangerous, though. Forge had been battling her for all of twenty seconds, he’d received only a handful of direct hits, and already his HP was down by half. She, by contrast, was still sitting well above 90%.

  I charged her, bolting right and swinging around in an attempt to flank her. I closed the distance in a heartbeat and unleashed a concentrated column of Umbra Flame.

  The conjured fire momentarily engulfed her, but a golden barrier of light exploded out a second later, stopping my flames dead. The Priestess shot me a withering look—her now reptilian face contorted in rage—and blitzed me. Her conjured sword, burning with the heat of a volcano, whooshed toward me like a buzz saw. I ducked low, and the blade narrowly whipped over my head as I shot in with my warhammer, jabbing the cruel spike into her gut while triggering Savage Blow. My weapon landed with a wet thud, penetrating her robes, drawing a thin trickle of blood.

  Despite that, the atta
ck did next to nothing to her overall HP. For being a spellcaster, this lady sure could take a hit.

  I pulled the weapon free with a grunt and dived left, rolling beneath an incoming sword swipe, bringing my weapon screaming through the air in an arc. She was quick, though—even quicker than me—and diverted the attack with a flick of her blade, following up with a wicked-fast riposte, which scored a nasty gash across my left shoulder. I gritted my teeth and ignored the burst of pain, feinting left, then lunging right. My warhammer met empty air, and before I could reposition myself, a raw javelin of silver force sucker punched me in the chest.

  The assault cost me a fifth of my HP, hurt worse than a mule kick to the ribs, and left me wheezing for precious air. I wanted to drop into a ball and die right then, but instead, I kept my feet through force of will. Unfortunately, she followed up immediately with another attack: she leaned forward, arms thrust back, jaws stretched wide, and vomited a torrent of raw fire, thick as a telephone pole. Panicked, I triggered Shadow Stride, zipping into the Shadowverse as the geyser of flame crawled to a herky-jerky halt a few feet away. I took a deep breath and swiped a hand across my forehead, obliterating the thin sheen of perspiration threatening to drip into my eyes, and skirted around to her backside.

  I dropped into a crouch, preparing my attack, then took my remaining time to recuperate and survey the battlefield.

  Devil and the Bone Dragon were still locked in combat, but sadly Devil seemed to be losing. The slightly larger Bone Dragon had straddled my Drake, pinning his front legs to the ground; his crushing jaws were inches away from taking a chunk out of Devil’s exposed neck. Only Nikko—clinging wildly to the Bone Dragon’s head, digging her claws into burning eye sockets—stood in the way.