Dagger of Doom: A LitRPG Adventure (Beta Tester Book 5) Read online

  Dagger of Doom

  Beta Tester, Book 5

  By Rachel Ford

  Chapter One

  But don’t worry, Jack. This won’t hurt a bit.

  No lie in the history of lies had ever outmatched that one, and Jack Owens was pretty sure no lie in the future of lies would come close either.

  The liar in question was Dr. Roberts, the Marshfield Studio physician assigned to his case. And the lie itself referred to the tests Roberts had in store for Jack.

  Jack was trapped inside the virtual reality RPG Dagger of Doom: Iaxiabor’s Revenge, and had been for the last several – well, he wasn’t sure. Weeks? Months? The team had been very vague with details, presumably to keep him from panicking. Which didn’t bode well on its own.

  He’d been hired as a beta tester, but a software bug had prevented his mind from disconnecting from the virtual reality apparatus until he beat the game. Only now, he’d been in the VR unit for so long that his brain was starting to confuse his in-game avatar with his real-life body.

  Which was why Dr. Roberts saw fit to torture him at the moment. Supposedly, these were tests to establish how far the line between brain and body had eroded. Roberts had warned, “We will apply certain physical stimuli to your physical body, and digital stimuli to your digital body.”

  What Roberts hadn’t said was that the stimuli in question would be a cattle prod. But that’s exactly what it felt like to Jack. He let loose a stream of curse words, all of which the game’s profanity filter converted to inane babbling. But after he got a few mother trucker’s and suds and biscuits out of his system, he demanded, “What was that? I thought you said it wouldn’t hurt?”

  Dr. Roberts’ voice carried clear and crisp into the paused game world. “Oh, you felt that?”

  “Felt it? I’m still feeling it.”

  “Oh. Well, that’s good.”

  Roberts had no avatar in the game. His voice just piped in like some kind of malevolent deity. So Jack aimed the scowl intended for the other man at nothing in particular. “It really isn’t. I’m pretty sure my grandkids are going to be born feeling that. And I don’t even have kids yet.”

  “Yes, well, not to put too fine a point on it, Mr. Owens, but unless you get out of that machine, you never will. So if there’s nothing else, I’m going to continue my tests.”

  Jack started to say that there was something else: that he needed to know exactly what Roberts had in store, and to establish that he did not consent to further torture. He got about two words out when searing pain tore through him. Every nerve in his body – he couldn’t tell which body, and it didn’t really matter at the moment, because the effect was the same – lit up like a Christmas tree. He seemed to be burning and freezing all at the same time.

  “What about that one? Could you feel that?”

  Jack answered by way of a stream of swears, all of which the game diluted and softened until they became as meaningless as the first round. Instead of threatening the other man, he ended up blessing him. “Butter my butt and call me a biscuit, that hurt like a poke in the eye.” He was about ready to commit a double homicide when it wrapped up – first, against Roberts, of course, and secondly against whoever had implemented the damned profanity filter.

  The doctor didn’t wait to hear more, though. He carried on with his tests, performing a string of similarly painful experiments. Some hurt worse, and some hurt less. But all of them hurt.

  This, Dr. Roberts assured Jack, was an excellent sign. “The fact that you have been registering in-game damage as if it is actual damage should make you very glad that you can still feel real damage.”

  “Oh yeah. I’m flipping thrilled.”

  “It means that whatever is going on, so far anyway it only seems to be in one direction.”

  “Yeah, the ‘I feel twice as much pain’ direction.”

  “You felt every test I ran. You passed with flying colors, Mr. Owens.”

  “Which means what, exactly?”

  “I’m not sure. Not yet. I need to review the data. The obvious point, of course, is that your body still understands – and prioritizes – the neural link between your brain and your real body.”

  “So you’ll be able to stop whatever’s going on, or reverse it? My brain won’t think the in-game damage is real?”

  “We shall see. That would be the optimal result, of course. But I might need to run some more tests before I can promise anything.”

  “More tests? Isn’t that what these tests were supposed to show you?”

  “These tests? No, not at all. This was just to establish a baseline.”

  Jack scowled again. “Fiddlesticks. So I’m going to have to go through more of this balderdash?”

  “Balderdash?” The doctor sounded confused.

  A small voice – that of Richard the intern, one of Jack’s regular overseers – piped up, “I think he was swearing, sir. That would be the game’s profanity filter.”

  Richard had only just taken over the shift for Jordan Knight, Jack’s other regular overseer, when the testing – torture – began. His gift for stating the obvious was clearly as sharp as ever, though. Jack rolled his eyes. “Of course I was swearing.”

  “Ah. I see. Well, yes: you may need to undergo more of this ‘balderdash.’”

  “Well that’s just great,” Jack fumed. He could still feel the ache in his muscles, and the phantom sting of pain that had already ended. “What exactly were you doing to me, anyway?”

  “Oh, pretty standard stuff: administering various degrees of impact for evaluation, testing sensory stimulants and thermal sensory perception…”

  “Which is what, in English?”

  “Slapping you with things,” Richard said. “And using this thing that looked like some kind of taser to –”

  Richard’s voice vanished, and for a moment Jack heard nothing at all from the lab. It had been enough though. “A taser? You Mother Hubbard, I knew –”

  Dr. Roberts voice came back on the line, proceeded by an awkward chuckle. “Richard is such a joker. Not a very professional trait, of course.”

  “No sir. Sorry, sir.”

  “There is, of course, no taser. And no slapping. Just a run of the mill, medical grade targeted electroshock device and specific, localized impact testing utilizing standard primatial prehensile appendages. Right, Richard?”

  “Uh…yes sir. Of course.”

  “See, Jack? So you can relax.”

  Jack didn’t relax, of course. He scowled and cursed some more, demanding details about the tests. But Roberts supplied none. He repeated again that they were sensory perception measurements. “The particulars are very medical and very technical, and it would be a waste of both of our time to get into details.”

  “Try me.”

  But Roberts didn’t try Jack. On the contrary, he assured the young man that he had nothing at all to worry about. “I’ll go over this test data and get back to you as soon as I can. In the meantime – well, Jack, the plan remains what it’s always been: finish the game as soon as you can. And the sooner the better, for everyone involved. We in the studio would like to be able to devote our time to our real work. And I’m sure you’re eager to get back to – well, whatever it is you do.”

  Then Dr. Roberts took his leave – leaving Jack with a million unanswered questions and concerns.

  He returned to his game, right where he’d left off before Dr. Roberts showed up. He was on a great, green coastline. And now that the game had resumed, his companions all sprang to life: Migli the dwarf, standing almost as wide as he was tall; Karag the giant, standing twice the height of the
tallest of their party; Ceinwen the elf, decked out in her fine armor; Er’c the orc, an aura of magic emanating from him; and Arath the ranger, the only other human of the party. Shimmerfax the battlecorn stood tall, proud and, yes, shimmering, from his glistening hooves to his glittering horn. Even Frosty the baby ice dragon, Jack’s in-game pet, scampered about, chasing a digital butterfly.

  “Well,” Karag was saying, “I suppose this Kalbidor fellow won’t be so good as to make himself easy to find.”

  Kalbidor was the demon they’d come in search of – the demon who had so far led them on a merry chase across realms and continents with not a damned thing to show for it. He’d stolen the titular Dagger of Doom – the selfsame dagger that held the soul of Iaxiabor, the lord of all demons. For reasons that rather escaped Jack – but that, he was pretty sure, stemmed mostly from bad writing – Kalbidor hadn’t yet released his master’s soul despite having the dagger he needed to do so. Which meant that the hunt was still on, and Jack still had a chance to stop Kalbidor before he unleashed Iaxiabor on the world.

  “It shouldn’t be a problem,” Arath said. “Not with an Obsidian Isles assassin in our midst.”

  “Really?” Karag turned an expression of faux surprise around the group. “Where?”

  Jack rolled his eyes. The Obsidian Isles were the home realm of the giants, and Karag’s work, or former work, as one of the Isles’ enforcers was an open secret among their group. And though he’d more or less admitted to it, Karag still maintained this pretense. But the truth was, Jack wasn’t interested in Karag’s games, or even finding Kalbidor. Not at the moment.

  He wanted to talk to Richard. He figured the young man would get an earful from Dr. Roberts for opening his mouth. But once that was done, it would be his turn to pounce. So he listened absently for a few more minutes as his companions went back and forth.

  Er’c worried that they would be too late. Ceinwen encouraged him to maintain the faith. “Do not lose heart,” she told the young orc. “The gods favor the just.”

  Arath laughed at that. “I hope you’re wrong there, my pretty, or it’s going to be a sorry life for me.”

  Karag snorted. “Have you never met a mirror, man? It’s already a sorry life.”

  The ranger straightened his tousled hair with one hand and scratched his five-day stubble. “What are you talking about? I wouldn’t trade my life for anything. I’m a free man, on the open road, with no problems. Present company excluded.”

  “Other than a prince of demons about to unleash the end of life as we know it,” Er’c pointed out.

  “Well, right, I’ll give you that one. But that’s as much your problem as it is mine. Maybe it’s the unjust the gods prefer, and you lot that’s bringing your bad luck my way.”

  Jack decided he’d heard enough. Roberts would be gone by now. He said, “Speak to supervisor.”

  That was the in-game cue to ping the supervisor – whoever was on shift at the moment. The game paused a second later, and all his companions froze still. All but Migli, the designated supervisor interface avatar. “Yo, Jack,” the dwarf said. He spoke with Migli’s voice, but Richard’s vernacular. “What’s up?”

  “We need to talk.”

  Migli – Richard – groaned. “You too?”

  “Yes. You need to tell me what’s going on.”

  Migli laughed, a high, nervous laugh. “What do you mean?”

  Jack crossed his arms. “You know blessedly well what I mean. Was he really using a taser on me? And slapping me?”

  Richard didn’t answer, unless the same, stupid laugh was an answer.

  “He was, wasn’t he?”

  “Look, dude, of course not. I was joking.”

  “My backside you were.”

  Richard shifted, and glanced around uncomfortably. It was a strange motion in game, but Jack knew what it meant. The avatar was mirroring Richard’s real-life movements; and the young intern had just thrown a glance over his shoulder. “Even if I wasn’t – and I was – I’d have to tell you I was. I’m just the intern, man. I could lose my place here.”

  Jack snorted. “So he was, then.”

  Richard didn’t answer all at once. When he did, his tone sounded evasive. “Of course I was joking, dude. I signed NDA’s, just like you did. I couldn’t be talking about Marshfield Studio’s proprietary medical procedures.”

  “Cheese and rice, Richard: tasing someone isn’t a medical procedure. Proprietary or otherwise.”

  “Good thing I was just joking then, right? So, you got anything else for me? Or should I get back to my work, so you can get back to playing your game? You know, so you can get out of there as soon as possible?”

  Chapter Two

  Jack let him go after that. He had no reason not to, really. Richard wasn’t going to say anything more, and he didn’t need him to. The intern had told him everything he needed to know already.

  And none of it had been good news. The fact that Dr. Roberts had resorted to slapping his inanimate body meant – most obviously – that the man needed his medical license revoked. But, probably more to the point, it meant that he didn’t have any better treatments or strategies in mind. Roberts was groping about blindly in search of a solution.

  The sooner I get out of this damned game, the better. So he turned back to his companions. They were still squabbling, now about how best to find Kalbidor.

  “I say we go to the first town we see and find the tavern.” That was Arath – of course.

  Ceinwen snorted, and Karag shook his head. “That would be your solution, wouldn’t it?”

  “All’s I’m saying is, you can find any kind of information at a tavern. Someone always knows something.” Arath shrugged nonchalantly. “And if they don’t, well, at least you can drown your woes over a pint. And it’s been an awful long time since we’ve had the chance for a pint.”

  “It has at that,” Migli said, a bit wistfully. “For my part, Sir Jack, I’m persuaded.”

  “I’m not,” Karag said. “We know nothing of this land, or who might live here. We might blunder into our own demises if we stumble into the first tavern we see.”

  “The men of this land are mostly peaceful,” Ceinwen said. “They are farmers and craftsmen.”

  “You forget the dwarves of the mountains,” Migli said. “It is in this realm that the great dwarven kingdoms are to be found.”

  “To Karag’s point, they too are peaceful.”

  “Aye, but not to be trifled with: they’ll break bread with strangers any day, but they’ll as readily break the heads of anyone who trespasses on their goodwill.”

  Arath sniffed out a, “Charming.”

  Er’c said, “But we have no business with the dwarves, Migli. Not unless they have knowledge of Kalbidor.”

  “I should not count on it,” the dwarf said. “Unless it is made of precious metals or gems, I think I can promise you: the dwarves of these mountains will have no interest in it. Whatever it is.”

  Something in Migli’s tone caught Jack’s ear, and he glanced toward the dwarf. But Arath had started talking again about ale, and soon Migli too was reminiscing about the last tankard of brew he’d drank.

  “I think we have no choice but to seek out intelligence, whether it be in a tavern or elsewhere,” Er’c said. “But we must learn the location of Kalbidor’s fortress.”

  And at the same time, a series of thoughts ran through Jack’s mind.

  Objective added: discover the location of Kalbidor’s fortress

  Objective added: ask around town about Kalbidor’s fortress [optional]

  Objective added: ask traveler’s on the road about Kalbidor’s fortress [optional]

  “Well,” he said, “I guess we’re going to reach a town pretty soon.”

  They did. They walked for a good hour more before they caught sight of it. The road was open and they met few travelers upon it. They were all NPC’s – non-player characters. One was a merchant, who could answer none of Jack’s questions, but tried to hawk
wares. Another had a flock of sheep in tow, and no time for “frivolous chitchat.”

  The third seemed to be a vagrant with ill intent. His name was William the Wanderer, and he glanced the party over, his eyes resting for a long time on Karag. Then he shook his head. “Sorry, friends: I know nothing about it. But I should watch my back, if I were you. The road is long and dangerous, especially for strangers who don’t know their way. You never know what might happen, or who might wind up with a knife in their back as they sleep.”

  Karag muttered to himself that he should like to see the “little man” try anything.

  “‘William the Wanderer?’” Arath quoted. “More like William the Throatcutter.”

  But soon enough, they forgot about the travelers, and even William. The town drew their attention. It was a small, unwalled community – not quite a city, but larger than a village. It sprawled over a large tract of land, with farms on the outskirts of a dense population center.

  Jack saw a large, wattle and daub house in the center of town. It rose three stories high – two stories taller than most of the other buildings in the area. It was many times wider and longer, too, and looked grand by comparison.

  “That’d be where the lord of this place lives, as like as not,” Migli said.

  “We should start there,” Ceinwen nodded.

  “Start at the tavern,” Arath argued. “I’m telling you: the tavern is the beating heart of a place like this. All the lifeblood of a city runs through its establishments of drinking: your highborn and lowborn alike.”

  “It’s rare for princes to drink with peasants,” Er’c observed. “If the lord of this place drinks, it’ll be in his own hall.”

  “You’re a smart boy though you be an orc – and never let anyone tell you otherwise. But the only way to know where a prince may drink is to start at the tavern. Either he’ll be drinking there, or he won’t. And if he’s not, we can ask around, and find out where he does like to drink.”

  “Probably in that big house.”

  “Maybe so. But unless you’ve got an invitation to dine at the lord’s table, I don’t see how that helps us.”