The Last Warrior of Unigaea: A LitRPG Trilogy Page 11

  “Let’s go,” I tell him, my strength building with each breath. “I want to see just how strong their forces are.”

  (^_^)

  We ride back through the brush, making a beeline to Tangka. It’s the same hills, shrubs, and short trees that Wolf and I apparently rode through last night, a trip I can hardly remember.

  I don’t know how I held on, but I did.

  The bramble is thicker in some parts, which forces Wolf to slow down and find another way around. His leg is still bandaged, but other than that, he’s nearly at 100%.

  He runs down a steep slope and I’m nearly tossed off when he skids to a halt at the bottom.

  “What was that?”

  A man’s voice about twenty yards away catches my attention.

  I go for my Splintered Sword, only to be reminded that it has been confiscated. I truly hope the Tagvornins haven’t melted it down by the time we reach their weapon storage.

  I slide off Wolf, for once feeling like my old self again. He creeps behind me and I turn, giving him a nod that says “stay back.”

  He gets the gist and presses his body to the ground.

  I creep forward, waiting all of five minutes for the man to let his guard down. I look down at my two weapons – my bare hands – and grimace at the struggle that lies ahead.

  Killing someone with bare hands is never easy, no matter how it looks in movies. Unigaea is about two things, fantasy and grit.

  Hell, all the combat in Unigaea is real enough to easily make a person forget they are logged into an online dreamworld. From someone shitting themselves as they die to retching at the sight of a dead body – nothing is sugarcoated here.

  “But it’s still a game,” I remind myself. Sometimes, that’s the only thing I can do.

  It hurts some to crawl, but adrenaline has taken over and it’s only moments later that I’m beside the man, hidden by the brush.

  I bite my lip for a moment as he passes. He’s not in armor, so he’s likely not a Tagvornin soldier, but he could be a bandit, and from my current position I’m not able to get a clear enough view of him to figure out what he is or isn’t.

  Of course, Unigaea could tell me by flashing his handle, but that rarely happens when the stakes are high. It does, however, let me know where his avatar is, which is now rimmed in a red outline on my viewing pane.

  I wait just a bit longer, then spring into action as soon as he turns.

  My knee comes to his back and down he goes. I knock the wind out of him and have my arm around his neck before he can cry out.

  A farmer?

  “Shit.” I hold him there for a moment, just to get my bearing on the situation.

  “Let me … please!” he chokes. “Please, mister, please don’t kill me.”

  He gets a glimpse of my handle and what’s left of the color in his face drains.

  “Please, Player Killer, I have nothing, nothing!”

  “I’m aware,” I say in a low voice. “I’m going to let you up. If you scream or do anything to alert the Tagvornins, I’ll kill you.”

  “Alert the Tagvornins? Are you crazy? Fuck them, fuck them all to hell!”

  “Glad we’re on the same page.” I stand and he scurries out of my reach.

  “Sorry about that,” I tell him as I dust my hands off. “It’s been … a rough day coming off a rough night and a terrible week. I was hoping you had some weapons.”

  The NPC farmer is a twig of a man, with thinning orange hair and big, droopy eyes. His clothes are stained with dirt and the knees on his pants have been rubbed thin. Freckles are scattered across the bridge of his nose and a few scraggly hairs hang from his chin. “Listen, mister, I don’t have nothing, not even a damn toe knife!”

  Wolf emerges from the brush, snarling. The man opens his mouth to yell and stops once he sees the dead look in my eyes.

  “Relax, he’s with me,” I tell them both.

  “He’s … with you?”

  I nod.

  “But you aren’t from Tagvornin.”

  “I’m not,” I tell him.

  “Then where are you from?”

  “Not important. What are you doing out here?”

  “Well first, this is a goddamn free continent and I can go wherever I please!” He cowers, assuming I’m going to strike him. When I don’t, he continues. “Second, the Tags took everything, you hear me? Everything! Even my goddamn jerky! So I’m taking a walk, because believe you me, I’m pissed about that jerky. They can come into my town – hell, only difference between them and the chumps from Solidus … You aren’t from Solidus, are you?”

  I shake my head and he presses his chest out, confidence growing.

  “As I said, the only difference between them is their armor. Well, Tags are technically worse, but the fuckers from Solidus can be just as bad. But that’s beside the point. Some asshole, and I’m talking a cave-opening-sized asshole here, hacked down my door and took my jerky.”

  “Um, where was your jerky kept?”

  “In a shed, not far from here. Did I mention the damn door was hacked to pieces? What kind of son-of-a-bitch hacks a door to pieces just to get jerky?”

  I glance to Wolf and I swear he shrugs his shoulders a bit.

  “They didn’t steal your jerky … ” I clear my throat.

  “Then who did?” he asks, eyeing me suspiciously.

  “Nevermind. Do you know why the Tagvornins are here?”

  The farmer glances up at the crimson sky. “That’s why – the Red Plague. I expect more will come in the near future.”

  “The Red Plague?”

  “Have you been sleeping under a rock or something?”

  I think of the escarpment we’ve just come from. “In a way. Tell me what you know.”

  “Started in the Rune Lands. Because of it, the Tags have started spreading southward.”

  “And the meteor shower over Solidus?”

  His mouth snaps shut and he chews on his lip for a moment. “No one really knows how or why that happened.”

  “So it’s not part of the Red Plague?”

  Wolf starts to sniff the ground. He makes his way over to a fence post and marks his territory.

  “You’re asking the wrong person.”

  “Last question – how guarded is the town? How many Tagvornins would you estimate are there already?”

  His droopy eyes turn cold. “Too many.”

  “That’s not a number.”

  “I don’t know. Maybe fifty? A bit less. More will be coming; that’s all I know. They’ve been talking about it, loudly. A lot of the Tagvornins are drunkards. Glad I’m single because they’ve been picking off wives and daughters like they’re low-hanging fruit. Well, I suppose they are.” He shrugs at this statement. “You know, years ago we were invaded by a group of soldiers from Metica, from the Rune Lands just like the Tags. They were all females. A lot better at invadingers.”

  “But harsh as hell, right?”

  He chuckles. “Man, the people of Metica don’t engage with other places often, but when they do. It’s a bloodbath.”

  I step forward. “I will return and when I do, I’ll drive the Tagvornins out.”

  He cackles, stops, looks at me seriously, and then laughs again. “Just you and your big dog?”

  “If that’s what it takes.”

  “Talk about a suicide squad of two. Well, if that’s your wish, I can’t say that it’s a bad idea. Just wish you’d also give a thorough ass-whooping to whoever took my jerky.”

  “I’ll be sure to look into that.”

  “And you’ll definitely need weapons.” He thinks for a moment as he runs his hand along his beard stubble. “I’ve got it! Head to Stater. They are always willing to help fight Tagvornins. Ride south on your, um, wolf, find a boat, and plead your case to the island’s governor, Florin Talonas. Hell, he may even grant you some men!”

  “Not a bad idea.”

  He turns away. “Now I need to get back to my walk, clears my head.”


  Quest update!

  The farmer has suggested that you ride south, find a boat, and sail to Stater Island, where you may be able to get supplies and reinforcements.

  Chapter Sixteen: Scar Cheek and Walrus Man

  It takes us about an hour to reach the coastline. We take the main path this time, which is much faster, and luckily for us, we don’t stumble upon any enemies. It’s a good thing too. I don’t know how well I’d be able to defend myself with only my hands, even with Wolf around.

  At least I could have attempted to strip an enemy of their weapon, I think, as we circle around a pile of prayer rocks.

  The NPCs and some RPCs practice a very Wiccan religion in Unigaea. In most of the main paths, one will encounter these pile of rocks, the crevices of which are stuffed with colored parchment. The parchment have handwritten prayers on them, wishes really, and it is said that if one circles the prayer rock three times and places their parchment in the right space, their prayer will come too. If your prayer doesn’t come true, you put your parchment in the wrong space.

  I shake my head as we circle around.

  Damn superstitions.

  Wolf trots along the coastline, staying as far back from the water as I’ll let him.

  “You’re going to have to get used to the water.”

  He whines a little and I pat him on the head.

  “Fine, I’ll quit teasing you.”

  We continue along the waterline for a bit until we come across a pair of fishermen enjoying their dinner, crouched around campfire. A boiling pot of something smelly makes me want to hold my nose as we approach.

  “Care for some broth?” the first fisherman says instead of hello. He’s a stocky guy, his skin thicker than Taelian leather. He’s got a scar that stretches from his cheek to his temple and the top of his ear is pierced.

  “Broth?”

  “Fish stew,” his companion says. This one has the nose of an eagle and the body of a walrus. He’s got the whiskers too, sticking out of his cheeks and from warts hanging on for dear life from the sides of his neck.

  “Is that your boat over there?” I ask.

  Nestled up to the shore is a fishing boat large enough for about five people. The hull is red and covered in nicks. Jutting out of the boat are a pair of fishing rods, and seated on a bench is a small tackle box.

  Walrus Man nods. His companion with the scar across his cheek says, “That’s her all right, and I’m surprised they haven’t tried to take her away from us either.”

  “That’s because they need the fish we supply,” says Walrus.

  Scar Cheek considers this for a moment. “They could just get the fish themselves.”

  “You really are an idiot.” Walrus Man shakes his head bitterly. “Ever heard the saying, ‘give a man a fish and he’ll eat for a day, teach a man to fish and he’ll eat for a lifetime, force a man to fish for you and you’ll eat like a king’?”

  I shake my head. “Can’t say that I have.”

  Walrus Man laughs, fish-gut stew flying from his lips. “That’s because I just made it up.”

  “Look, fellas, I really don’t have a lot of time here. I need to get to Stater.”

  “And you’re telling us why?” Walrus Man asks, returning to his soup. He shoves a big hunk of something sinewy in his maw and slurps it down.

  “Your boat.” I give them both a sincere smile. “I need to get to Stater.”

  “You told us that,” Scar Cheek says, “but you didn’t tell us why.”

  “I need weapons. I’m going to drive the Tagvornins out of Tangka.”

  Both men laugh. Walrus starts to chuckle until he’s dribbling his soup onto the front of his tunic. “With what? Dirty looks? A dirty Tagvornin wolf with a bandage on his leg?”

  Wolf growls and both men stop immediately.

  “Look,” Scar Cheek snorts, “if the Tagvornins don’t kill everyone in Tangka, the Red Plague will. So save yourself the trouble and have some stew!”

  “You know about the Red Plague?” I glance quickly at the sky. It amazes me sometimes how quickly information travels around the continent.

  Walrus spoons more soup into his mouth. “Know about it? Hell, we were along the eastern coast when it happened.”

  “Yup,” his companion agrees, “not far from the village ruins of Ducat. Heard of the place?”

  I bite my lip. That’s not what this is about any longer, I remind myself.

  “Any idea why people are calling it the Red Plague?” I ask.

  “It kills anyone it touches instantly.”

  “So it’s a gas?”

  “No,” Walrus Man says, “it’s more like a gel, or a lava of some sort, but it spreads like a wall. At least that’s what we heard. Who really knows. Who really knows anything? No one really knows anything, if you think about it. I think the poet and jewelry-smith Olivas wrote something about that.”

  “Spreads like a wall?”

  Scar Cheek shrugs. “That’s what another fisherman said, but I’ve never trusted that guy.”

  “Yeah, fuck him,” Walrus Man agrees, “the miserable bastard.”

  “Well, I’ll get to the Red Plague later. First, Stater. I need to get there.”

  Walrus Man shoots me a toothy grin. “Our services cost money.”

  “I don’t have a lot of lira.”

  “In that case, our services cost favors.”

  I raise an eyebrow at the two fishermen. “What kind of favor are you talking about here?”

  “The bandits,” he says bitterly. “Those fuckers are taking us for all we’re worth! We catch two fish, they want three. We catch four, they want five! You see this soup here? Surprise, surprise, it’s not really fish soup. It’s basically anything-we-can-find soup, made with the water we butcher the fish in.”

  I chew on my lip for a moment. “So you want me to do something about these bandits?”

  Scar Cheek and Walrus Man exchange glances. “You take care of our little problem, and we’ll take you and your big, bad wolf to Stater.”

  “How many bandits?”

  “Three.” Scarface looks to Walrus Man for confirmation.

  “Three, unless they have more at their camp. Never know.”

  “Got any idea where they are?”

  Walrus Man nods. “I have an idea. Pull up your map and the marker will be on there.”

  My map appears and an icon flashes. I’d estimate the location is about two or three miles from here. The quest update appears but I ignore it as I ask, “Do you have any weapons?”

  Chapter Seventeen: The Bandit’s Hut

  A ten-inch boning knife and a hammer.

  Not exactly the weapons I’d like, but it sure beats simply having fists.

  “Thanks,” I tell the two fishermen.

  “Sorry we don’t have more weapons.” Walrus Man points his chin at Scar Cheek. “He used to have a crossbow pistol for water snakes, but the bandits took that.”

  “Got it.”

  I bid the two farewell and hop back on Wolf, who trots along at a slow pace for a moment.

  “Night should be here soon,” I say as he heads to the northwest. “No rush. I want to get there when they least expect it. Knowing bandits, they’ll be drunk and gorged on stolen fish by the time we arrive.”

  Wolf runs between a series of dunes, his tongue flapping out the side of his mouth. Wind from the Seluecid Sea scatters pebbles across the dune. I get the urge to pause for a moment and just take in the vibe. I’m feeling the best I’ve felt in a day, which is saying a lot considering I was nearly killed in Solidus, poisoned by a Tagvornin nurse in Tangka, and had to use what little strength I had left to butcher a pig with a rock.

  The story of my digital life is one wrought with circumstance, violence, and incredible irony.

  “The plan is simple: We wait for someone to come out and take a piss,” I tell Wolf as we pass the dunes and enter again into the brush. With one bandit down, it’ll leave just two more inside and make my ambush more manageable. If
I’m lucky, the one that’s first to drain his lizard will also have a weapon of sorts.

  But I’ll need more than that.

  “Stop here,” I tell Wolf.

  He slows to a halt and I check the herbs in my inventory list.

  Burn shrub (1)

  Karuna seaweed (9)

  Mandrake flower (6)

  Magnolia pine cones (5)

  Yellow bonnet (1)

  I grab all five magnolia pine cones, each about the size of an orange, and proceed to wrap them in leaves and vines of the burn shrub I picked up.

  I really need to collect more herbs along my way, but I’m usually so focused on getting to my next destination that the thought of sitting around to hone my herbalist skill never crosses my mind.

  I finish the first pine cone and examine it for a moment. It won’t have explosive properties, per se, but magnolia pine cones do release a terrible smoke when they’re burned, and the burn shrubs will keep them burning for a solid amount of time.

  “Check out what I made.”

  Wolf reaches his big snout out, gives it a sniff, and looks away. A few minutes later, he’s marking his territory a few feet away and I’m finishing the last of my smoke bombs.

  (^_^)

  The bandits’ hut would be easy to find even without the location marked on my map. Lit by two torches blazing outside, it’s a small building with a thatched roof situated at the bottom of a hill. Their windows are open and they speak loudly, snorting and cackling as one of them tells a story.

  “How many do you think there are?” I ask Wolf.

  I’m next to him now, both of us huddled around the trunk of a large oak tree.

  I scratch him under his chin and give his neck a hug. I never was one for pets, not back in Chicago anyway – not enough space – but I really have taken a liking to having Wolf around. He’s made my life much better.

  I see the shadow of a man moving inside the hut. He’s big, and if I’m not mistaken, he’s still in his armor. I focus again on their conversation, trying to judge how many men are present.

  I hear a low voice, and two mid-ranged ones. The men speak of a recent trip to the whorehouses in Solidus, the vulgarity only matched by the clever ways in which they describe digital coitus.