Viridian Gate Online: Nomad Soul: A litRPG Adventure (The Illusionist Book 1)

by D. J. Bodden

  I took a left, the way I’d come. I made it half a block before I crossed someone’s path—a well-dressed Risi with a bright red tunic, brown leather pants, and several thick copper rings through his right earlobe. He looked me over, then gave me a polite nod, which I returned before passing by. A few doors later, a Wode opened his door, took one look at me, and slammed it shut. I heard it being barred from the other side. What the hell? I pulled up my status effects.

  <<<>>>

  Current Debuffs

  Unwashed (Level 3): Goods and services cost 20% more; Merchant-craft skills reduced by (3) levels. Some vendors may refuse you service.

  <<<>>>

  I looked down and realized my tunic was now torn to match my trousers, and my trousers were covered in blood. I must have crawled through the Murk Elf’s when all those notifications came up. The avenue was a few paces away. An Imperial woman—unmarried, for she wore no stola around her bare shoulders—saw me and froze.

  I turned around and started walking. Game or no game, there were consequences to deal with. I’d already had one run-in with the city watch. Even if I was lucky enough to run into someone like Gork instead of someone like his partner, I didn’t think they’d let me explain my state of dress. I pictured the ease with which the nobleman had gutted the assassin, except it was me clutching my stomach and crawling on the floor.

  I heard a scrape. The man who’d barred his door earlier must have figured the coast was clear, because it cracked open wide enough for me to see his frightened eyes. I jammed my leg into the opening and pushed my way in.

  I pulled the door shut behind me. The man was a Wode, but unlike his more heroic brethren, this Wode was average sized. He held his chin up, his fists balled. I could tell he was working up his courage to yell or throw me out.

  “Don’t,” I said, drawing the dagger from my back.

  The Wode froze. His face turned pale.

  Keeping my eyes and dagger pointed at him, I lowered the bar on the door, locking us in.

  A bead of sweat ran down the side of the Wode’s face. He swallowed. He was going to run. But this, unlike the ambush in the courtyard, was something the game had trained me for, and something I was personally good at. It was like I could feel the old man’s hand on my arm. “What’s your name, friend?”

  His head turned fractionally. He shifted his weight to his back foot.

  “Look at this dagger, friend,” I said, my voice mimicking the old man’s, assured and friendly. “It’s an assassin’s weapon. I’m covered in someone else’s blood. Do you think you can run from me?”

  The Wode’s eyes widened.

  “Speak up, friend,” I said, tilting the knife back and forth. “You’re making me nervous.”

  “No,” he croaked.

  “No,” I repeated, “but that’s okay because I don’t want to hurt you. I’m Imperial, but I’m not a citizen. I’m like you.” I was guessing on his being a non-citizen, but I had yet to see a non-Imperial in a toga. “You know the city watch? They’re dicks, aren’t they?”

  He nodded slowly, eyes on my dagger.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Erik.”

  “I can’t let them see me like this, Erik. They won’t give me a chance to explain, not when I’m just an outsider, like you.” I kept my voice calm. “But you can help me. I just need to clean myself up, and then I’ll leave. Will you help me, Erik?”

  I watched his face and ran through scenarios in my head. In one, he ran and hid in the pantry at the far end of the room. In another, he decided I wouldn’t hurt him and started yelling for the city watch. Another iteration, and he ran at me, kicking and screaming, and I wasn’t sure I had it in me to stab a man defending his home.

  “I’ll pay,” I said, and the dynamic between us changed. His eyes relaxed, and the corner of his mouth twitched.

  “How much?”

  I glanced at his home. It was a single room the size of my living room in the real world, not counting the pantry. Bare walls, a straw mattress with threadbare linens on the floor, near the far wall, some rough, wooden tools, and a few personal possessions—mostly clothes—folded into a box he’d assembled from scrap wood. A small basin and pitcher by the bed. No luxuries. No sign of a woman’s touch. “Five coppers,” I said.

  He crossed his arms. “Two silvers.”

  “I could just stab you.”

  “I could yell.”

  “One silver,” I said. “It’s that or the knife.”

  He stuck his lip out. “You won’t use the knife. You’d have done it already.”

  “You won’t yell, or I’ll gut you,” I answered. I was surprised I half believed it. “I’m only paying you one silver. That’s food for five days.”

  He scoffed. “If I eat barley for a week, maybe. Fifteen coppers.”

  I pulled a silver coin out of my pocket and tossed it to him. “One silver, five minutes of your life. If that’s not enough, give it back, and I’ll risk the streets.” Giving him the coin was an old salary negotiation trick. People are less likely to risk what they’ve already won. It works on anyone but gamblers and traders.

  “Yeah, all right,” he said, and put the silver into his pocket.

  “Stand in the corner,” I said, gesturing with the knife.

  Erik raised his hands and backed away.

  I moved over to his bedside and put the knife down, within easy reach, and checked the pitcher. It was half full. I poured the water into the basin and started washing the blood off my hands and arms.

  “Where are you from?” I asked, mostly to keep him busy.

  “Elk’s Ridge. It’s a small village in the mountains between Rowanheath and the Tanglewood.”

  I didn’t know where either of those places was, except west. “What was it like?”

  Erik shrugged. “Small.”

  “Family?”

  “Some.”

  “You miss it?”

  “No.”

  I paused and looked up at him. He was leaning against the wall with his arms and legs crossed. “Why?”

  “Why what?”

  “Why don’t you miss it?”

  He clenched his jaw. “You think it’s bad here? You think the city watch are assholes? The Empire is a cozy little nest compared to the rest of Eldgard. We got snowed in for weeks sometimes. We went hungry. You’re mad the watch would hurt an armed man for running through the streets, covered in blood? That was my life.” He glanced at the knife. “I guess it still is. There was always a raid, or monsters, or a proving rite to satisfy the elders. The strong got by.”

  “And you weren’t strong?”

  “No, but I was smart. I got out. And I got far away, to a place where the murderers pay me to use my washbasin.”

  I smiled. “Funny.”

  There was blood stuck in the lateral folds around my fingernails.

  “Who’d you kill?” Erik asked.

  “No one,” I said, keeping an eye on him.

  He raised an eyebrow.

  “I was attacked.” I frowned. That wasn’t right. “Actually, I guess I attacked first, but they were armed, and I wasn’t. The owner of this knife happened to bleed out at my feet.” I grinned at him. Erik swallowed.

  I was okay with that. He could still start yelling and be one silver richer than he started. The water was pink, streaked with suspended red lines and clots that swirled clockwise around the basin. I noticed a slight tremor in my right hand.

  I washed my face.

  JEFF LEANED BACK IN his chair. Alan’s vitals were elevated, but not abnormally so. The devs were going to have to work on some kind of third-person camera before launch for sharing and streaming videos, because most of the time watching the world through someone’s eyes was boring, and sometimes it was gross.

  There was one weird thing about the readings. Alan had burst into the courtyard and gone straight for the assassin like a lineman for a quarterback without a moment’s hesitation. Beyond the fact that the little HR guy had a
set of brass balls so big he should be walking bowlegged, there was a break in his EEG, but the signal from the nanites was constant. It was as if, for a fraction of a second, Alan had been brain dead, or had stolen a few cycles from the server, both of which were impossible.

  Jeff made a note. He’d watch for it, and only worry if it happened again.

  “Hey, Alan? I’m going to take a piss and raid the vending machines, man. You okay?”

  “Yeah, Jeff. I’m fine.”

  “Back in ten,” Jeff said. He pulled his headset off and tossed it onto the desk. He rubbed his neck, staring at his lap for a minute or two. He’d had a hell of a morning. He stood up, dumped the rest of Alan’s crappy donuts in the trash, and headed for the restroom.

  He’d gotten drunk in a whiskey bar and slept in a hotel last night. Then he’d come in at 6:00 AM to take one last crack at the NexGenVR gear. It wasn’t that he felt any particular loyalty to the project or the company. He didn’t even like playing video games. He just didn’t want to disappoint his wife.

  He’d met Cheryl at Townsend Elementary, back home in Middletown, Delaware. Mostly, he’d worshiped her from afar. She was the pretty, popular girl the other girls gathered around during recess. Teachers smiled when they spoke to her. Jeff didn’t have a lot of friends, and he didn’t have the best coordination, but he’d been taller than average, so the bullies left him alone. She’d actually spoken to him a couple times, and he’d figured she was just being nice.

  They got older. Everett Meredith Middle School was twice as big and had a library. Boys went from flipping her skirt up to asking her out. Jeff read books. Sometimes she’d spend all of recess sitting next to him, just to get away from the others. He’d liked those moments. Sometimes, their elbows had touched, and he’d kind of frozen up, but she didn’t pull away.

  He finished up in the restroom, flushed, and washed his hands.

  In the summer before ninth grade, Jeff’s dad got a job in Baltimore, an hour and a half away, and he’d moved from the house he’d grown up in to a small but safe apartment in Mount Washington, gone to Baltimore Polytechnic, and learned enough about computers to study engineering and nanotechnology in college.

  Cheryl had written a letter to him, but she hadn’t known where to send it. It was years before he got to read it.

  Jeff stared at the contents of the vending machine and ran his fingers over the scars hidden by his tattoos. They were neat, evenly spaced, parallel lines, each three inches long. They itched in moments like these. Osmark had said it was nobody’s fault, but it was Jeff who’d worked with the Department of Defense to make full synchronization possible; Jeff who’d designed half the protocols and led the team to fill database after database with digital, sensory data. It was Jeff who’d failed to make the alpha work, and he didn’t have the guts to use the nanites on himself. He’d wanted to. Instead, he’d sat there imagining that little light in Cheryl’s eyes that showed she was proud of him going out. He’d been ready to sob in his hands like a kid, and Alan had walked in with a shit-eating grin on his face.

  He wondered what drove a guy like Alan to take the shot, to risk it all on a roll of the dice like that. There was a carelessness to it that made Jeff’s arm itch. Was he brave, stupid, or did he just have less to lose?

  One of the security guards—Jeff thought it was the guy from the front door—was waiting by Alpha Testing when he got back. Jeff felt his armpits prickle. “Can I help you?”

  “Oh, hey, Mr. Berkowitz. Alan Campbell asked me to make sure you two weren’t disturbed. I just wanted to let him know I was heading off shift, but I told my replacement what the deal was. Everything okay?”

  Jeff relaxed. “Everything’s fine. Thanks for letting me know.”

  I’D JUST CAUGHT SIGHT of the archway to the market when Jeff’s voice sounded in my ear.

  “Hey, buddy. I’m back. Miss anything?”

  “Not really,” I said, covering my mouth like I was coughing.

  “Cool,” Jeff said. “You level up yet?”

  I stopped near the side street I’d used to catch up to the would-be assassins. I’d completely forgotten about the notifications. The moment I thought about them, two popped up.

  <<<>>>

  Quest Alert: Save the Scion

  You have successfully saved the life of Provus Considia, scion of House Considia. In return, as your reward, you have received 1,000 XP and the life-debt of a member of the Viridian nobility. You have also been awarded 10 renown—in-world fame—for completing this quest. Greater renown elevates you within the ranks of Eldgard and can affect merchant prices when selling or buying. Be warned, Traveler: the assassination of an Imperial knight is no small undertaking. There is no telling the reach of your enemies, or what your actions may have set into motion.

  <<<>>>

  Level Up!

  You have (5) undistributed stat points! Stat points can be allocated at any time.

  You have (1) unassigned proficiency point! Proficiency points can be allocated at any time.

  <<<>>>

  Well, that’s ominous. Still, there wasn’t a lot that could happen in twenty-four hours. I closed the notifications, and another thought brought up my character sheet.

  <<<>>>

  <<<>>>

  IT SEEMED PRETTY COMPARABLE to other games I’d played. I had five points to spend on any attribute except Luck, which I guessed was something you got from items, quests, or other buffs. There didn’t seem to be a Charisma stat, so after fiddling with the different numbers for a moment, I dumped everything into Constitution, increasing my Stamina by 50 points and increasing my Carry Capacity to 280. If V.G.O. had shown me anything this far, it was that if I couldn’t talk my way out of trouble, then being able to run was my next best option.

  I didn’t seem to have anything I could spend a proficiency point on yet. Maybe that would come once I’d picked a class—however that worked. I closed everything out and had a final coughing fit before heading for the market. “Thanks for reminding me,” I said.

  “That’s what I’m here for,” Jeff answered.

  There was a wry sarcasm to his tone that hadn’t been there before. Part of me was curious. Aside from his reputation as the opposite of a people person, I didn’t know much about Jeff. I knew he was good at his job; Robert wouldn’t have hired him if he wasn’t. I knew he was technically Doctor Jeff, though not a medical doctor, and the other hardware guys spoke highly of his technical skills, if not his management. It was a fair bet to say he was here because Viridian wouldn’t have been possible without him. But we’d never socialized, not even in the professional get-to-know-the-people-you-depend-on kind of way.

  I had other worries, though. I’d looked over at the temple, on the left side of the plaza, past the first cluster of palms. The old man was gone. That was bothersome, because I liked him, and because I’d helped him collect a not-inconsequential pile of copper and silver we were supposed to spend on wine.

  The plaza itself was less busy than before. The sun was almost directly overhead. Most of the established shops had closed their doors, and several of the street merchants kept an eye on their wares from the benches, in the shade. There was only a third as much foot traffic as before, and a good part of that was just passing through, but the “food court,” as I liked to think of it, was still as active.

  I watched for a little bit; I wasn’t in a hurry. The sun felt good, and the sweat running down my back was cleansing. I let the babble of the cooks, grocers, and customers comfort me, like the sound of waves or a steady downpour. Most of the people buying food were commoners, and they had an easy rapport with the vendors. They weren’t poor—as Erik had intimated, the poor lived off bread or porridge—but I didn’t see a toga or white tunic, striped or otherwise, among them. They probably lived or worked nearby, craftsmen and craftswomen both, mixing freely. They looked happy.

  I wondered at that. I wasn’t an extroverted person, except when it was my job to be. I think, for a lot of people
, that’s an excuse for insecurity, or because they haven’t found the right group to connect with, but I could be charming. I could make people laugh. I had stories I could share, and people listened, engaged, asked questions. But when it came to crossing that final step toward intimacy, they shied away, or I faltered. It just seemed like a lot of effort for something I didn’t always enjoy, even though I sometimes needed it.

  It was still a wonder to see it happen here, in the game. It seemed unnecessary. These were NPCs. Why did they need to have lunch breaks, friends, and inside jokes? Did they all have homes and families, and did those have histories too? Had it always been that way, or was this one of the settings Kronos had turned up to make the fake world more palatable? And if I stayed here long enough, would I become part of it?

  In the real world, I’d filled that gap with new hobbies, games, movies, books, or a new character build in TAR. I’d flirted a lot, gone on fewer dates, and only had two, short-term girlfriends since college; I’d left the last one when I moved to California because it was easier, and she’d been disappointed but not surprised. Did that make me less human than these NPCs?

  And did that change my perception of what happened in that courtyard? The assassin’s dagger felt heavy against my lower back, but I wasn’t sad for him. Rather, the memory of his death, and all the things he was and might have been, added a weight of meaning to a handle, sheath, and blade.