The strong, nutty scent of sesame oil aired the room.
Dasha expertly chopped vegetables on a wooden cutting board, the rhythmic clinking of the knife against the board providing a soothing soundtrack. The black wok, well-seasoned from countless stir-fries, sat perched on the gas stove. The sizzle and hiss of the ingredients meeting the hot surface added a lively, almost musical quality to the atmosphere.
Music was a true luxury here, unlike in Canada. No phones, only radio, and he refused to use such primitive technology. Not when there was training to be had.
A pot of jasmine rice simmered gently on a back burner. The compact size of the kitchen made every turn and step vital.
Meanwhile, Qi Sense was activated. While cooking, using the other half of his brain, he counted and described the energies going past the shop. Expanding seven metres to ten, he was capable of that much. Not many people came in his bubble but it was enough to facilitate growth and to temper his compulsive body.
Thinking, sensing, always being efficient. That was the way.
‘Where are Zhang Mei and Li Wei, I wonder.’ Strangely, Dasha could never get a hold of them during crucial moments. When he wanted food or desired advice, they were gone. Only when he was alone and meditating, when he didn’t need them, they were here, blabbering and repeating to him what he already knew.
He hadn’t decided whether they were a nuisance or useful tools.
An alarm bell suddenly rang through his head and he envisioned a short, pudgy man and a plain man in a royal blue uniform with a sapphire gem. ‘It’s those idiots from the Sapphire Order, Bennet and Lyle. They’re early.’
Before they could obnoxiously knock on the counter, Dasha appeared, the transfer at the ready.
[ Transfer details:
10,000 PP —> Sapphire Order — Geas of Service ]
“Well, well, well, you sure are quick,” said Bennet, accepting the transfer. “I’m impressed. I thought I’d be able to surprise you by coming in early, but nope, you gave those points away like it’s nothing.”
Because they were nothing. Ten thousand points a week was a drop of the bucket. He had five hundred and thirty-nine thousand on him. He wouldn’t have to step inside another gate and still be able to pay for the next fifty-three weeks.
The man with the blank stare, Lyle, tilted his head. “I smell food.”
“None of your business,” Dasha replied. “Leave.”
“Come on, we’re your landlords. You should be on our good side.” A snarky glint appeared in Bennet’s eyes. Dasha glared down at him and the pug-faced man chuckled. “Scary, scary. My bad. I’m just trying to get a feel for you. I was talking to Lyle over here and we came up with a little proposition—”
“You want me to join the Sapphire Order,” Dasha finished.
“You’re catching on.” His lips curled into a smile and he went on his toes as his arm slid onto the table. “We could use a man with eyes like yours. You hunger. You yearn for power. I understand it. All of us in the Sapphire Order understand. We are a hierarchy-based guild. A true meritocracy.”
“You rank yourselves based on strength. I know.”
He had observed that the members of the Sapphire Order, from Bennet to Saint Hildegard, were marked with a number. The numbers signified a level of importance. Authority. And if they were a true meritocracy as Bennet said they were, strength.
“I am number four under Spectre Four, Perdana. And Lyle…” Bennet gestured to his friend, “...is number two.”
A hierarchy made up of a greater hierarchy. That did intrigue Dasha.
“Let me give some advice, Dasha. To be able to succeed in the Heavenly Games, you must acknowledge there are those stronger than you, but also never stop yourself from persevering.” Bennet crossed his arms as if he said something profound. “Better to know it now then later, when you die against a monster that you incorrectly believed you could kill.”
The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
Dasha didn’t need advice. He didn’t need anyone to tell him things he didn’t already know. Bennet, the arrogant old player, didn’t realize he was falling into his hands. Of course he knew he wasn’t the strongest. Of course he knew he needed people around to sharpen his knowledge and skills. But whether those people would be friends or mere tools to be used, that was another matter.
Dasha turned, pretending to think on his words, and said, “Come in. I’m making dinner.”
Lyle zipped past the counter and didn’t say a word. Bennet patted him on the shoulder, grinning foolishly. “Good man.”
‘What an idiot. Good man.’ Dasha nearly sneered at the notion of a good man. If the Nebulous Bazaar didn't have that ridiculously powerful spell negating violence, he would have coerced them to give him the information he wanted through any means necessary.
The fact that they were spared by the mercy of the world was something they would never know.
***
Dinner with the two Sapphire Order members was largely inconsequential. A time for Dasha in order to strengthen connections. There was his link with Xavier, a member of the underworld of the White Abyss, and now Bennet and Lyle, members of the overworld, of typical society. While their lips weren't loose, in time, Dasha would break them down and get what he wanted. Because he ALWAYS got what he wanted.
The next gate was upon him. This time, Paul was tagging along, his baggy eyes darker than before. He had healed but he had also learned. Defying Dasha was impossible. Defying Dasha would lead to pain and suffering.
Paul was a simpleton. In life, he was the type of average that suffered. The type who thought himself smarter than most yet never ceasing the opportunities around him because he thought he was somehow better.
Paul hated Dasha but he was too weak to do anything about it. His resolve weakened further as they spawned in and were enveloped by despair.
Huts were patched together with sheets of corrugated metal and weathered wood, strewn haphazardly along the dirt paths. Most were small, a single room or two, where entire families crammed together. The roofs, once vibrant with colour, had faded under the relentless sun, and the floors, hardened earth, showed the footprints of countless generations.
[ Gate 6 : Doon Valley
SCENARIO: Leave or figure out what to do. ]
'Such a straightforward and unhelpful scenario description.' Exhale. 'And because it's a scenario, I can't mess this one up."
"Where are we?" Paul asked, lips dry.
"We're in Doon Valley in India." His eyes scanned the mountain terrain. "But we're not in the main city."
Paul swallowed.
Suspicious bodies watched them. Eyes fallen from hell itself, devoid of joy and engraved in dirt. The smell suddenly hit Paul and his nostrils widened in disgust.
'The Doon Valley is a part of the Lesser Himalayas spanning the Indian continent and further. In India specifically, it’s three states: Uttarakhand, Himachal Pradesh, and Haryana.' Dasha absentmindedly glanced behind him, towards the faraway mountains. 'We are surrounded by mountains, therefore, we must be somewhere in the heart of it. But why? For what purpose? What story is this? I can't recall the Mahābhārata or Rāmāyaṇa mentioning Doon Valley.'
Another male player spawned three metres away. His complexion was a shade darker than Dasha's and his hair was black, wavy, and faded at the right side. He took care of his appearance, like a typical youth trying to impress women.
But, to Dasha's surprise, he carried himself well. He carried himself with casual strength and dignity. A man who was sure of himself. Not like Paul or the Sapphire Order members.
His surprise was for a moment, however, as he returned to his dilemma.
Three, four, five, a total of eight players arrived. That had to mean something. The zombies sitting and lying and waiting were curious but did not speak at the arrival of the foreigners, even though they wanted to.
The largest hut was nearby and sitting on its perch was a frail man and his wife and baby. Dasha approached them. “What’s your name?”
His flesh was cracked and his lips broke as he replied, “I am a humble servant of god.”
He opened his inventory and brought out a fresh apple. The frail man eyed him, then the ground, and said, “I do not take charity, my friend.”
“Even at the expense of your starving family?” Dasha asked.
“Even,” the frail man replied, sounding hoarse and corrupt. His baggy white clothes seemed to loosen as he breathed. “Leave us, please.”
Luckily, there were others. Already, there was someone kneeling behind him, begging him for a crumb of food. Dasha kneeled down and asked quietly, “Tell me what I wish to know and this will be all yours.”
The impoverished man nodded vehemently. With that, he handed him the apple and waited. There was no dignity or pride in the way they ate. Dasha didn’t expect otherwise either. Abject poverty cursed the most gracious of people with vile desperation, like worms.
“What happened here?”
“R-Rakshasas!” the man exclaimed. “Rakshasas have been attacking us!”
[ Main objective found! ]
[ Gate 6 : Doon Valley
SCENARIO: Leave or figure out what to do.
Main Objective: The village is being attacked by Rakshasas! Protect the village!
Prize Pool: 25,000 XP, 5,000 PP ]
'Oh? Rakshasas? Are we really entering the Mahābhārata or the Rāmāyaṇa? No, that's impossible. Indian mythology is too powerful for our current power set. This must be a side story.'
Astras were supernatural weapons belonging to gods and bestowed to their devoted followers. On the internet, there was an egregious amount of discussion revolving around their immense destructive capabilities. Astras weren't nukes, they were something far worse, capable of annihilating souls, landscapes, stars, and in the case of the most powerful of astras, even the entire universe.
No, this early on, they would not be dealing with such powers...would they?