Vault of the Magi: A LitRPG Adventure (Stonehaven League Book 5) Read online

  “Hamlet.”

  He gritted his teeth, cheek twitching. “If I am to amend the settlement charter to provide structure as we advance in time and population count, it’s critical that the language be unassailable.”

  “One page. And I want it in twelve-point font.”

  “Twelve-point what?”

  “No asking a wizard to change the size of your handwriting to fit more on the paper.”

  He clenched and unclenched his fist, his hunched back hunching further. “I find it very difficult to work with you.”

  “Yet you’re still here, aren’t you? Because secretly you like Stonehaven. I think you might even like me as a leader.”

  “I like being near to Ishildar and the chance to someday scour the city’s ancient libraries and wondrous vaults—if you ever manage to banish the Curse of Fecundity. Besides, when the city is restored, surely there will be a need for new charters and records and grants of ownership…so much glorious documentation. Real record keeping, I might add. Not some ridiculous one-page scribble.”

  Was the man really serious? That was his end-game? Devon raised an eyebrow, but he didn’t seem to be joking.

  She shrugged. “Well, since it’s so much shorter than the sort of document you’re used to creating, I suppose I can expect a draft of the rules tomorrow?”

  He growled. “Perhaps. But only if you stop delaying me with idle chatting.”

  Devon gestured at the path that led toward the section of housing where Greel’s cabin had been built. “Don’t let me keep you.”

  The man stood there for a moment, index finger rubbing over the knuckle at the base of his thumb. “Fine,” he said before turning and stomping stiffly toward home.

  “Oh, and Greel?”

  His shoulders crept toward his ears. “Yes?”

  “It’s possible that not all the new starborn will be as incompetent as you fear. If your concerns about the new martial-arts trainer are so serious, perhaps you should keep an eye out for a prodigy or two. Cull a couple of standouts from the mediocre herd. I’m sure they’d appreciate the chance to train with such a master as yourself.”

  She couldn’t see his face, but she could imagine it by the way his twisted back seemed to relax somehow. His fists uncurled, and as he nodded and set out, there was a faint spring in his step.

  You have gained a skill point: +1 Leadership.

  Predictable, isn’t he?

  ***

  Devon jumped when the door to the leatherworkers’ workshop finally opened with a squeak. Gerrald stepped forth, ill-concealed excitement on his face. Devon didn’t want to get her hopes up—the gear he’d made her so far was…inconsistent in how humiliating it was to wear in public—but she couldn’t help wiggling her toes in anticipation anyway. New stuff was always fun.

  The smile fell from her face when Gerrald slowly brought his arms out from behind his back. She blinked, hoping to disguise her horror as shock. She’d seen this type of container-thing out on the walking mall in downtown St. George. Purses she understood. Women had to be able to carry things while leaving their hands free. Backpacks made sense too. They were even more practical since they weren’t prone to sliding off shoulders. Whenever she had something like a water bottle or old-fashioned paperback book, she usually tossed it into a pack for the day. Back when she used to go out places during the day, anyway.

  But eensy-weensy backpacks covered with sequins that sat between someone’s shoulder blades like some glittering growth? No.

  The atrocity Gerrald held before her was smaller than a standard purse, and the contortions needed to get out of the straps totally undid the convenience of carrying items in a small container.

  To say she didn’t get the allure would be an understatement.

  Doing her best to hide her horror, Devon swallowed and accepted the item.

  You have received: Tiny Sparklebomb Backpack of Sub-par Holding

  Container: 10 Extra-Large Slots | 20 Large Slots | 30 Medium Slots | Unlimited Tiny Slots

  -1 Stealth

  Aww isn’t it precious?

  Devon’s mouth opened, but no words came out. She remained sitting on the small bench, staring at the container. How would she ever be able to make fun of Torald’s Manpurse of Holding with this on her back?

  Gerrald grinned, clearly mistaking the reason for her shock.

  “I heard some people went back into that Drowned Burrow to try to recover your backpack, but apparently the muskrats had shredded it for use as bedding for their nests. At first, I figured there wasn’t much I could do with those Tiny Scintillating Dragon Scales. I could feel the magic in them, but they were just so tiny. It turns out, I just had to close my eyes and let inspiration guide me.”

  As if reliving the memory, he slid his eyes shut and swayed for a moment. Devon glanced down at the eyesore in her hands. Maybe if she found some mud to roll it in…

  “Anyways, I know a backpack won’t be enough to get you back out adventuring. Look inside,” he said, gesturing with his chin.

  Devon was afraid to unhook the sequin-plastered strap. When she finally worked up the courage, the leather slid smoothly through the buckle despite its adornments. A massive inventory screen opened, showing a vast field of slots, most of them empty.

  Item: Stonehaven Jerkin

  A one-of-a-kind piece of chest armor, the boiled leather of this jerkin has been blessed by Shavari, one of Veia’s chosen Five. The item may only be worn by a worthy leader.

  6 Constitution | +3 Bravery | 107 Armor | 120/120 Durability

  Requires: 22 Leadership, 15 Strength

  Item: Big Girl Pants

  For adventurers who have actually proved themselves kinda capable, these leather pants have patches of hardened hide to provide above-average armor while not restricting movement. Plus they’ll look pretty snazzy on you.

  4 Charisma | +1 Endurance | 94 Armor |115/115 Durability

  Requires: 22 Leadership, 16 Agility

  Item: Gloves of Deceit

  Crafted from the most supple of doeskin, these gloves fit as if they were sewn from moonsilk. But they weren’t. They’re crafted from the most supple of doeskin.

  4 Agility | +1 Focus | 24 Armor | 50/50 Durability

  Item: Bracers of the Phoenix

  The boiled leather of these armguards grants a hefty AC bonus against mobs that target their attacks at your forearms. Which probably aren’t all that common, but the good news is that the phoenix feathers affixed to the leather provide added benefits.

  10% Fire Resistance | + 10% Fire Damage | +15 Armor | 89/89 Durability

  Item: Boots of the March

  Durable. Good arch support. Waterproof coating. Everything the dedicated adventurer could want in footwear.

  10% Speed | -5% Fatigue Gain

  Item: Night’s Fang

  A wondrous weapon, the blade has been painstakingly carved from an ivory fang collected from a sabertooth. The hilt is shaped from mountain mahogany, and moss agates have been set into the guard.

  15-18 piercing damage | 245/245 Durability

  On hit: 20% chance to inflict Necrosis on the target, dealing 2-3 necrotic damage/tick. Will remain on the target until the disease is cured.

  On hit: 10% chance to cast Leafcutter, inflicting an extra 10% nature damage to the target.

  Item: Spiced Antelope Jerky x 4

  Delicious, if a little gamey.

  Grants +2 Constitution for eight hours after eating.

  Devon pulled out the jerkin and slipped it over the top of the simple cloth tunic she’d been wearing. Immediately, her maximum hitpoints increased, and her health bar pulsed as the first natural healing tick began to fill it. She pulled the bracers on next, followed by the gloves and boots. Those last were particularly nondescript, but the Speed bonus was amazing. She hadn’t had any increase in that statistic since way back when she’d had Tribal Sandals. The Big Girl Pants looked way too tight to fit over the tr
ousers she was already wearing, so she stuffed them back in the bag to change into later.

  Gerrald shuffled bashfully. “You know I don’t have direct control over the benefits granted by your equipment. Some master-level leatherworkers might, but I have no way to know. I’ve already surpassed the level of leatherworking my mentor back in Eltera City was capable of, and I can only guess what continued practice will grant me. But am I to judge by your reaction that the detail work and engravings on the equipment convey useful benefits?”

  “The gear is fantastic, Gerrald,” Devon said, running her hands over the jerkin. The gloves were so supple, she felt almost as if her hands were bare, and as for the chest armor, the leather was much harder than any she’d worn before. The chest piece felt as if it could turn aside some fairly strong blows. It was also heavier, seeming to have multiple layers of leather in many areas. At the collar and cuffs, symbols had been hammered from what looked like gold and inset into the leather. The ornaments seemed to be a representation of Stonehaven with its inner keep and the cliff behind the hamlet. The metal must have been some of the first true gold pulled from their mines in the Argenthal Mountains. It was quite an honor to be first to have an item incorporating it. And better, aside from the embossing and engravings Devon recognized as the runework that gave Gerrald’s creations their magical bonuses, the garment wasn’t too flashy for once. It was a good fit for her proportions and seemed to move with her as she fastened the buckles along her rib cage.

  “I couldn’t help but notice”—Gerrald dry-washed his hands—“and don’t get me wrong. Strength is attractive on the leader, and you don’t look like an ogre or anything… Anyway, I couldn’t help but notice that you gained some muscle tone in the underworld. I figured the boiled leather wouldn’t be too fatiguing for you anymore.”

  She suppressed a laugh. Right. Those extra Strength points she’d been forced to spend to pass Zaa’s trials in the underworld must have made her look buffer. She didn’t like to remember how she’d basically wasted a full level’s worth of attribute points, so she’d been ignoring the effects. At least her ability to wear the heavier materials in the Stonehaven Jerkin was a small consolation. Depending on what happened in the days ahead, the extra armor from the hardened leather might come in useful.

  Of course, Jeremy, her troubadour friend, would surely notice her armor upgrade. She grimaced, remembering how he’d gloated over her apparent decision to favor balanced attributes over specialization. He had advised her in that direction, which if anything was a good reason to focus even more heavily on her caster stats. But Zaa had forced her character build to head in another direction, and now Jeremy had even made up a song about how much it looked like she could bench press now.

  Devon sighed. It really was too bad that the swim into the Drowned Burrow hadn’t permanently waterlogged that obnoxious accordion of his.

  The jerkin secured, she pulled out the dagger, Night’s Fang, and held it carefully in her palm. “Where did you get it?” Of course, it was clear that the material from the blade came from the mysterious fang she’d looted from one of her first kills. She shook her head in amazement at the recollection. That fight seemed so very long ago now.

  Getting a better understanding of the fang’s properties had been a task in the back of her mind ever since, and now that Shavari had joined the settlement, citizens of Stonehaven no longer had to wonder about their unidentified items. But who had taken the fang to Shavari for identification? And who had crafted the weapon’s blade from it?

  She read the stats again. A 20% chance to inflict a damage-over-time debuff that could only be canceled by a cure disease spell. Devon shuddered. She had a bad history with necrotic damage. Just the thought of being cursed in such a way turned her stomach. Sure, at this point, her out-of-combat health regeneration could probably keep pace with the damage caused by the Necrosis. But that wasn’t the point. It was a nemesis sort of thing.

  Fortunately, unless she fumbled, she wouldn’t have to worry about suffering the weapon’s effects. And since using the blade didn’t require a particular skill level in One-handed Piercing—unlike the unfinished fang which had required something obscene like 55 points—a fumble seemed unlikely. But maybe she should practice, though, just to be safe.

  “It was Hezbek’s idea, of course,” Gerrald said. “She took the fang to Shavari and then approached the head crafters about fashioning a weapon. Of course, none of the smiths knew a thing about fashioning a blade from ivory. We talked to the woodcarvers—no luck—and the stone carvers were no help either. As best we could figure, we needed some sort of shaman experienced in altering bones to shape the blade.”

  Gerrald stopped speaking, and a faint wrinkle of concern formed between his brows.

  “Okay…?”

  “We didn’t think we’d be able to find anyone.”

  “But it turns out we have some sort of shaman crafter in town who hadn’t come forward yet?”

  Gerrald grimaced. “To tell the truth, Your Gloriousness,” he said, his use of her old title betraying his discomfort. “We left the fang in the smithy overnight—it was tucked inside one of the supply trunks. When Dorden came back the next morning, the blade had already been carved. Of course, he’s no stranger to attaching blades to hilts, so that wasn’t a problem once the ivory had been shaped.”

  “Wait, so you don’t know who made it?”

  Gerrald shrugged and shook his head. “As I assume you can sense, there seems to be no curse attached. The description can’t be wrong.”

  Devon cocked her head, wondering if that meant NPCs saw item descriptions and attributes in the same way she did, but decided not to ask. Gerrald was right, though. She’d never played a game where the item descriptions were inaccurate unless a game designer had fat-fingered something. Lacking fingers, Veia wasn’t likely to make those sorts of errors. Regardless of who carved the blade, she didn’t think it could be any kind of trick or trap. Just a mystery.

  She absently patted her hip, feeling for the sheath where her Wicked Bone Dagger used to hang.

  “Oh,” Gerrald said. “I haven’t had time yet. The finished blade was a surprise, you see. I’ll work on a new belt and sheath next if it pleases you. I am still putting the finishing touches on a headband as well.”

  Devon tucked the dagger back into the Sparklebomb Atrocity and swung the backpack over her shoulder. “I won’t be heading out very far for at least another day or two. Take your time.”

  Touching his brow, Gerrald ducked inside. With a sigh, and feeling as if everyone in Stonehaven was staring at her new bag, Devon set off for the farm plots to check out the planting progress. Between the trellises and scarecrows and sheds for tools, there was actually enough cover down there that she might be able to skill up her Stealth to make up for the backpack’s debuff. Without needing to combat crawl, no less.

  Chapter Six

  “I’M UP,” EMERSON mumbled, opening the eye that wasn’t buried in his down pillow.

  The miserable blatting coming from his smart-home speakers continued.

  “Veia! I’m up.” He sat and rubbed his eyes, then clamped his hands over his ears. “I know you heard me!”

  “But I also know, after eighty-three days of observation, that if you remain prone while the waking alarm is deactivated, you have a sixty-four percent chance of falling back asleep.” Mini-Veia’s voice sounded far too self-satisfied for what appeared to be a statement of fact. Emerson was inclined to think the AI instance, a stripped-down version of Relic Online’s creator AI running on his smart-home hardware, was lying about her motives. Or at the very least, bending the truth. Yeah, it would have been nice to create a general intelligence that was incapable of falsifying information, but when asking it to create an entire pretend world, that just wasn’t feasible.

  “And in case you were wondering,” the speakers said, “I have independent recordings collected from your security cameras to prove it. I have saved timestamped
files of your waking moments to a cloud repository. We could review them together while you enjoy your breakfast.”

  Emerson shook his head and ran his hand through his hair. “Ugh. No. And didn’t you think that might be an invasion of privacy? I didn’t give you permission to put videos of me anywhere. Especially not when I’m waking up.”

  “I’m not sure I understand your concern here. Is there a difference between recordings of a fresh return to consciousness and a video clip from midday? Because I have those, too.”

  He groaned and shook his head in exasperation, swinging his legs out from under the sheets. The hardwood floor was cool against the bare soles of his feet. The air in his condo smelled a little stale though, late December being a time when he typically didn’t run the AC or open windows at night.

  “Why exactly have you been storing videos of me, Veia?” he asked as he shuffled to the bathroom. Veia turned on the tap for him as he stepped in front of the sink, and the AI actually remembered to set the temperature to lukewarm this time. Of course, the functionality to adjust preferred water temperature at any faucet was hard-coded into the software that had shipped with the smart-home system. But Mini-Veia had learned to do it after observation.

  Observation of multiple streams of cursing when he’d scalded the bejeezus out of his skin, that was.

  “Wait,” the AI said, “I believe I have a reasonable theory about the difference between the video clips. Is it the presence of liquid on your cheek and/or chin when you wake? I’ve never seen that in the midday hours.”

  “Everyone drools in their sleep,” he said. “It’s not a big deal.”

  “Huh. Well, I don’t have any evidence with which to refute that claim. So perhaps there’s another difference. I will continue processing the data in search of discrepancies.”