image [https://i.imgur.com/W5GkgTz.jpg]
CHAPTER 52
THE BREAKER OF WORLDS
Back in the orrery, I returned to my investigations. After zooming the table map to a size appropriate for the instruments, I looked for distances to compare.
The first coincidence involved the origin of the continent’s coordinate system, the 0, 0 point. It rested at the lair of the ward worm. At first, it seemed only a natural location for a world boss. The second coincidence involved the equidistant relic locations at -65, -23 and 65, -23.
The table map’s see-through terrain allowed me to mark the wooden surface beneath. I could see my impressions and the continent’s topography together—a feature perfect for tracking military campaigns or planning journeys.
I opened the compass to the distance between the origin and a relic. The route from Basilborough to Hawkhurst seemed a little longer, which meant the distance between the ward worm’s lair and either relic spanned about 70 miles.
I compared the distance between cities, the length of mountain ranges, and rivers, but the measurement seemed irrelevant to the world map. Seventy miles held no significance to geographic features. Chewing my lip in frustration, I wish I’d paid more attention in geometry class. Who could have guessed that math would matter in a fantasy world?
Changing tactics, I drew a circle around the 0, 0 coordinate, the ward worm’s lair. It seemed like a natural thing to do. I made the radius wide enough to intersect both relic locations, giving me two tangents. Again, this produced nothing noteworthy.
I stared at the radius for the longest time and played with the compass. Drawing circles around the relic locations produced nothing notable. I adjusted the compass to measure lengths between the capital cities of Miros—Malibar, Grayton, Arlington, and Torzda, but none of their distances matched. Measuring from the ward worm’s lair and the relic locations revealed no significant patterns.
The only coincidence in the cartography involved the relic locations, so I returned to the circle around the origin of the continent’s grid system.
A breakthrough emerged after I adjusted the compass to the distance between the two tangent points—about 130 miles. I pivoted the measurement to intersect the radius again and again and again.
The results produced five equidistant tangents on the circle around the ward worm lair, two known relic locations. Its geometry made an ominous implication.
Five schools of magic matched five equidistant tangent points. Drawing lines through them produced a pentagon and a pentacle—the demonic five-pointed star. The shape wasn’t just a corny, superstitious symbol of evil—it fashioned a warning sign.
The undiscovered points of the downward star implied three more cursed relics awaited new hosts, each so potent that players finding them would be impossible to kill. But the itch told me something else—these relics weren’t just waiting.
We hadn’t found the second relic through dumb luck—it reached out to Commander Thaxter. Focusing on the sequence of events in the early hours of the morning strained my concentration, especially after tiring myself over the hike from Fort Krek.
The first relic had made its presence known. It contacted the kobold queen and drove her mad with dreams. Her experience bore similarities to Thaxter’s. It seemed the relics called to those with the most influence in their respective regions.
The itch told me these two events made no sense. If these relics acted so proactively, what had they been doing for thousands of years—biding their time? Those lobster mummies didn’t seem happy. Why make their presence known now?
I pieced together the timeline. Thaxter’s maladies began seven months ago, roughly when the orcs canoed through Hawkhurst’s town radar.
I looked at the marks I made on the table map. The circle had five equidistant hash marks, with the worm’s lair in the center. Seeing the ward worm at the heart of the continent and game world gave me chills.
Thaxter and the kobold queen’s mad dreams began after I pried the magic gold cylinders loose. When Fabulosa and I collected them, we heard a cracking sound but didn’t know what it meant. It felt like we had broken something.
If relics called to leaders with resources to free them, perhaps there might be a meaning to their madness. What if Thaxter’s feverish ravings made sense? He claimed we lived in a giant prison. Was he speaking metaphorically? He said, “dry land and air was a prison.” The ravings made little sense to land dwellers, but they did to an ancient aquatic race.
And then I remembered how Lloyd acted when I made him governor after our Arlington trip. He complained of having nightmares about the sea. I had assumed vising the old sailor’s childhood home stirred up memories. But it had all been the relic’s influence.
This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.
The last missing piece of the puzzle clicked into place. The continent of Miros served as a prison for the mummies—the possessed anomalocari. Miros rose from the sea to separate the relics from the ocean—the ancient crustaceans trapped them on land.
What magic could lift the entire tectonic plate out of the ocean? Someone created Miros to exile five cursed relics and their hosts. It explained why the ward worm’s core gave the barracks a free jail and why its bonus traits included bonding.
The metallic dots and lead lines covering the ward worm’s lair empowered a gigantic rune. It explained the ward worm’s bonuses focused on protection. It guarded the rune that held these relics in check. By prying out the cylinders, I’d broken it. That’s when the kobold queen and commander began receiving crazed visions.
What have I done?
I’d only been in Miros for two years before pillaging the game world’s most essential construct. When the Vikings sacked monasteries, they used books for kindling, not understanding the lifetimes of work the monks had poured into them. Prying out gold cylinders had broken the bond that protected the continent for eons. I’d unknowingly plundered it in the same fashion.
It provided no comfort that I wasn’t the only gamer wreaking havoc over the land. Contestants had cleaned out Malibar of its magic items. Femmeny mind-controlled an entire population. Perhaps players started the orc war against the elves and crowned the orc emperor.
Were contestants in The Great RPG Contest the worst thing to happen to this world? I’d started The Book of Dungeons with lofty notions of playing the long game—spending my days in peaceful isolation, above the fray of the other contestants. How delusional I’d been. We’d ravaged this world like a pestilence, and the continent might not survive our visit.
Compasses weren’t precise instruments and wouldn’t reveal the coordinates of the three remaining relics. Only math could solve the problem, and I needed Greenie’s help. With coordinates, I could find them. Without them, I had only rough estimates.
Otter Lake covered the southernmost relic. To my knowledge, no intelligent creatures dwelled along the lake’s edge. I’d read about clans of lizardfolk in the swamp, but I had no detailed accounts of their culture or locale. This relic might remain dormant if no one possessed the means for underwater excavation.
My trident allowed me to breathe underwater. A single potion or spell of water breathing might make the submerged relic accessible. I shuddered at the thought of returning to the lake’s murky depths. But if the river stirred up its bottom, perhaps its waters weren’t so muddy in the south.
Relics rested in goblin and orc territories. The one in the Bluepeaks made me most nervous because the goblins lived directly above us. And if trekking through goblin territory seemed dangerous, doing so in the Doublespines amounted to suicide. It lay so deep in orc territory that we’d never reach it. We had trouble fighting an orc war party in disputed territory—what chance of survival did Fabulosa and I stand against their homeland?
As protective as I feel about Hawkhurst, my blind ambition endangered it. Taking the cylinders felt wrong, yet Fabulosa and I destroyed the rune anyway. The kobolds and Fort Krek had already paid the price.
Audiences watching replays wouldn’t understand how immersed I’d become in this world. No one would understand the logic of saving a computer game. Outside observers would point out that Miros amounted to only a setting in a game, but going native felt natural. My heart and head pulled in opposite directions. The world’s problems felt like my own.
Knowing the source of the itch brought no peace of mind. Regardless of my feelings, I couldn’t tiptoe around the issue anymore. The race for tracking down cursed relics had begun, and I’d pulled the starting gun’s trigger.
If goblins or orcs discovered a relic, it meant misery for untold numbers of NPCs—and they would ultimately fall into the hands of enemy players, spelling the end of the contest.
With Hawkhurst stabilizing, the town could endure an absentee governor. But we couldn’t survive a contestant empowered by a demon. Locating the remaining three relics became paramount.
Stepping outside the orrery onto the hard surface of Hawkhurst Rock, I listened to the bugs chirping in the distance and admired the new lamps outside the roundhouses. Fabulosa had already placed the ever-burning candelabras from the temple ruins. The flames glowed like Christmas lights in the moist summer air.
At first, I’d considered The Book of Dungeons the ultimate escape from reality, an understandable assumption. After a lifetime of the news recapping political battles, environmental disasters, and worldwide mayhem, Miros seemed idyllic. Losing friends to other contestants had dispelled that notion.
And yet, the worst this world offered came from other contestants. Every gamer brought baggage with them. How many fires had players kindled across this land?
Admitting my guilt clarified my thoughts over plundering the ward worm’s lair—I foresaw no situation in which we wouldn’t have pried out the gold cylinders. Humans were greedy creatures.
Nor did I ask Fabulosa if taking the purple core seemed fair. Instead, I’d jumped on it, even though we’d both worked to earn it. Selfishness seemed to operate at the root level—like part of our hardware or source code. Would avarice, strife, and woe forever ripple in the wake of humankind? I’d barely reached adulthood—what perspective of such weighty matters could I have?
If human players acted like a plague in this fantasy world, I had to admit my part. But I owed it more than an apology. I couldn’t undo the problems created by other contestants, nor could I address the flaws of humankind, but I could, at least, be responsible for myself.
Femmeny’s thoughts about the frog and scorpion echoed in my mind. Her estimation of humanity wasn’t flattering. I disagreed with her claim that everyone acted like a scorpion.
Leaving the streets as a teenager proved I could learn, change, and grow. My fate wasn’t set in stone. If I could become responsible in one world, I saw no reason I couldn’t put this universe back in balance. Destroying the other relics protected Miros and ensured other players wouldn’t find them.
I wanted to leave this world better than I found it.
As the night winds from Otter Lake chilled my skin, I resolved to clean up my mess, save this world, and conquer my deadly natures.
The story continues in The Book of Dungeons 5—The Company of Strangers