Path of Spirit (Disgardium Book #6): LitRPG Series, Dan Sugralinov [the reader ebook .TXT] 📗

Mori, human, level 366 Sentry

The village wasn’t weak. If an ordinary sentry was close in level to Dis’s top players… This had to be where Oyama lived! But I had to be careful — mistrust danced in Mori’s eyes. One wrong word and my reputation would drop to hostile. Persuasion gave me a hint:

“A traveler,” I answered. “Some water would…”

“Can’t let you pass,” the guard said smugly. “Not allowed. All sorts wandering about…”

I bounced a gold coin in my hand and the sentry’s eyes gleamed. He turned back to me, gulped noisily and started to reach out, but then a voice came from behind him:

“Who’s this?”

A solid old man in a gown appeared at the gates, his skin yellowed and dried from the sun. His eyes scanned me.

“What do you want from us?”

My gut told me this was man wasn’t simple. Persuasion gave me three dialog options, and I didn’t like their chances. The only option that gave me a small chance of an answer was to be open with him.

“I’m looking for the village of Jiri…”

The old man’s face tightened. He and the guard instantly closed and locked the gate before me.

“Full battle readiness!” I heard from behind the gate.

Then other sounds. Metal clanging, a child screaming, geese honking. What was happening? Were they fighting..? Did the people of Jiri have an bad reputation? Were they feared?

I took off and hovered over the chaos-filled village. Arrows started flying toward me. I could descend, corner the villagers at the wall and force them to talk, but I had no desire to harass innocent NPCs — I’d had enough death for one day. So I just flew on, consoling myself with the thought that this wouldn’t be the last village I found.

The next village was almost ten minutes’ flight away; like the last one, it didn’t show on the map. Then deja vu: I landed to ask the villagers about Jiri, but they either cowered in fear, answering that they’d never heard of the village Jiri, or raised the alarm and attacked me. The damn map started to display the names only after the villagers told me them.

The sleepless night was taking its toll: I was yawning constantly, starting to zone out. My friends left Bomber to stand guard and went off to sleep without waiting up for me. We had to put off the clan meeting again — at least until I found Oyama.

At dawn, almost ready to abandon my search, angry and tired, I ran into the bed of a river in drought, reduced to a tiny stream splashing between the stones. A child could have stepped across it. A fence of sharpened stakes loomed a hundred yards away, its origins unclear. I flew closer. The barrier surrounded a couple of dozen low structures that descended into the ground and melded with the sand. Trees grew sparsely beyond the fence like a reminder of a lost oasis.

My experience of contact with the locals told me I’d get a cold welcome if I flew over that fence, and they’d be no happier to see my dragon. So I recalled Storm and headed to the gates on foot. Maybe this time I’d get a reasonable conversation.

“Halt, traveler.” A tousled head as big as a cauldron appeared over the parapet. “With what do you come?”

“I seek the village of Jiri.”

“You have found it. Take off your helmet, show your face and name yourself!”

Finally! I glanced at the guard — level three hundred and ninety-nine, woah!

“Scyth,” I introduced myself, putting my armor away in my inventory — the set was one whole, I couldn’t take off the helmet without the rest. “I’m looking for Supreme Grand Master Oyama.”

“You’ve come at a bad time, gramps is sleeping.” The man yawned noisily, his mouth opening so wide that for a moment I thought I was talking to an ogre. “Go with peace, traveler.”

“A hundred gold if you wake him up and bring him here. Or take me to him…”

“Nobody would wake him up even for a hundred thousand gold! And I don’t advise you try it either!” he chortled. “Leave this place while you still can!”

“Alright. I’ll be back in the morning.”

“As you like.” The man yawned again, this time even louder and wider. “Don’t forget the hundred gold. Dzigoro is my name. If I am not here, ask for me.”

His yawn was so infectious that I did the same. Rubbing my eyes, I found the logout button and ended my session. I crawled out of the capsule, wished Maria good night, asked her to wake me, staggered to my bedroom and collapsed into bed.

As I fell asleep, it occurred to me that I could just find another master of Unarmed Combat in Darant or Shak. I was alive again, after all; I could walk around the capitals without much risk. A trainer with the rank of Unparalleled Master would be enough. Oyama was three grades above that, and I wouldn’t need that level until rank four — to confirm the title of Grand Master.

But he was the one I wanted to train with. Firstly, in order to start building up my reputation with him early, and secondly… Something told me that Oyama had returned from the astral plane because of me (and the nearby Armageddon explosions, partly), and that all this was happening for a reason.

I slept deep and would have gone on sleeping all day if Maria hadn’t woken me. In my dream, I went to the Gnoll Riverlands again for some reason and almost reached the Frozen Gorge, but was interrupted. The nightmare I had in Alaska repeated, only without the ‘extraction.’ Thankfully, a shower washed away my dark thoughts.

Hung and I had breakfast together. Crawler and Infect had relieved him in the morning, so he’d