Black Flame in the Barren Steppe: Epic LitRPG (Realm of Arkon, Book 8)

by G. Akella

  Upon speaking those words, Jaelitte fell silent.

  I sat there for another five minutes, speechless and paralyzed. Then, with a sigh, I used the last fragment on the ring. A wave of burning cold air splashed over my hand as the ring morphed into a yellow-red rock blazing with a spark of Primordial Chaos, which had grown to the size of a nickel. I inserted the stone into my sword's pommel, and it literally fused with the black iron—the blade had accepted its master's woman. But I wasn't paying attention anymore, too busy loading up on tobacco and cognac. Just my luck. So close to the jackpot, and then... But it's all right, I'll get it soon enough.

  You've completed the quest: Splendor of Primordial Chaos III.

  You have gained a level! Current level: 277.

  You have 2 talent points to allocate.

  Class bonus: +1 to intellect; +1 to spirit.

  You have 6 stat points to allocate.

  You received: Jaelitte dar Rakata's Soulstone.

  You have gained a level!

  …

  You have gained a level! Current level: 281.

  You have 6 talent points to allocate.

  Class bonus: +1 to intellect; +1 to spirit.

  You have 18 stat points to allocate.

  You've accessed the quest: Elder Demon of the Netherworld.

  Quest type: artifact, unique.

  Insert Jaelitte dar Rakata's Soulstone into the pommel of one of the twelve Great Swords, then use the sword to slay any Great Essence.

  Attention! The Great Essence must be level 750 or above.

  Reward: Experience. Primordial Chaos will never leave you. Increased favor with Jaelitte dar Rakata. Increased reputation with the Netherworld plane. Unknown.

  I sheathed Ruination, called over my boar and laid him down, then leaned against his warm heaving side. Vill was due to arrive a few days from today. I would resolve all pressing questions tomorrow in Melitar. For now, I would simply sleep—I'd had enough adventuring for one day.

  Chapter 12

  With morning came rain, but my four-legged friend didn't move, afraid to disturb his master. Instead, he just lay there, gazing at the grandeur surrounding us with a kind of wistful longing. Finally, I got up, took Gloom by the reigns, and led him onto the main road, trying to avoid the puddles. The weather was as gloomy as my mood, but I couldn't afford to waste time sulking. I breakfasted on a tasteless hunk of meat, and washed it down with just-as-tasteless water from my flask. Then I took out the quest item—a rake-like stick with a ton of bones and appendages tied to it—mounted the razorback and opened a portal to Melitar.

  A shaman orc could seal portals into scrolls from the earliest stages of their training, which you couldn't say about the other races. It was an advantage that certainly proved useful to me on this day.

  Judgment of the gods. In the world I came from, a lot of ink had been spilled on the subject over the centuries. Witches used to be tied up and submerged in ice water, sometimes in pairs—to see which would outlive the other. Others were forced to touch and hold burning-hot metal. But in most cases, the judgment came down to a duel. Just as it was in this world. It was a strange custom in a place where gods were real and could literally address any question posed to them, if they wanted to. On the other hand, gods were still mercurial beings who might well ignore such requests, and there was something to be said for entertaining a bored people with heart-pounding action.

  Nobody would touch me as long as I held this stick. The orcs would allow me to speak my grievances to the ruler. I would kill Knugh an Grum, nicknamed the Cruel, thereby lifting the charges levied against me. My reputation restored, I would be able to speak with Gronn. Simple... If it weren't for my opponent having one hundred million HP, this whole judgment thing would be a cakewalk. But I could not refuse—my honor and the fate of the entire orc people were on the line, and the kha'an wouldn't appreciate it. And anyway, I wouldn't yield even if Knugh had a billion HP.

  The portal had opened about a hundred yards from the city. I steered the boar toward the nearest gates, thinking that I probably looked like a leper to normal folks. The bones rattled on the stick, the appendages bobbed in the wind, and the boar puffed loudly at the sight of so many red nicknames all around. The orcs all parted as we passed. Their expressions ranged from curiosity to silent approval to open hostility. I didn't care either way. Truth be told, I had been relying on my wife's help. Maybe then I wouldn't be forced to kill this Knugh character. He was a decent guy, if not particularly bright. And having an Elder Demon of the Netherworld with an axe to grind against Vill surely wouldn't be superfluous in the coming battle between the orcs and the Twice Cursed God. But more than anything else, I missed her. Terribly so, actually. And now we couldn't so much as converse with one another. When a pair of guards blocked my path, I pulled on Gloom's reigns, set my jaw, and spoke loudly.

  "I am Krian, Prince of Craedia, and I have come here for the head of Knugh an Grum. He insulted me by accusing me of being in service to the Twice Cursed God! I call upon the gods to stand in judgment over us in the arena of blood! The trueblood coursing through my veins demands satisfaction!"

  Melitar was a much smaller copy of Kargalar. The color and shape of the walls, the width of the moat, even the vineyards dotting the suburban landscape. The most obvious—and quite significant—difference between Kargalar and the capital of the Bloody Spear was in the size and thickness of the city walls. But I wasn't here to appraise architecture.

  "I hear you, Krian, Prince of Craedia. I will report to our ruler at once, but you're going to have to wait here," the captain of the guard nodded curtly. He motioned one of his troops over and said something to him. As the guard departed, the captain crossed his mighty arms over his chest and froze.

  And so we stood there—me watching him and his squad of grunts, and them watching me. Soon, an orc arrived at the gates that towered even over the others, with a squad of mithril-clad warriors behind him. The orc was named R'daugar, and the legend above his head suggested he was the local executor of divine judgment. I was taken to a round pit, made to dismount, and asked to wait some more. I hadn't been trying to remember the way—what did I care where to fight? If need be, I could always take a walk around town later to take in the sights. But for now, I had a job to do that involved killing a certain orc who had stupidly overstepped his boundaries. One hundred million HP or two hundred, it didn't matter. The gods would decide as they saw fit.

  I released Gloom—there was no sense in having him watch his master getting killed. Then I looked over the arena where we were to fight.

  The cylindrical hollow was roughly fifty yards in diameter, bottomed out at some forty yards, and had two points of descent. Sticking out over the edge was a canopy of entwined crooks with sharp edges. A defense against too-clever mages who might try and escape, I gathered. The bottom of the pit was coated with sparkling white sand; and at the center of it stood a thirty-foot-tall statue of a half-naked orc female with blades outstretched to either side. Court of the gods was not a common occurrence here, according to Rehan, as the loser would never be admitted into the halls of Kahella. Which made sense—the patron goddess' feast table was no place for liars.

  For this reason, whenever the locals had disputes to work out, they tended to use different platforms.

  The three rows of stands were getting filled with incredible speed. I couldn't see any children, but only grown men and women. I was directed to stand beside one of the points of descent, directly across the dais of elders. I took my position there and waited in silence for the show to begin, surrounded on all sides by four level 300 grunts. Nobody touched me or tried engaging me in conversation, and I was content to keep it that way, being utterly clueless as to when my role in this spectacle would shift from passive to active. The festivities were well underway. The orcs were as rowdy as ever, shouting and gesturing in my direction. Servants were scurrying all over, delivering grub. But the commotion ended suddenly the moment the konung appeared on the dais o
f elders.

  Size wise, Gronn was almost as huge as Rehan. He wore a fur sleeveless coat, a necklace of large fangs, and a grim expression. He had the air of someone who was comfortable deciding the fates of thousands. Moments later, Knugh an Grum appeared at the other point of descent, accompanied by four brutes as big as he was. I examined my opponent. His armor amounted to an open helmet with an arrow-shaped nose-guard, and chainmail reinforced with lamellar platelets. For weapons, he held a spear in one hand and a shield in the other, with a short broadsword hanging at the waist. From here, the material appeared to be adamantine. Not that it mattered. The main thing that gave me pause was that spear.

  The silence lasted close to a full minute. And even the food deliverers froze perfectly still when Gronn stood up, showcasing his colossal frame for all the world to see, and spoke up, carefully articulating every word.

  "You have slain my people, prince. And now you have come demanding justice?"

  Gronn's voice rumbled dully, as if coming from inside a deep gorge. Life itself seemed to halt all around us; the orcs appeared too afraid to breathe, let alone move or speak.

  "Do you truly expect to find the favor of our gods?!"

  Enough of this theatrical bullshit. I took a step forward, and yelled at the top of my lungs.

  "I have killed the disavowed, chieftain! Traitors! And your blood brother refused to hear me out. Moreover, he insulted me, and I'll die before I let some asshole accuse me of serving the Twice Cursed God. He will pay for his insults—with blood!"

  "He's lying!" Knugh shouted back. "You know that we didn't find any evidence of what he says. But I'm glad that he came on his own. I shall wind his entrails around my spear, and our slain warriors shall rejoice in the halls of Kahella!"

  Gronn was quiet for a few moments, then nodded at the arena.

  "Well, then, let's get on with it. Enter the arena, and may justice be served this day!"

  His words of justice sounded silly in a world where the goddess standing in judgment was real, and you could literally ask her opinion. If only it were that simple. Those two weren't ordained, and Knugh wasn't wrong as far as facts were concerned. My reputation with them was too lousy to try and explain—they simply wouldn't believe me. No, there was no getting out of this fight. It was the only way to prove I was in the right. Was I scared of the imminent fight with a level 400 NPC boasting one hundred million HP? Yeah, probably. And yet, after the failed attempt to free Lita, I felt more apathy than anything else. And besides, I wasn't exactly swimming in alternatives.

  "You won't be able to use scrolls, mage," R'daugar instructed me. "Only the spells you can cast yourself. Any attempt to cast from a scroll will result in your death. The arena won't stand cheating."

  "Of course," I nodded, then slid down the fine sand into the arena.

  Shield, helmet, lamellar... When the "referee" gave the order, Knugh wasted no time springing into attack. I swiped his spear aside and tried to counter, but in vain—his range with a spear kept him safe from virtually any counterstrike. We circled around each other for a while. He wouldn't let me get anywhere near him, attacking with sudden lunges which I would block or side-step. All my attempts to close the gap were foiled by a parrying stab at my feet, stopping my momentum. At first, the rage surging within me was only getting in the way, but at a certain point I felt a wave of intolerable heat, and a strange kind of music playing in my head. I'm faster than him. It was a sudden, glorious realization. Was it the Swordsman skill that Trang had gifted awakening in me? The stands were steeped with silence. The audience was soaking in every sound: from the grinding of sand underboot to the clangor of metal and the attacking orc's roars. Despite his impossible swiftness, he couldn't get to me. Knugh circled around the arena for several minutes, keeping me at bay with sudden lunges with the spear, until one of those attacks finally reached its target. A sharp pain shot through my right shoulder as scarlet drops trickled onto the white sand. I almost chocked on the rage that took over me then. The orc easily blocked my counterattack, then stepped forward to press his advantage, but I was already behind him with a Step through Darkness. Knugh spun around to try and block my blow, but a moment too late—my sword had already cut into his exposed side with a grating sound. Crit! Nearly all of my foe's HP vanished from his bar in an instant. Hart! How is this possible? The stone in the pommel of my sword flared with a bright orange blaze. Was that it? Did the stone multiply the damage that much?

  The orc fell to his knees and began to topple over, but I grabbed his hair to hold him steady. With Knugh an Grum being on death's doorstep, I used a vial of Greater Healing, then cast a heavy look at the fighters crowding the stands.

  "Is this what you wanted, noble orcs?!"

  I was shaking, my hand clutching the the defeated orc's hair, clumped with blood. No answer was coming—the arena was deathly silent. I knew that I had to kill him, that it was the only way. And yet...

  "Well?!" I turned to Gronn. "Do you wish the death of your blood brother?!"

  In one giant leap Gronn was in the arena. He looked straight into my eyes.

  "Kill him! Or the judgment of the gods won't be done!"

  "I respect your gods," I said. "But they have nothing to do with me. Let him live."

  "Then I shall carry out their will!" Gronn bellowed, snatched the axe from his waist, and stepped forward.

  In return, I produced the chieftain's amulet from my bag and raised it overhead.

  "Go ahead, then. Destroy your own father's will and memory."

  The orc staggered, as if stopped by an invisible wall. After a long moment, he stepped forward, lowered his axe and was still, frowning as he examined the amulet in my hand.

  "Where did you get that?" he asked hoarsely, breaking the silence.

  "I looted it off Nerghall's corpse."

  I released my hold off Knugh, sheathed my blade, and handed the amulet to the chieftain standing before me.

  "It's yours. Your father asked to deliver it to you."

  "You have seen my father, demon?"

  "I witnessed his final battle, down to the last detail. I saw how he perished. I have seen much, Gronn... It is a gift and a curse at once. Heed me, orcs!" I looked around at the silent stands, then nodded at Knugh. "Advisor Gurkass had been a servant of Vill's for fifteen hundred years! It was he who had brought about the Fertan massacre. And it was he who had planned on driving a wedge between you and the Dragon Skull, so that Rehan wouldn't send his horde to your aid. For it is your lands that Vill is going to attack."

  "You believe this demon, konung?" a gray-haired orc with a face disfigured by scars called down from the stands. "He murdered Narv and Zerg!"

  "Silence!" Gronn threw up his axe, putting an end to any and all chatter. "I hear what you're saying, Dreamer! Let us consider that the gods have rejected today's sacrifice. And now, follow me to my home—we have much to talk about." The chieftain slung the lifeless body of his blood brother over his shoulder with little difficulty, then headed toward the arena exit. With a shrug, I followed after him. It was then that I realized what an idiot I had been! What had prevented me from displaying my achievements above my head when I first arrived at Kargalar? Nobody would have thought to accuse the killer of the Twice Cursed God's three companions of also being his servant... Had I not been thinking straight after that close call with the shaman? PTSD exacerbated by marital problems? Whatever the case, all is well that ends well...

  We walked through the city on foot, escorted by three dozen warriors, four of which were carrying Knugh. Oddly enough, my reputation with the Bloody Spear hadn't changed, and Gronn hadn't taken the chieftain's insignia from me. Oh well, the important part was that no one was attacking me. I wasn't in the mood to examine the city's architecture, so when my eyes fell randomly on my sword and focused, I nearly flipped.

  Ruination.

  Sword: one-handed. Great Sword. [Contains a Great Essence.]

  Bound item.

  Durability: 15,938/20,000.
r />   Epic scalable.

  No minimum level.

  Damage: 2810-5620.

  +????? additional Primordial Chaos damage.

  +281 to strength,

  +140 to vigor.

  +281 to constitution,

  +7.025% to critical hit chance with a physical attack.

  +281% to damage dealt to Great Essences.

  +0.0281% chance to paralyze a Great Essence for 28.1 seconds.

  ???????????????????????????????????????????????

  ???????????????????????????????????????????????

  Weight: 10 lbs.

  Ice Blade ХV—161,708-323,416 physical damage.

  Tongue of Flame ХV—161,708-323,416 physical damage.

  Now it all made sense. The stats and the chance to hit critically had all risen proportional to the level, but the general and increased damage to Great Essences had jumped several times over. Thank you, Lita. Even confined to a stone in my sword, my wife was helping me to survive. The orange spark blazing in the pommel was the same Primordial Chaos that favored me, taking off nearly one hundred million HP from my opponent in a single strike. The truth was, I had come here to die. The best I could have hoped for was to throw the chieftain's amulet in Gronn's face just before dying, but Providence had other plans. Or maybe not even Providence, but my wife and my Element. I also had my blood brother to thank for teaching me the Swordsman skill, without which I might not have survived long enough against a mighty and celebrated warrior before dealing the first and final blow.

  The passive skill itself was a mystery, however. Only an icon in an epic frame, and nothing else. No other information. I felt as if I'd gotten better at handling my weapon, but how much better? I moved faster now, that was a fact. To be able to survive against a warrior more than one hundred levels above me, and armed with a spear that gave him a huge range advantage to boot, well, that was unheard of. And what numbers hid behind the question marks? What kind of damage was I capable of dishing out with what was now truly my element? As before, the answers would come through experience, which was something I'd gotten quite used to.