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

by G. Akella

  The hall was illuminated by huge smoking lanterns mounted to the walls. An infinite supply of oil? Or were they being refilled by someone? Dimly lit corridors branched out to either side, with stone stairwells leading up. It appeared that these halls had at least five levels each, but absent any specific instructions from Celphata, I simply kept moving forward. I turned only once—to avoid the rotting corpse of a fifteen-foot-tall ogre moving down precisely the center of the hall. At level 450 and seven hundred million HP, I wouldn't have any trouble with him, but I wasn't looking for unnecessary fights today. I had to get back in time for the undead army's attack.

  It took about five hours to make it to the obsidian breach, and a couple of hundred skeletons had to die along the way. I had no doubt that this was the place once I saw it: a jagged pitch-black hollow in a wall with the orange film of a unique, one-off dungeon. This was my ticket above, and Celphata's lucky ticket as well. Spoiling the idyllic picture were a level 450 arch lich and a level 420 skeleton in plate armor standing on either side of the entrance. What had Celphata hoped for sending me here alone? Was I supposed to take down these two freaks just like that? She couldn't come along to clear the way? No, she probably can't enter this place at all. The amulet with the duke's blood and the grimoire are enough for me and me alone. Still, I was pissed. This wasn't your run-of-the-mill task for one, but a tough challenge for a bloody raid!

  While I was pondering the situation, the arch lich stepped forward and launched an attack from about a hundred yards away, an implausible distance. It was a mental attack that cost him thirty percent HP, which he followed up with another one. Stupid mob! Before I could even feel a twinge of fear, the lich's bones collapsed to the floor, rattling, at which point the skeleton to his left hefted his poleaxe and started jogging in my direction. The flash of steel in the torchlight ruptured the darkness as the monstrous axe smashed into the stone floor at the exact spot I had been standing just a moment ago. After dodging the attack, I countered with Ice Blade, then popped Infernal Rage and Dispersion. The nameless boss proved to be even clumsier than the rat at the entrance to the Halls of the Dead. The sole source of danger was a bladed vortex he would unleash every sixty seconds, which I would avoid with Step through Darkness. If not for the vortex, he would have died much sooner than the ten minutes the battle ended up lasting due to all of the running back and forth. But the skeleton fell into a pile of bones in the end, and I came away from the fight with a higher sense of self-worth, having also learned that my Chaos-powered blade was capable of dishing out critical hits to the tune of a quarter million damage.

  You have gained a level! Current level: 286.

  You have 11 talent points to allocate.

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

  You have 33 stat points to allocate.

  With a mental thanks to Trang and my wife, I collected the loot, then took a seat on a stone bench by the wall and lit up. Another five and a half thousand gold, two epics, a recipe for an epic dagger, and a bunch more junk out of which I took only the alchemical reagents. Though time was growing short, I wanted a minute to gather my thoughts and reassess the situation. Just a few days ago I wouldn't dream of facing off against a raid boss alone, but today... Of course, if the arch lich hadn't been so dumb I would have been trying to somehow sneak into the dungeon without a fight, but what's done is done. Truth be told, even the rat guarding the Halls of the Dead should have been my demise. Donut was right—the prophecy is nearing its resolution. Now, I wasn't naive enough to think that my new skills would so much as leave a scratch on Vill, but my job was simply to survive while Dhoresh and Kahella took care of the morts. And that much I could do. With those thoughts, I rose from the bench, took a few swigs of cognac, knocked my pipe out on the rock, then put it away and started toward the dungeon.

  Chapter 15

  Karn. Arkaetania Duchy. Aracas' Barrow. Zone level ?????

  The smell was musty and foul. I blinked and took a look around. This was a mortuary of some kind. There weren't any sources of light. The space was cramped, with a low ceiling and four deep niches stacked with cobweb-covered stone sarcophagi. I could hear water dripping to the right, and behind me was a blind wall—there would be no going back. Not that I planned on going back. In the wall across, near the left corner, gaped a passageway, narrow and crumbling.

  Hart! This place stunk beyond belief.

  The sound of battle came instantly. Somebody up ahead was being killed. Wasting no time, I squeezed through the passageway and pressed forward in that direction. I heard a death rattle, followed by a body dropping to the floor. I was too late! Light flickered in another corridor to my right. At last, it was light enough for me to run. Before long, I found myself in a spacious room well lit by torches.

  In the far corner of the room stood a pedestal-mounted bronze sarcophagus with an opened lid. Three stone steps led to the pedestal, and on those steps lay a humanoid body in a light mantle. A pool of blood was spreading from it. Down on the floor, the bodies of four soldiers were stuck in unnatural poses, long claimed by rigor mortis. A tall man in plate armor stood over the fresh mantled corpse. His right hand clutched a bare blade; his left—a familiar book that he was trying to read from. Well, hello there, Duke Edgar.

  The duke shut the grimoire when he noticed me, turned sharply and stuck out his sword.

  "Not another step!"

  The duke looked somewhat like a musketeer from a movie about France circa the Renaissance. Standing at roughly six feet, with a cleanly shaven chin and a long twirling mustache, he wore a full adamantine suit minus a helm that he had presumably stashed into his bag. The bar above his head was green in what was rather a welcome surprise.

  "Good day to you, earl!" I sheathed Ruination and showed him my empty hands.

  "Who are you? How did you get here? We never went into that part of the barrow!" he asked suspiciously without lowering his weapon.

  "Krian, Prince of Craedia," I introduced myself. "There was nothing of interest in that wing, so I came here instead—to save your soul before it's too late."

  "Demon? Save my soul? What drivel is this?"

  Right... How was I to explain to him what a demon was? In those times, the only demons were of the Netherworld, and those guys hardly dabbled in the saving of souls. Just the opposite, probably. I gave a weary sigh, took a seat on a rock jutting out of the wall, and gestured at the book in his hand.

  "That is the Grimoire of Ashy Souls. Otherwise known as Rakot's Thread. You know, the god from the Gray Frontier. It won't be long before he fully subdues your will and consciousness. You will give your subjects over to him, and turn into a monster yourself." Motioning at the dead soldiers, I added. "I see you've already begun your transformation."

  "It was Darren who had killed them," the duke said coolly, nodding at the corpse at his feet. "I don't know what happened. Just this morning he appeared to be of sound mind."

  "He was the first to find this filth, then. And his will proved weaker than yours. But that doesn't change your future. That is where I'm from, by the way. The gods have decided to give you a second chance. I was sent here by Celphata herself."

  "Why should I believe you, demon?" said the duke, putting an emphasis on the last word. He was hesitating, though. In another moment, he sheathed his sword.

  And really, why should he believe some rando who turned up from an unexplored part of the barrow and proceeded to spew all kinds of nonsense?

  "Rakot will subdue your will in order to invade Karn. But the invasion will be thwarted. Here, look into this journal if you don't believe me. The first page shows a body severed in half, contained in a pentagram with symbols at the edges. Your bride—"

  "What about her?!" the duke snapped, his voice echoing off the walls and traveling down the barrow's galleries.

  "Baroness Salphine an Sharen is perfectly fine, for now. But once your transformation into a monster is complete, she will steal this book from you and hide it. Then she will r
enounce her oath in an effort to save her people, causing you to storm her castle..." I said with a sigh.

  The duke turned the page, still keeping me within his field of vision. After studying the page for a minute, he shut the book and lowered himself on the steps wearily, a deep frown in his brow.

  "What if I burn this filth?" he looked up at me.

  I shook my head. "It won't work. The taint is already upon you, and there's no escaping it. But, I repeat, Celphata has decided to grant you a second chance."

  For emphasis, I displayed the Marked by Death title above my head.

  "What does the Mistress of Death care for a lowly duke?" Edgar inquired flatly.

  "Rakot has his sights set on Helstaad, and Celphata wishes to avoid needless war. The invasion won't take place this time—it will be delayed by a few thousand years. If you do the Mistress' bidding, she will allow you to rejoin your bride. She's been waiting for you in the Gray Frontier for several millennia. Celphata will release you both with your memories intact." I took out my pipe, contemplated it for a moment, then looked over at Edgar. "Also, you will free the souls of your subjects from Limbh."

  "Tell me everything. In detail!" the duke demanded grimly.

  With a shrug, I refilled and re-lit my pipe.

  I told him about the appearance of Demon Grounds in order to give him at least some context behind my being a demon. About my journey to the steppe and my encounter with Salphine's phantom and her diary. The duke's frown deepened with my every word, and by the end of my story he was a sorry sight. He couldn't disbelieve the messenger of a goddess—and the proof of that was clearly visible over my head. A lesser man might have cracked from such tidings, but, fortunately, the duke was of a tougher ilk.

  "What do I need to do, prince?" he asked, his voice quivering, as my story came to an end.

  I took the rope with the ribbons from my bag and showed it to him. "You have to put this around your neck."

  "That's it?!"

  Edgar rose from his seat, walked over to me and took the shimenawa, then threw it over his neck without hesitation.

  The barrow shook with what felt like a seismic wave.

  You've completed the quest: Rakot's Invasion.

  You have gained a level! Current level: 287.

  You have 12 talent points to allocate.

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

  You have 36 stat points to allocate.

  You have gained a level!

  …

  You have gained a level! Current level: 300.

  You have 25 talent points to allocate.

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

  You have 75 stat points to allocate.

  You've reached maximum reputation with Celphata the Goddess of Death and Rebirth. You may count on the goddess to come to your aid in your hour of need.

  Reality blinked, then changed. I was in a huge hall, dimly lit by chandeliers overhead. A young woman in a light dress sat on a bench far ahead. A man in adamantine armor I easily recognized was walking toward her. His gait was unsteady, but I had the feeling the two of them would be just fine. A new duchy would appear in Erantia, ruled by a duke and his duchess and all their old subjects. A goddess' vow was sacred. Though Rakot had claimed those people, Celphata should be able to send them back, skipping even the Great Sequence of Rebirths. At least I badly wanted to believe it. This was a just world that allowed for things such as this. Reality blinked again.

  ***

  "Do we get another trip report, prince?" Kan inquired of me with a smile.

  "I must say, these pleasure walks that result in fifteen levels gained are getting old," Donut chortled next to him.

  It was nighttime. The wood crackled playfully in the flames; the water percolated in the tea kettle. Nobody was asleep, staring me down expectantly. Only Vaessa's gaze was different, somewhat estranged, with a light smile playing on her lips. Surely, the demoness already knew everything she needed to know.

  "All is well," I returned the knight-commander's smile, fished out my flask and took a few swigs. "Rakot won't be coming to Karn any time soon."

  I retold the gist of my latest adventures to everyone.

  "Ever since you left, dar, auntie here has been beside herself, like a simple peasant on the eve of the Holy Water Festival," Reece groused, looking sideways at Vaessa. "You don't want to hear the words she's been muttering under her breath. And five minutes ago she just... stopped. And her face lit up like a beacon. We knew then that you were going to be all right. I'm just afraid auntie's face will eventually spasm from all that smiling," he concluded with concern in his voice.

  "I would snuff out the little bastard, but I'm in too good a mood to bother, so let him live," said Vaessa without turning her head, then looked over at me. "Mistress appreciates your service, dar. And she will repay her debt when the time comes."

  The time will come as soon as tomorrow morning, I thought to myself, then said out loud:

  "Why aren't you all sleeping?"

  "We've been waiting for you," Donut replied for everyone. "Too worried to fall asleep."

  "Speak for yourself," Bonbon stood up and produced a blanket from his bag. "Wake me up when Vill gets here."

  Kan, Reece and Raena followed his lead, to nobody's surprise. War may be war, but sleep was sacred.

  With a chuckle, I splashed some boiling water from the kettle roasting over the fire into a cup and opened my character menu. Better allocate the free stats and talents before the battle—I had accumulated plenty of them over the recent days.

  My eyes instantly fell on the icon of Ice Blade. I focused on it... and froze in shock.

  Ice Blade ХV.

  Instant cast.

  Energy cost: 75 points.

  Cooldown: 2 seconds.

  You attack the enemy with a blade of ice, dealing 358% damage on top of the weapon's base damage, slowing the target by 50% for 10 seconds with an additional 10% chance to freeze the target for 10 seconds.

  Three hundred fifty eight percent?! But it had been three hundred fifty after my last upgrade and stat allocation! I looked over to Tongue of Flame.

  Tongue of Flame XV.

  Instant cast.

  Energy cost: 75 points.

  Cooldown: 2 seconds.

  You attack the enemy with a blade burning with the power of fire, dealing 359% damage on top of the weapon's base damage and ignoring 10% physical defense.

  Three hundred fifty nine percent... How in the hell?! Was it Trang's gifted skill that was upping my damage despite all of the game's basic laws? I could think of no other phenomenon to attribute it to. Kan had said that only further training would uncover any additional benefits. Could it be that those couple of hundreds skeletons and zombies topped off by two bosses was enough to raise the two skills by eight and nine percent, respectively? How did those mechanics work? Must the mobs be higher in level, like in the Halls of the Dead? Or maybe that didn't matter? Something to test, no doubt. Once Vill and the Ancients are eating dust, it's grind time! Either way, the discovery was pretty spectacular, especially in complement with my new skills and reaction time. After all, once I rescued Jaelitte, the stone that was responsible for the crazy damage multipliers would be gone from my sword. That reminds me... I focused on my main attack skills.

  Ice Blade ХV—184,545-362,008 physical damage.

  Ice Blade ХV—183,343-361,807 physical damage.

  The last time I had looked at these numbers, they were about fifteen percent less. Odd... The raised percentages on the skills couldn't have been responsible for such an increase. Also, Ice Blade had a higher damage than Tongue of Flame, which shouldn't be the case. Was Providence trying to turn me into one of the locals? Someone like Kan or Raena? Was this the future that awaited us all, with my case being accelerated for obvious reasons? I recounted the damage again, and then again, accounting for all the clan bonuses and personal achievements, but the numbers still didn't add up. In the end, I gave up. More was bett
er than less, so why sweat it? I cast one final glance at the numbers... and sighed.

  Ice Blade ХV—178,567-358,765 physical damage.

  Tongue of Flame ХV—178,787-358,887 physical damage.

  The damage had decreased! A quirk of Chaos, perhaps, given that it was the least stable element. Could be why the damage output numbers were hidden by all the question marks—it was in constant flux, so the System simply couldn't provide precise numbers. That was one explanation, at least. I wasted little time allocating the stats, and then got to pondering the talents. The sixteenth tiers of Ice Blade and Tongue of Flame wouldn't be unlocked until level 390, and each required five connecting talents for a total of twelve. What else... I looked over to the Chaos tree, and couldn't help but smile. My Spear had unlocked at least.

  Spear of Chaos I.

  Instant cast.

  Effective range: 50 yards.

  Mana cost: 800 points.

  Cooldown: 2 seconds.

  Deals 12,600-15,400 Chaos magic damage to the enemy.

  Given that I'd already put eight points into Power of Primordial Chaos, increasing the potency of Chaos magic by forty percent, the Spear's base damage should be in the 9,000-11,000 range. I couldn't recall for certain, but it felt like the numbers were considerably lower the last time I checked this skill. It wasn't surprising, and I was beginning to grow ever more fond of the element that had chosen me. All the more so that the Spear of Chaos could be upgraded to tier two at level 300. In the end, I decided to do exactly that. Two points into the Spear, two in reserve, and the rest into Power of Primordial Chaos. The end result was pure joy to behold.