Endless Online: Oblivion's Price: A LitRPG Adventure - Book 3

by M. H. Johnson

  After that things had gotten choppy and his memories disjointed, but he remembered the screams. He remembered racing for his life and in blackest fury, the shots taking out innocent, confused men and women to either side of him as he dodged like mad for the tallest building in that ancient village, somehow having known the direction the instant death had streaked through the air, only confirmed with further shots.

  First so calm, then hasty. Too hasty. Only civilians had he hit after the first shot.

  Panicked fool should have run.

  And he had.

  Just a minute too late.

  Val had been expecting the grenade thrown out the side door to the building and had already ducked around the thick brick walls perhaps a thousand years old, shrapnel burying itself or ricocheting away.

  And when the assassin and his spotter burst out after a cold minute, pistols at the ready, Val had taken them out before they could pivot, before they could say a single word, the back of their skulls exploding outward as Val placed slugs between each of their surprised pairs of eyes.

  Too deadly, both of them, to not take out as fast as he damn well could. Both with the look of professionals in the instant before their faces had distorted in death, falling back with sickening crunches upon the remains of their shattered skulls. And then Val fled in the confusion. He had no chance at all to find out who their employer might have been.

  A 10 for 1. When Val got back to base camp, he made a few calls, end-running his increasingly incompetent CO. A sympathetic Colonel Yancey took the necessary steps, and an old friend of his father's let him know how it had to go. Val understood.

  A very angry, very powerful person of interest had been assured a lucrative contract if he could forgive certain tragedies that had ensued when his son had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. And in return, the US promised not to butcher every last one of the man's remaining sons.

  The deal had been accepted, a bitter man made a bit richer, the rest of his family unharmed, and one less enemy at Val's back.

  One less threat he had to take out.

  Val had understood in a flash at that moment, meeting his dad's eyes, that Val's contact had informed his father that day two years ago just how dark were the games his son was playing. And his father had never judged, even now gazing at his soon with pride, guilt, and love, blaming himself for the killing tool Val had been forged into, so damned good at his job.

  Smoothing ruffled feathers, coming to understandings. A 10 for 1. All ways of saying the same thing. A fat contract offered, an anonymous account filled with digital currency, utterly untraceable, even Gold Krugerrands for those with an appetite for such, if certain past transgressions were forgotten.

  And if their foe refused to accept, Val's dad would offer certain shadowy parties ten times his original bribe to take out his enemy. And everyone he knew and loved.

  Scorched earth policy. No room for ethics or mercy in these bitter games of survival. Of protecting one's own. And when the enemy understood that you were willing to play for the whole board, not a lick of regret or fear of consequence, only then could you earn a madman's respect.

  Everyone had someone they loved.

  Especially the most powerful, chilled to find that no matter how hard a target they thought themselves, finding out their alias, their wife's new address, the secret lover they had stashed away, the family they had broken off contact from... people with connections, with their fingers on the pulse of commerce and digital trade that made the world go around who could find out all their secrets in a handful of hours.

  When they realized how high the stakes really were, they were almost always willing to make a deal. Profitably, too. The government had many semi-competent contractors enjoying rich bounties all over the world.

  Those that didn't have family or loved ones and wouldn't play ball with the first generous offer were considered lone wolves that had to be taken out fast and hard. Fortunately, they almost never had the means or resources to be a significant threat.

  All this Val already knew, echoed perfectly in his father's eyes. And this was why he was increasingly reluctant to meet his dad's gaze. Sometimes he saw too much.

  Flashes of insight, rushing through Val's mind in a heartbeat, in the time it took him to give an awkward cough, his strained smile that of a young man embarrassed to have caused his father unnecessary trouble. Feigning innocence, ignorance, as if he really was a son come home from college or just about to start, and not the dark weapon with enemies who wanted him dead still.

  "Yeah, dad, let's order some pizza. Been a long time since I had a good deep-dish."

  His father grinned, brooding thoughts now firmly behind them both. "Sounds good! Come on, let's make it a movie night. I don't think I've shown you our new flat screen, have I? You'll love the surround-sound, and I've got subscriptions to every streaming service you could want. Of course, we could always watch some old family videos."

  Val chuckled at that. "Sure, dad, I love watching my brother look like an idiot."

  His dad smiled, and together they enjoyed beer, pizza, and warm memories, Val determined to savor what he knew he had taken for granted when he was younger, grateful to have the chance to do so now, doubly so to sense that his father, though cognitively fatigued, would be fine after a good night's sleep. His father cracked a yawn, startled, perhaps, to find himself so tired. "Wow, I'm beat, son, and it's only 5:30. I was thinking we could hit the weights or spar downstairs, but maybe I'll take a rain check on that."

  Val grinned and nodded. "Sleep is the body's natural repair mechanism. Maybe a good night's sleep will help you smack down a cold creeping up on you before the first symptoms hit."

  His father nodded at that. "A few more hours in the sack instead of three days feeling like crap? Sounds like a good trade to me. Will you be okay, Val?"

  Val smiled at his father's concern. "I'll be fine, dad. Maybe I'll hang out with Julia. Her mom thinks the helm is actually stimulating cortex growth. Maybe it will do the same for me."

  A soft chuckle. "You're right, actually. I never thought I'd see the day where Christine would be such an advocate of VR games, but I'll go with the flow on this one. And since we're being cautious about you being seen outside for the moment, I feel better knowing you're able to bond with a friend in the meantime, so I won't come down on you like I might if you were still in high school." He grinned. "It is nice, sharing meals with you though."

  Val smiled back. "And the fact that no one can trace or spy on this game, since technically we shouldn't even be able to get on without a server, is a major added bonus, the black cat VR helms aside. All things considered, this is almost as good as seeing her in person, and we can adventure together like old times."

  His father smiled. "She's a sweetheart, isn't she?"

  Val nodded. "She is, dad. She really is."

  His father tilted his head, his gaze catching Val's own. "If all goes well, she'll be heading to college next year. When you think about it, you're both being given a chance at a fresh start."

  Val felt his cheeks flush. "Are you saying I should enroll with her?"

  His father just patted his shoulder. "I'm off to bed. Tell Julia I said hi. It was great to see her the other day."

  "Goodnight, dad."

  "Goodnight, son."

  Val hit the weights in the basement that night, feeling strangely nostalgic for the well-lit, spacious rooms. Like having his own private gym, if lonely. One of the reasons why he used to invite his few close friends, fellow HEMA lovers, to come spar with him what now seemed a lifetime ago. He saw his wooden training blades, padded armor, and live steel blades he would use for test cutting cured pork and other cuts of meat long ago, before making hamburger or stew out of it, or feeding it to Lassie, his childhood golden retriever he had loved to death before she passed away during his senior year.

  Just for the heck of it, he went over and drew his prized 1796 cavalry saber from its sheath, happy to find it still in pris
tine condition, well protected by the liberal coating of oil he had applied before he had gone off to service. He smiled in recollection of having once used various organic oils, so the test cutting would leave edible meat not contaminated by mineral oil, and he supposed it was only his constant cleaning that kept it from getting rust, knowing he was lucky to have so few nicks in what was still a supremely sharp blade.

  He then picked up the well balanced but perfectly dull 1796 replica, far safer to train with, and began practicing old forms, surprised to find them coming back to him so quickly, so easily, the sword streaking through the air in a graceful series of cuts, feints, and ripostes against imaginary opponents as fast as he ever had, even at the height of his conditioning. It seemed perfectly natural to pick up his center grip shield hanging right where he had left it, altering his stance and practicing forms with the shield held close in, miming an occasional shield bash, then with the shield held at near full extension, though here the saber's tight circular slashing style was far less effective. Of course, the English cavalry saber was most often used without anything in the opposing hand.

  Val's eyes then turned to his custom-made migration era blade replica. His Viking sword, as he liked to think of it, and he found the tight hilt cupped his hand perfectly for the cleaving cuts he had trained to master with this style of blade, capable of giving deadly wrapping cuts with the back edge when slamming shield against shield, one's sword snaking around one's foe to tear out their hypothetical throats, or deliver vicious draw cuts along their back. Admittedly, it was not as graceful and quick as a saber with the wider arcs of its swings, as its center of balance was farther up the blade.

  That being said, he had never used a deadlier cutter than his Viking replica. Nothing cleaved through thick slabs of meat, bone and all, as effortlessly, not even his 1796. It wasn't designed to parry and riposte in a single beat like a smallsword or saber, so trying to duel without a shield to parry would probably get you killed. But with a shield for defense, it was a devastating melee weapon, and had a long and proud tradition in Scandinavia and throughout much of Europe, first in use over a thousand years ago.

  Val enjoyed practicing with it, miming controlling the center with his shield against a similarly armed opponent, beating him in the shield bind, trapping his foe's sword close, then cleaving through him with a vicious downward cut to the temple. For all that the grip was tight, its reach could be surprising and it could strike quickly if one flipped to pistol grip as one lashed out with a casting blow, the hand naturally curling around the pyramid-shaped pommel and lower grip. No one was sure exactly how Vikings had used their blades, but Val was strangely certain that the techniques he had learned would serve him well, even in a real-life encounter.

  His longsword he practiced with last of all, the blade he had mastered best, and for some reason he found himself paying exquisite attention to how he held it at all times. As if it could spell his death, were the blade even to brush against him. As if he held a hideous blade of crackling darkness just like the one he could swear that strange, crimson eyed man had been holding.

  Val stopped, heart racing, chilled to the quick. Only now, after near two hours of weapons practice, did he stop to wonder why he had been so unfazed by a hideous monster trying to manipulate his father's mind, protected by futuristic force fields and wielding a blade the exact opposite of the ones used in his favorite movies?

  Val shook his head, having no good answer at all, just sensing that playing dumb to the man's presence, not even letting his dad think about what had happened to him, was the best play he could possibly make. And save for diligently checking the family security system twice so far that afternoon, he had behaved as he always would.

  Already well warmed up, legs throbbing with what had effectively been a great workout with his shifts, pivots, and low stance, he hit the weight machines and convenient shower before calling it a night and heading to bed.

  11

  "Hey, you're back! Good to see you, man, how you doing?"

  Val smiled at Chris who he had met too briefly the night before, presently enjoying the luxurious hospitalities of this villa, now waving Val over to share a basket of ripe fruit and a glass from a pitcher of the same sangria-like drink they had had before. Val happily accepted, delighting that the VR helm allowed for such visceral sensations of taste.

  "Hey, Chris," Val said, pumping the taller man's hand. "Sorry I didn't get a chance to stick around yesterday and introduce myself better, but you already figured out my role: newbie mage. Me and Yin both."

  The larger man smiled. "Yin's a sweetheart. Never took up HEMA or put points to flash learn any ancient weapon style, but she's a natural with Judo, and if you're fully armored, that can come in damn handy if you rush inside an opponent's reach."

  Val nodded. "That's right. I was a bit of a HEMA buff, awhile back. Heavily armored knights trained with poleaxe, wrestling, and daggers as well. That way, when and if the clash turned to grappling, which it so often did with both people protected by field plate, the winner was whoever could flip the other to the ground and demand ransom with Rondel dagger to eye-slit or throat."

  Chris grinned. "My man knows his stuff! Excellent. Yeah, I used to wrestle in high school and after I enlisted. A man skilled in boxing and wrestling can take down a lot of opponents."

  Val nodded at that.

  Chris gestured towards where their training gear was set up. "Bossman isn't here yet. You up for a little bit of sparring?"

  Val grinned. "I'd like that."

  "Awesome! You've already got that Empire, I mean Dominion armor on. Damn, this is so like the movies I sometimes forget! Anyway, unlike the movies where everyone falls over the instant they were hit, the shit you're wearing is great for blocking laser fire and most animal bites, especially their shields, but they can chip or crack if you hit it hard enough with even a blunt steel training blade. Just put on one of the padded suits of hardened rawhide plates over a gambeson, and we'll be good to go."

  Val nodded, the pair quickly helping each other suit up, noting the modified shield was still Dominion in origin if beefier, rimmed in what looked like hammered steel.

  "Good eye," Chris noted. "Yeah, like I said, these shields are epic protection from lasers, but if you hit the rim with enough force, you can chip or crack it. Dirk had the idea of just giving it a reinforced rim, so it can still block laser fire and hold up to enemies smashing the rim! So far, it's worked great. In fact, Dirk will probably give you one of these modified babies as well as whatever else you need before we roll with our latest mission."

  Val raised a curious brow. "We've got a mission? I'm game! But I thought Dirk was all big on training us like soldiers in boot camp until he knew all our strengths and weaknesses and could use us to best effect?"

  Chris grimaced. "Yeah. About that. You see this awesome oversized villa we're living the life of luxury in?"

  Val nodded.

  "Well, the thing is, it's not really ours."

  "Ah."

  "No, we didn't steal it or anything. The former administrator, Vidalos, gave us free rein as thanks for saving his family from a group of rebels, not that long ago. Only the Dominion heads are still in an uproar ever since the game designers launched this latest expansion and took so many servers offline when they blew up the Doomstar... shit, there I go again, I mean the dreadnought with their chief mind-lord floating up in the sky. Anyway, now all the high-ups are doing that game of thrones shit, where they're all knee-deep in intrigue, deciding who gets to be the new leader, Overlord, whatever."

  Val felt his spine turn to ice with those words, and he had no idea why.

  Chris frowned. "Hey, are you okay, man? We can take a rain check if you just want to chill."

  "No, Chris, I'm good," Val assured. "Julia already explained to me that completing a special quest chain earned you rights to use this gubernatorial palace, but that it wasn't yours outright. Still, I thought the administrator who runs it was supposed to be etern
ally grateful to you guys or something. So what does this Doomstar or whatever blowing up have to do with you all getting the boot?"

  Chris actually grinned. "There's the rub. Everything! And this must be how the designers are developing the world, giving us first gen characters a chance to be a part of it all, before opening the servers back up. That's my guess, anyway."

  Val's brows furrowed. "Break it down for me, Chris."

  He nodded. "Sure, man. Val, right? Okay. The higher-ups have been playing musical chairs with all the administrators... think of a world run by governors under one big senate, and a king for life. The king's been killed, the neighboring world king of Jordia, Overlord Tyranus I think his name was, is looking our way, and the Highlord senate is trying to decide who will take their fallen king's place. In the meantime, the non-magical administrators are being shuffled here and there as part of their power plays, and the new governor set to come here by the end of the month has made it clear that he doesn't give a shit about past favors rendered. He hates Terrans, and he wants us gone."

  Val frowned. "I don't see any silver lining there, Chris."

  Chris's smile widened as he picked up a sword and shield very much like the one Val had sparred with just the night before, handing Val an identical pair. "Come on. Greatswords are my thing, but Dirk needs shieldmen to cover the wizards more than anything else. I need to practice, and I can tell by your stance you've held these tools before, or put some points in sword and shield. Good man!"

  Val winced. Talking to Chris was educational, he seemed a decent guy giving off major varsity football player vibes, but getting concise information from him felt like pulling teeth.

  "Okay, here's the thing," Chris said, dropping into a half crouch, leading with his shield, and Val sensed he was actually going to continue talking while they fought. "The Dominion is very big on their contracts."