Waking up in an unfamiliar room, alone, and butt-naked was a disorienting experience, and it took John a couple of seconds before he figured out how he ended up there.
Right, the room at the inn.
Chuckling, he stood up, stretched, and groaned. All his clothes were on the ground in the bathroom in one filthy pile, and after the heavenly bath he had yesterday, he was very reluctant to wear them again and thought about what to do about it.
Sparing a glance at the bath, he considered simply chucking everything in there, and giving it a quick rinse, but then came up with a better idea.
Covering himself in the white bed sheet, he walked out of his room as if walking straight out of the sauna. After descending the stairwell, he headed straight to the youth behind the counter.
"Morning, can I have a small request?"
"Certainly, what do you need?" The youth calmly replied, as if seeing a man covered only in a white sheet was a perfectly normal occurrence.
"Err, my clothes are all dirty. Do you have a laundry room here somewhere?"
"Of course, each room comes with a cleaning machine in your bathroom. Look for a wooden box with a dark-green lid, and place your clothes inside. After closing it, everything will be perfectly clean in the next ten minutes. Anything else?" He replied with a light smile.
"That's exactly what I need!" John nodded, thanked him, and walked back into his room. Tossing the whole pile of dirty clothes—chainmail included—into it, he carefully lowered the lid, and went back to his bedroom.
Ten minutes is enough to slot the seven new cards. Apocalypse deck!
The first four cards he split evenly, linking [Increased minion combat distance] and the first [Increased affinity effect] to his stiletto, and [Increased minion attack speed] plus the second [Increased affinity effect] to the wisp. After that, he picked the one permanently boosting Strength by five and willed it to activate.
Feeling a very intense bout of weakness, his legs gave out under him, and he collapsed to the ground. All his muscles started randomly spasming, preventing any control over his body and only making him jerk around for what felt like an eternity, but was actually less than a minute.
Heart beating one-eighty a minute, he slowly regained control and pulled up on his knees, and shakily stood up.
What the fuck was that.
His whole body felt lighter as if he suddenly lost a significant portion of his weight, and now that the unpleasant shaking subsided, he attempted to walk around the bed, immediately noticing another problem.
His fine-tuned muscle memory was making him use too much strength, sending him sprawling forward and when he instinctively tried to correct it by planting his left leg in front of him, he overcompensated, and sent himself backward, falling on the ground back first.
"Damn it!" He grumbled, now paying extra attention to even the slightest movement.
Maybe, if I also increase my Dexterity, I'll be able to deal with this much easier, he suddenly thought.
Not knowing what to expect, he carefully lied down and willed for the Dexterity card to apply. This time, the change manifested in the form of bone-chilling coldness, that slowly spread from the center of his chest and seeped into every tendon and ligament throughout his whole body.
This process was a little faster, and after the chilliness subsided, he used the last of the cards, the Perception.
"Arghhh," he rolled on the ground, desperately trying to keep his hands closed in fists to prevent himself from scratching his whole face to ribbons. This time, the change manifested in the form of a horrible itch across his entire body, but his eyes, nose, ears, and even mouth were by far the worst.
Unable to say when the itching finally stopped, he remained curled up on the ground, taking long calming breaths and still convulsively holding his hands together.
That was horrible.
Feeling hot liquid drip on his stomach, and the smell of iron, he carefully opened his eyes and noticed two gouges on his left hand, where he tore off his skin with his nails.
Standing up, his motor functions were still largely fucked up, but paying very close attention to every step, he was able to slowly walk to the bathroom and check up on the magical washing machine.
The lid was slightly lifted, signaling the finishing of his laundry, and he slowly pulled everything out and with extreme care dressed up.
His hand was still bleeding small droplets on the ground, but with no medical cabinet, there wasn't anything—except keeping his left sleeve rolled up—to do.
Maybe the youth has something to help.
With that thought in mind, he once again descended the stairs, but before he got all the way down, he noticed another interesting thing. The wound had already stopped bleeding and as he watched the skin-deep scratch, the blood was clotted and slowly, a new scab formed over it.
"Wow, that's…" lost for words, he admired the speed of recovery his body was now capable of.
Wait, my shoulder!
It wasn't even a day, and now he couldn't feel any discomfort anymore. That must be the increased Vitality at work.
Once again going back to his room, he cleaned all the blood stains on his hand, rolled down his sleeve, and went downstairs and ordered a healthy portion of breakfast.
John was certain the youth had noticed his unusual way of movement, but refrained from commenting on it, which suited him just fine, leaving him to enjoy the delicious slices of sweet buttered bread with drops of honey on top, and sips of pear tea.
"Ahhh, somehow even this simple breakfast was surprisingly delicious," John complimented, and carefully walked out.
His shelter was still the silent flat marble isolated in total darkness, but the moment he passed through the archway, he was barraged by a mixture of nonsensical sounds.
This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.
As he left the broom closet, the sounds turned from distracting into annoying, and the moment he stepped into the square, it became almost a disorienting mash of jumbled conversations, footsteps, rustling of clothes, and many other unidentifiable noises. The same problem was the smells, a mixture of sweat, dust, and perfumes, forming a truly unpleasant combination. Luckily, his eyesight only got sharper, letting him pick up details further away, but didn't overwhelm him with any new impossible colors or blinding lights.
Carefully walking through the square, he got in front of the hotel lobby, and not seeing any guards, entered inside to see the current time.
Seven forty-nine, so the next wave should start in the next thirty minutes.
Seeing the couch on the side, he sat down, picked up the book from yesterday, and continued where he left off.
[Attention Valiant's stand!
The second wave of relentless assault is about to begin. You have ten minutes to prepare.]
Nodding, he closed the book with a resounding snap and walked to the same wall as yesterday.
Huh, good as new with no signs of repair. That's useful to know.
"John, where have you been?" Asked the deep voice of Blackfist from his side, while his attention was fully focused on the previously breached gate.
"Huh?" Wincing, John turned toward him, desperately trying to keep the buzz of a few dozen of people from splitting his head in half. "I am sorry, what did you say?"
Frowning, Blackfist scrutinized his current state, before asking again. "Where have you been? And are you drunk?"
"What? No, of course not. I was tired yesterday, so I found an empty spot and crashed for the night. It's just… can we go somewhere quieter, my head is killing me here."
"I was hoping to have you near the front, but with the state you are currently in, I am starting to question my judgment."
"Ohh, yeah… no… that's not a good idea. Besides, I want to have a clear vision over the street to guide my minions."
Grunting, Blackfist took a careful look over the street and told John to have Sara find him a position on top of the wall instead.
Looking around, he spotted her organizing the strikers into positions, and after explaining Blackfist's orders was guided to the left side of the wall. Three-meter elevation wasn't as good as the previous balcony, but it would have to do, and he agreed that this was a much better place for a quick response.
He spent the remaining time sitting on the wall with his legs dangling over the edge and covering his ears with his palms.
The portal slowly opened and the zombies started pouring out, rushing to overwhelm the defenders, but being absolutely devastated on the way there. John was raking kills using the same tactic, and even though the five percent increase in affinity wasn't noticeable here, the ten percent increase in range was. Yesterday, his maximum reach was almost to the brown brick house with chipped old paint, but now he was able to reach all the way to its entrance.
The assault followed the same course, and just as the zombies stopped coming out, the line of defenders split up to let five people through and run fifteen meters ahead.
What are they…
The pack of Rothounds stepped out of the portal, but as they were starting to form into a formation, the five people used their long-range abilities, making debilitating explosions in the middle of the pack.
In the meantime, the people rushed back through the opening, which swiftly closed behind them, recreating the solid wall of shields. The other long-range fighters joined in, firing their salvos as the pack entered their range, and leaving the Rothounds critically wounded or straight-up mangled blown-up corpses.
Of the thirteen beasts, only the Alpha and one other made it all the way there but were immediately executed by the close-combat defenders.
"John, come down here!" Blackfist yelled over the people between them, making John jump down and stumble his way forward.
"Oh gods, what is that smell?" Something was off like meat left a few hours in the sun, making his stomach churn.
"I don't smell anything strange. Anyway, get ready. If the skeleton fiend comes through, get to him as soon as possible."
Sure enough, a minute later, the portal pulsed, and the same monstrosity slowly stepped out.
Taking that as a cue, John attempted to run, but overreached with his third step, launching himself further and being forced to compensate by doing another longer step, morphing the run into long bounding steps, reaching the required distance in six seconds. The moment he got into range, he willed his stiletto to lodge itself into its head and did his best to slow his momentum, nearly falling on his face before stopping.
The monster followed after him, but this time the others were ready to assist, using the combination of freezing tide, followed by a big blob of sticky gelatin, and after getting only twenty meters away from the wall, the old man in the wheelchair bound it in golden chains for long enough to get it killed.
[Congratulations! You have successfully survived the second wave of the Restless assault.
Points:
Zombie: 1
Rothound: 25
Rothound Alpha: 100
Deathfiend fatebreaker: 1250
Your contributions:
Zombie: 132.86
Rothound: 0.19
Rothound Alpha: 0.16
Deathfiend fatebreaker: 0.76
Total points 1103.61]
Damn, again nothing but two yellow ash piles.
The loud cheers made him stumble and wince in pain, clutching his head in one hand, and making his way through the crowd with his other.
"John, wait a moment. I need to speak with you." Blackfist caught up to him and blocked his way.
Mumbling a no, John tried to push through, but Blackfist stood his ground and put his hand on John's shoulder to stop him.
"John, don't make me force you. There is important business to…" His speech was interrupted by John, who suddenly clutched at his stomach, and vomited all over his chest plate.
"Uhgg, what the hell is wrong with you?"
His pounding headache coupled with the loud noise and rancid smell became too much, and he was unable to hold it in anymore. Unfortunately, this wasn't the case of feeling better after it, so he quickly pushed through, heading toward the Desperate fool's inn.
Getting out of the crowd finally calmed down his headache, making him draw in shaky breaths.
"John, is everything alright? I am sorry for my outburst, I thought you wanted to disappear like you have yesterday. Didn't know you felt this bad."
Blackfist stood next to him, watching his hunched form with apprehension on his face.
"Yeah, sorry about…" he pointed at his chest, but somehow he already took the vomit-coveted armor off. "I'll be fine, what do you need?"
"Am I correct, you got two yellow piles every time you killed the deathfiend?" Seeing John nod, he continued, "we, as in the whole shelter, will need you to give at least half of it to us. The buildings are very expensive, the walls need to be repaired, and we need to supply the gear to the close-combat fighters."
Hmm, that is… yeah, that is reasonable.
He could probably refuse, and maybe even get away with it, but if there was anything he learned about the Apocalypse, it was that only those who excelled were earning the valuable rewards. The risk of being kicked out from this shelter and the subsequent loss of access to the event was not worth it. Besides, if his previous guess was right, and he was the only reason the rare monster kept coming...
"Yes, I suppose that is fair." He was about to open his deck but was stopped by Blackfist.
"Let's head to the council meeting, and present it to Tom instead."
"Sure, lead on… By the way, do you actually prefer being called Blackfist?" John asked with a thoughtful expression.
"Ehhh, not particularly… but people need a leader, and that nickname caught on, so… I am fine with that, why do you ask?"
"Well… to be blunt, I find it stupid. Would calling you Marcus be ok?"
Watching for his reaction, Marcus grunted in acceptance but was unable to keep a small smile from reaching a corner of his mouth.