The Book of Dungeons - A weak to strong litRPG epic

On the northern bank of the fork, I made my way inland—an uphill trek through a forest mixed with evergreen and deciduous trees. I avoided the evergreens, giving Beaker a better opportunity to see me. He flew well above the treetops, preferring to survey as much ground as possible.

My griffon settled after I set up a camp. Giving the Dark Room a break, I slept outside, trusting my pet would alert me to danger. The cool air smelled good, and I enjoyed the reprieve from the transdimensional space. Avoiding my portable bedroom gave my opponents fewer clues about why I’d disappeared from the contest map that night of traveling. It served me to avoid patterns.

Beaker and I slept without incident and continued our path the following day.

The underbrush wasn’t as lush as late summer, so I maintained a steady pace. Bircht and Duchess moved at the same speed. When I reached the meadow, I could summon Jasper and gain a little on them, perhaps enough to deter them from a pursuit.

My route toward Fabulosa would skirt around the double mountains at the foot of Grenspur, but it meant my every step led uphill. The incline graduated from modest to challenging, but frequent breaks rested my overtaxed leg muscles.

My mind wandered throughout my journey. It seemed like the longest time since no agenda drove my days—from ranking up my skills in Belden to gubernatorial duties to ridding Miros of the relics. For the first time in this game, I felt free.

The timing happily coincided with the end of my vow to protect Hawkhurst. Charitybelle and I had built quite a love nest. Regardless of the contest’s outcome, I could reflect on my positive influence on Miros. Improving a fantasy world may seem a laughably unimportant matter to others, but it meant a lot to me. After a lifetime of neglectful and disapproving role models, it gave me hope for a future in the real world.

Visibility on the map and group chat had changed the battle royale’s dynamics. I would have hoped Toadkiller’s body count might take the target off my back, but Bircht and Duchess still pursued me. Was Darkstep manipulating them, too?

I decided not to overthink it. At face value, a two-to-one advantage was as good as Bircht and Duchess could hope for in the endgame. Every knocked-out opponent gave a bonanza of loot and magic items. While I posed a danger, I was also a walking piñata of game mechanics.

I’d had poor luck with knockouts and spoils. Fabulosa struck the final blow on Tardee, Jimbozo, and Falconeer. Neither of us got credit for Winterbyte, and she outright saved me from Femmeny. She’d killed Labrat31 so quickly that I missed the battle. Uproar’s bid for mutual elimination came up short, but I’d lost all his equipment when Iremont collapsed.

Though I reached the final eight, I’d racked up not a single kill. That wouldn’t bode well for the prospect of being featured in the reality show. If I didn’t win, I’d be a background player, a stepping stone for someone else’s celebrity.

I didn’t care about fame, but it could turn an opponent into a wildcard—it skewed motives and made behavior unpredictable.

I couldn’t decide which exhausted me more, climbing uphill or the paranoia. With so much time alone, the theories of my opponents weighed me down. Yet preparation was invaluable, and I couldn’t help but meditate on every permutation. Would Bircht or Duchess betray each other? Would someone offer Fabulosa and me a secret alliance? Has Fabulosa already cemented such a deal—and if so, was I part of that configuration? The closer we got to the finishing line, the less predictable behaviors would become.

And Darkstep shed no light on the situation. If anything, his words made everything worse, putting a target on my back like that. Was Toadkiller somehow controlled by him? I couldn’t trust anything in the group chat that I didn’t know to be empirically true.

As far as I could tell, my game relied on one truth—I trusted Fabulosa. She came from a reasonably affluent family, and a quarter million dollars wasn’t enough to buy a house these days, so she’d never sell me out over money. I knew Fabulosa enough to know that she played for bragging rights and the joy of competition. She struck me as a person of her word, and she wasn’t fickle. However, six other gamers knew of our alliance and would work to undermine it. A person might manipulate her pride and aggression.

Beaker swooped in great dives toward my position when I reached the clearing. The sunlight felt good on my neck, but the unimpeded view of stretching hills up the mountainside dampened my spirits. After a day of uphill hiking, I’d hoped to be done with climbing. Rise after rise of green meadows promised an arduous journey ahead. Each hill obstructed the next in a seemingly endless progression of steppes. We’d climbed over mountains before, but nothing like this.

Jasper wouldn’t have a problem with it, but before I dismissed my griffon and summoned my mount, I telepathically implored him to come down. “Come here, buddy. Let’s try something.”

When my pet came close, I tossed him a handful of talix ram meat, which he gulped down happily.

“You don’t want me on your back, but would you be willing to carry a harness?”

After some fiddling, I fashioned together a tangle of rope and leather knots.

He watched me as I wrapped it around myself to show him it didn’t hurt. I adjusted the loops and hung myself from a low-hanging branch to ensure it didn’t pinch or cut off circulation.

I turned and coaxed the wary griffon. “Come here, Beaker. You’re big enough to pick me up. Let’s see if you can carry me. Pick me up. Take me to the sky!”

Beaker’s eyes dilated at the ungainly contraption and retreated a few steps. I bent, reached for the loops, and waved them enticingly. “Come on, you big turkey. You can do this. Let’s try it. If you drop me, I can Slipstream to the ground.”

I cast Imbue Weapon on a dagger and showed him the mirrored glowing effect. “Look, something shiny!”

Beaker only cocked his head and clucked. “Mine?”

“Um, no, but if you pick me up, I’ll give you a shiny fish fresh from my inventory.”

Beaker backed away, flapping his wings, eager to end this awkward interaction.

After minutes of cajoling him, I backed off. “Okay. I’m sorry. I thought you might enjoy carrying me.” Goofing around with Beaker had lost time, but it seemed worth a try. After dismissing my griffon, I summoned Jasper, settling for a less epic ride.

The horse flicked his ears and snuffed the grass before taking a big bite. While he enjoyed his meal, I disentangled myself from the harness and mounted him.

We climbed the first hill. At the top of the rise, I saw a stretch of fences crossing the meadow. The barriers stood much lower than the palisade we’d defended from the orcs weeks ago. Their proportions seemed wrong. Vertical posts canted haphazardly, making significant gaps between them. It looked like anything could walk around or step over them. And yet, someone had taken the trouble to plant posts across the entire meadow as it disappeared over the rolling hillside.

Another fence bisected it at an almost perpendicular angle. A third ran almost parallel to it. Why go through the trouble carving up the hill with short, irregular, slipshod fences? The gaps made no sense, leaving openings wide enough for Jasper and me to slip through. The thick wooden spikes weren’t tall enough to block giant creatures and stood too open to stop anything small.

No footprints, structures, or artifacts covered the hillside. As I studied the terrain for its purpose, a shadow moved across the hills. At first, I thought it belonged to Beaker, but I rode Jasper and could only summon one Familiar at a time.

Name

Grenspur Roc

Level

56

Difficulty

Deadly (Red)

Health

8610/8610

A pterodactyl the size of a small jet dive-bombed me. Dull green feathers covered its body, and its elongated skull tapered to a beak optimized for skewering prey.

Anticipate chimed, sending me a dozen yards away. The pterodactyl’s talons tore into my mount’s side, dispelling Jasper in a puff of green vapor.

The monster triggered Anticipate even though I stood at full health. With only a health pool of 400, even sloppy math told me it wasn’t worth trifling with a dinosaur only 9 levels below the ward worm.

The giant’s turning radius was wide, but it moved so fast it would certainly catch me on its next pass. I whipped the Dark Room rope from around my waist, tossed it into the air, and climbed inside before the creature could finish another pass. From inside the Dark Room, I scanned the mountainside’s topography. The creature’s shadow broadcasted its whereabouts.

I checked my combat log to verify I hadn’t missed anything.

/You trigger Anticipate.

/Grenspur Rock hits Jasper for 662 damage (43 resisted).

/Jasper dies.

If I could somehow kill it, I would use my mummy wraps on its corpse to shorten my journey. A flying, undead dinosaur would serve as an excellent mount. If it made Beaker jealous, then that was his problem. He’d had his chance.

The problem was killing it. Nothing in my arsenal possessed the means of inflicting so much damage. If I could Slipstream onto its back, perhaps I could whack it with Gladius enough to bring it down to zero. But without a saddle, reins, or stirrups, I’d never be able to hang on.

As I plotted ways to kill it, the roc’s shadow crisscrossed the hills. I’d seen this clearing from below at the river’s fork. It was the only clear ground on this side of Grenspur and fit for a creature of its size to hunt. I wouldn’t last long in the middle of its primary hunting ground. Even with Jasper, I couldn’t reach the treeline without giving the monster time to make several attacks.

But thoughts of seeking shelter turned me to the fence. The long stretch of sharpened timber wasn’t a barrier—it was a shelter, a spiked road across the open ground. I hopped out of the Dark Room, unhooked the rope, and summoned Jasper again. When the shadow circled toward me, I rode him, urging him toward the nearest line of spikes.

“Go, git ‘em, boy!”

Jasper kicked up grass and tore across the ground. When the roc reached striking distance, I dove off Jasper—who, once again, disappeared into smoke. Even though the fall cost me 34 damage, it was trivial compared to the airborne danger.

After regaining my feet, I sprinted toward the fence half a mile away.

The roc circled and dove.

Sprinting while watching the skies made for precarious footing, and I stumbled several times but kept my balance after wildly swinging my arms. Slipstream saved me as it had done countless times before. Though I Slipstreamed thirty yards away, the pterodactyl’s passing sent such a gust strong enough to push me into the grass. I fell hard.

Halfway to the fence, I picked myself up and pumped my limbs, but I couldn’t sprint anymore. I slowed to a jog, gulping air as the roc dive-bombed me. I used my robe’s ability to reset Slipstream and dodged it again.

My lungs tore at the air as I gasped. I’d forgotten how altitude affected breathing. When I reached within a hundred yards of the giant pikes, the roc broke off its approach as I staggered forward.

With the roc on standby, I studied the thick wooden posts protruding from the ground. At a distance, I hadn’t seen a second row of pikes or the trench between them. Using the wooden timber to steady myself, I slid into the ten-foot deep, ten-foot-wide ditch and watched nervously overhead.

Some logs leaned over the trench, sheltering me from the roc. A mountain south of Grenspur blocked the pink sun. It didn’t seem right to call it a sunset with a bright sky of mid-afternoon, but no other word applied. Its disappearance left the faint green moon, Nassi, to dominate the heavens.

I turned my attention to my immediate surroundings. Hardened clay made for solid footing, and the trench felt dry and solid.

The timber served its purpose and forced the roc to abandon its attack. It returned to altitude and made lazy circles.

After regaining my composure, I cast Heavenly Favor, equipped Gladius Cognitus, and cautiously pressed into my first open-air dungeon.