Strength Build: A LitRPG Saga (The Complete Strength Build Cycle) Read online

  He reached a quiet, eerie section of the wood, where color itself seemed to be drained from the trees. A corpse was slumped against an oak a little to the north. There were no visible enemies, which of course raised a red flag in Nick’s mind. He approached warily, circling the gnarled old tree in case there were ambushers.

  The canopy was clear. The wood was silent. He crouched to search the corpse and was rewarded with a blood-curdling scream. A pair of wizened, bloodless hands burst forth from the dead man’s chest, tearing the rib cage apart. A head appeared, wrinkled like a rotten prune. Undead.

  Nick backed away, glad the ghoul hadn’t touched him. Such creatures invariably transferred curses, hexes, toxin, poison or disease. He circled the beast as it climbed to its feet and swayed like a drunk.

  Worryingly, the creature glowed red as it shambled toward him. It was probably imbued with elemental power, like fire. Nick let it advance and land a blow against his shield. It was always good to know whether he could absorb damage or whether more complex tactics were required.

  The ghoul’s fist strike didn’t do any initial damage, but after a few seconds his shield caught fire. He was forced to drop it before he took damage, draining valuable HP. He cursed under his breath, resolving to get a metal fucking shield as soon as possible.

  Shield-less, he gripped his short sword with both hands. He had a sinking feeling the weapon didn’t have a two-handed move set, which meant he was a slot down. The ghoul seemed to realize this, advancing aggressively.

  Alarmed, Nick backed straight into a tree, allowing the ghoul to press and strike. Nick lashed out at the same time, which he hated. The ghoul staggered backward, but its own blow drained more HP, plus decay damage.

  Nick’s HP was down to 50% as he worked his way back through the trees. Humiliated, and conscious of the Hate points piling into his tally, he tried to run, but was forced to turn when the ghoul screamed and bounded after him.

  It was time to tumble. He drew a flailing attack, evading with a roll across his enemy’s flank. He lashed out, only to find the ghoul was halfway through a two-strike maneuver. He was struck in the face before he could deliver his blow, hitting the dirt. He leaped to his feet and was just able to assume a defensive stance before the ghoul renewed his attack. The shortsword alone couldn’t repel its standard attacks, which came surprisingly fast. HP was now down to 10%.

  Frustrated, Nick advanced like a jittery noob and swung wildly. The ghoul took the damage but also meted out a punch of its own, sending him to the ground a second time. He watched in horror as the extra decay damage drained him of life. He’d been killed like a rank amateur.

  His face burned with embarrassment as everything went dark. To be killed by an early level ghoul on a worldwide Nex cast was beyond humiliating. He felt like activating his panic button and getting the Neutron techies to haul him from Immersion, but he wasn’t a quitter. He took a deep breath before opening his eyes. As expected, he’d spawned where he first started - outside the confectionery store in Salisbury. A rude surprise awaited him - his HP was only 50%.

  “Son of a bitch,” he muttered, heading down the street while he gathered his thoughts. He would gather healing herbs then continue east. The glowing ghoul was probably wandering aimlessly through those trees.

  Except it wasn’t. The shambling horror was making straight for him down the main street of Salisbury. The NPCs were shrieking and getting the hell out of its way. Not even the guards wanted to go near it.

  Nick sighed, imaging the eternal hell of getting killed again and again by this fucking undead douchebag on a worldwide cast. He held his sword in a defensive posture, wondering if he had enough money for another buckler. The smithy probably only had wooden bucklers anyway, the cretin.

  The ghoul growled and slobbered venomously, clearly intent on making Nick’s life miserable. This was the first time he’d encountered a stalking enemy, and it sucked the big one.

  He didn’t have time for a prolonged fight he wasn’t going to win, so he went in for the kill. Sometimes a tank build could fluke victory by standing so close to the enemy their blows didn’t register. Not this time. The ghoul pounded Nick, delivering physical and decay damage. With only 50% of his max HP, he fell quickly, the black screen of death filling his soul with fury.

  There was no more embarrassment. This went beyond that. Nick simmered with rage until he respawned, pausing only to see where the ghoul was. The undead bitch was further down the street. He bolted from the shade, heading the other way.

  The ghoul’s nerve-shredding scream suggested it was giving chase. Nick saw a flight of stairs and didn’t hesitate. Maybe he could lose the ghoul and escape with what remained of his tattered honor. He didn’t like his chances.

  The interior of the shop was adorned with arrows of every shape, size and color. It was a fletchery. The female store owner was standing by a wooden pole in the center of the shop floor.

  “Can I help you?”

  “Yes,” Nick said, edging around her so she was between him and the stairs. A flood of Hate points were loaded onto his tally. He engaged the shop screen - anything to hide from the ghoul’s attack. In the time it took to establish that he had 3 crowns and that a single arrow cost 5, the shop window was broken. Blood spurted from the fletcher’s back and she spun around to face her intruder.

  “Begone, undead scum!” she bellowed, firing a dart from a contraption strapped to her wrist.

  The missile struck the ghoul in a shower of blue sparks. Whatever it was slowed it down considerably. The ghoul’s pulsating veins turned from red to blue and its skin appeared to stiffen. Best of all, it’s health fell rapidly. Seizing the moment, Nick leaped out from behind the fletcher and struck at the ghoul’s chest. He laughed out loud when the creature shattered into a million pieces. 500 XP moved gloriously into his tally. He exaggerated his through-swing, howling in manic triumph.

  “You’re done, asswipe,’” he sneered. He wasn’t sure where that came from. All he knew was that he was immensely relieved. He flinched when he noticed he was getting a shit ton of Hate points. It slapped him in the face like a bucket of cold water.

  “Did I overdo it?” he asked the fletcher. She just frowned and began cleaning up the hardened chunks of ghoul flesh from her shop floor. He tried to access her shop window, thinking he might sell his leather gauntlets for a cheap short bow and a few arrows. They always came in handy, even for strength builds.

  The fletcher refused to do business. Nick had to admit that he hadn’t exactly improved her day, so he left, marveling at the complexity of NPCs in this game. It promised to be an interesting few hours!

  Apart from a small huddle of onlookers outside the fletchery, the people of Salisbury were getting on with business.

  Nick headed east once again, making straight for the corpse. Either there was no loot to be had, or another player had opportunistically taken it. Cursing under his breath, he continued east, eager to find a way across the widening stream to his left.

  He was just about to cut his losses and head back to Salisbury when he noticed a stone bridge in the distance. As usual he approached warily, drawing a few mud crabs from their lairs. They were relatively easy to dispatch, though Nick felt particularly vulnerable without a shield.

  Meanwhile, the stream had become a river, wide and powerful. The bridge was quite long, extending for several hundred yards across the water. Nick could see a sprawling building on the other side - it looked like a tavern.

  He generally liked taverns; they offered information and opportunities to play mini-games. He didn’t really understand the point of drinking alcohol in RPGs though. All the alcohol ever did was impair his fighting ability. All up, taverns were well worth visiting, but he had to get there first.

  Something about the bridge made him think twice. It was too empty, too peaceful. As usual, his gaming instincts were spot on. There was a red flash close to where the bridge met the south bank. A small, hunch-backed mage had just sent a fireball spi
raling his way.

  Holding his nerve, Nick let it come to him and tumbled out of the way at the last moment. An experienced gamer once gave him an incredibly useful piece of advice - watch death as it comes. There was no point in panicking, which usually lead to death without knowledge. In watching death approach, a gamer was at least able to gain intel before the end came, which made the next run easier.

  In this case, watching the fireball closely not only allowed Nick to dodge at the right moment, but gave him a fix on the mage’s position. He ran through the trees, knowing they would protect him from the second blast. Several trunks collapsed in flames, which told him he might be a little out of his depth with this guy.

  He was so intent on finding cover that he didn’t notice the rusty grate at his feet. He broke through and fell several yards, landing awkwardly in a cold, wet passage. His HP took a severe hit, which wasn’t ideal since he had no healing herbs left.

  The tunnel ran north, which took it directly under the bridge. Sword poised, he advanced carefully. He was disappointed to find that the tunnel spilled out onto a mud bank under the bridge with no obvious way forward. Worse, a greater mud crab launched itself from the muck to engage him.

  “Great …” he muttered. He couldn’t afford to die again. He didn’t have a shield or money. Plus, time was fast running out.

  So he watched death approach, repeating the mantra in his mind as he circled the mud crab. Clearly, with his very light armor and lack of shield, he would need to tumble. Once he got used to the mud crab’s telegraphed lunging attacks, he was able to dodge and counter-attack no problem. In the end it was an easy 350 XP without loot.

  But where to go now? On instinct he edged around the corner of one of the massive stone pylons that helped keep the bridge aloft. Nothing - just a dead end into lapping water. He tried the other side of the pylon, just in case - what was that under the water? His heart soared - a wooden chest! But would he be swept away by the river if he tried to haul it out?

  Nick knew the answer already - no gamer worth his salt could walk away from a fucking treasure chest. He stepped into the water, flinching from the cold. Fighting against the powerful current, he dragged the huge box back onto the mud. Panting from the exertion, he kicked at the rusted iron latches until they broke. With bated breath he lifted the lid to find …

  A greatsword. He covered his mouth in disbelief. A gloriously long, heavy sword that only he, a mighty strength build, could carry. Better still, it had a name, which was always a sign of quality. IceBringer. The minimum STR requirement was 18, so his earlier decision to boost strength was proving to be correct.

  He tried a few lazy swings. The blade was heavy and true. It left a royal blue after-trail, even though it only dealt physical damage. Curious, Nick re-checked the stats and sighed with joy - the thing had 100 per cent resistance to fire.

  The best bit of all? Finding a two-handed weapon meant he didn’t need a shield. Of course, it wasn’t his preferred setup. He liked to accumulate so much strength that he could wield a two-hander in one hand and carry a shield, but that usually only happened in the mid-to-latter stages of an RPG.

  His heart singing, Nick almost skipped his way back down the tunnel, past where he fell through the grate, and found an iron ladder at the end of the passage. It took him back to the forest by the bridge. He climbed through a hole he might otherwise have missed, scanning the bridge carefully. The mage was still there, but had not seen him re-emerge.

  It was time for vengeance. Grinning like a lunatic, Nick held IceBringer defensively and stalked the unwitting mage. His leather greaves was light enough to pad his footfall over the grass and mud. As soon as he hit the stone ramp the mage turned, quickly forming a fireball.

  The fiery sphere surged toward him, and he brandished the greatsword like a shield. Its length was engulfed by fire, but the missile went no further. Better than that, it was sent back to the caster. The Robed One shrieked as the fireball knocked him clean off the bridge.

  Nick rushed to the bridge rampart to look. The swift water had extinguished the fire, but the mage’s body had been charred before it hit the water. The shriveled body was swept downstream and Nick received a very nice 600 XP, triggering his favorite sound in the world - the level-up chime.

  Now that he had his greatsword, ideally he would boost STR to one-hand it, but he also needed to consider his immediate needs. He elected to boost VIT. It went back to his original philosophy - as long as you had good, broadly resistant heavy armor, you could never have too many HP. It really did make you impossible to kill. Hopefully he now had more HP than any other pixel runner on the Fields of Durandor.

  Sublimely happy, he continued down the bridge, confident he wouldn’t be challenged until he reached the tavern. He had to smile at the wooden sign swinging in the breeze - The Generous Gnome. A proprietor with a sense of humor, it seemed.

  Nick strode in and was immediately drawn to the fire. It was growing cold outside. Of course, if he ever got heavy armor, he’d probably be praying for cold weather. He loved the extra sensory perception gamers experienced in Immersion.

  There were several other tavern patrons, most of them surly-looking farmer types. A couple of soldiers in purple livery sat in the corner playing a card game. Once Nick had warmed himself, he approached the publican behind the bar.

  “If you please, squire,” the man said in a gruff voice. “We was wonderin’ what became of that crazy Robe on the bridge.”

  Nick sensed a trap. There was a note of affection in the publican’s voice, so he decided against boasting about his kill.

  “Last I saw he was flinging fireballs into the forest,” he said.

  The publican grunted. “Barkin’ mad.”

  “Can you tell me who those soldiers work for?” Nick asked, testing the game’s conversation strings.

  The publican paused for a moment, as if Nick had asked a trick question.

  “They’re Prince Jannibar’s men,” came the reply. “You new to Durandor?”

  “I am,” Nick said, deciding to squeeze this man for intel. After all, he had a quest to complete and was probably falling behind.

  “Have you seen the Prince since King Andaran’s death?” he asked innocently.

  The publican shrugged. “Word is he’s still fightin’ kobolds out at Bariz. I do know the other son, Prince Alain, was quite affected by his father’s croakin’. Fell into a heap, they say. He’s holed up with all his books and quills.”

  The publican’s tone made it obvious what he thought of young Alain.

  “Tell me,” Nick said, “How did Jannibar and Alain get on with their father?”

  The publican smiled shrewdly. “Man has to make a livin’. The blowflies in ‘ere are sittin’ on their ales like little girls. Need a beverage?”

  Nick must have looked uninterested, because the publican leaned over and winked conspiratorially.

  “I have other wares,” he said.

  Nick looked at him for a moment, wondering if he was talking about himself. But then it dawned on him - The Generous Gnome doubled as a brothel. Despite his best intentions he felt a stirring between his legs. Could it hurt to take a look? He usually liked this sort of thing in RPGs and had never been worse off for it. In fact, prostitutes could be great sources of information.

  “Lead the way,” he said, immediately getting a trickle of Love and Hate points. Nick was encouraged by that - after all, social reactions equaled credits.

  The publican cleared his throat, waiting for payment.

  “Oh right,” Nick said, engaging the shop screen. It appeared the publican had three women on his roster. Nick chose the petite blond. He didn’t have any money, but the publican accepted the leather gauntlets he no longer needed.

  The shop window dissolved and the publican nodded in satisfaction.

  “Follow me,” he said, heading down a side passage. Nick followed willingly, but was distracted by scrolling text in the lower left of his view. It was a message from a
nother runner - KainDestroyer18. Nick had never heard of him before. Definitely wasn’t one of the higher-earning pixel runners.

  GONNA FUCKING KILL YOU. BITCH.

  OK, so trash-talking was a thing in these comps. Nick took a look at his social scores - not much action there. Personal messages between players must’ve been private. He considered replying in kind but it wasn’t really his style. Even so, the message got under his skin as he followed the publican into a dingy bedroom.

  “Take a seat on the edge of the bed,” the portly man urged sleazily. “Dela will be right out.”

  Nick waited, his pleasant buzz destroyed. Sure, he was used to random messages from other gamers but this felt personal. Why had KainDestroyer18 targeted him? Had they met before? Or was it something he did to all players?

  Whatever the case, he resented being made to feel this way. He resolved the make strawberry jam of this “Kain” if their paths crossed.

  Dela entered the room and shut the door. She was certainly well-endowed for such a petite figure. She sat next to Nick and laid a hand on his leg.

  “You’re in a hurry, aren’t you?” she asked demurely.

  Nick blinked. “How did you know that?”

  She smiled. “You all are,” she said wistfully.

  There was something sad about her eyes. Something that drew his sympathy. He snapped himself out of it - she was just code written for Oakshield Junction! The stress and trauma of trying to stay alive had messed with his brain.

  The timer read less than two hours. Time for action. He accessed his inventory screen, unequipped all his gear, closed it. The 21st century method of getting undressed. Dela’s eyes widened when she saw him. It was probably written into her code, but he enjoyed that nonetheless.

  In return she freed the shoulder straps of her scarlet dress. She wasn’t wearing anything underneath. Smiling demurely, she moved closer to Nick and encouraged him to fondle her breasts. As soon as he had reached “peak altitude” a steamy cut-scene played out. It was more than surreal to see his character in so many adventurous positions with Dela, knowing that the whole world was watching.