Step 2 lust a litrpg adv.., p.28
Step 2: Lust: A LitRPG Adventure (A Gamer's Guide to Beating the Tutorial), page 28
My previously dry mouth instantly fills with drool, and I stare wide-eyed at the stuff presented. Some water would be very nice right about now, thankyouverymu—
He effortlessly stops my hand midsnatch. I resist the urge to growl at him.
Like the tease he is, Moleman waggles his finger at me, which does not douse my bestial instincts. “Have some patience, Kitty. Don’t you want to enjoy this like a proper human?”
My scowl recedes. Slowly, I cross my arms. “I suppose I do.”
Saying nothing, he gives a temperate smile and reaches for the pitcher. First, he pours us each a cup of water, which by itself looks so yummy I’m left to drool. Now that I think about it, when was the last time I drank something that wasn’t blood? Follow-up question, does the soup I got on the third floor count? I can feel my brows furrow again. Is soup a drink or an eat … ?
While I descend into such madness-inducing pits of thought, Moleman grabs the little jar of brownish honey, humming as he does. Surprisingly, when he opens the lid, what erupts isn’t merely the scent of honey but also that of numerous other spices as well. It smells vaguely cinnamon-ish, but not quite. Curious, I lean closer, sniffing as I go. It smells of spices, but without any truly recognizable smells.
No, that isn’t quite true. I do recognize the smells just a little. However, not from my time on Earth. Rather, it smells like the aforementioned stews and soups the goblin soldiers served me. That’s kind of what it smells like.
Since I’m basically inches from the cups and honey, it’s no surprise when Moleman notices me and gives a little chuckle.
“You noticed it, huh?” In response to his words, I perk an eyebrow. He holds the little jar higher so I can see it better. It’s made of uneven glass and is unlabeled, with the lid being made of some sort of ground-up wood cork substitute. “I got it from a villager we happened to save. I couldn’t understand the word she called it, but I understood what it was by the description.” As he explains, his voice becomes distant and wistful again, like a real adventurer. “It’s not quite honey, but it is made by the same sort of process, though by birds rather than bees.”
“Birds?” I repeat, stunned.
“Yeah, birds!” he says, voice perking up. “Little hummingbird-like things that made nectar into honey to feed their young and to store during the winters in the stems of trees. So, they’d bore holes, regurgitate the nectar … Pretty much like bees.” Swiveling the jar, he makes the “honey” go around and around, glimmering deep amber in the outside light. “This is actually not honey alone, though. It also contains a few spices that were boiled in the honey to season it.” Grabbing one of the spoons, he carefully pours a little dollop into each of the two glasses. “Which means that, technically speaking,” he says, stirring both glasses, making the water as a whole take on a slightly orange-ish color, “it’s actually clarea of water—not honey water.” He hands me one of the glasses and smiles. “Personally, I prefer this a lot better.”
I accept it. Looking down into it, I see my own deeply skeptical face reflected in the surface of the clarea. “A bird barfed this up?”
“Pretty much.”
“This is bird barf?”
“Yup.”
I look at Moleman. I look down at the amber water. Well, if it’s bird barf, it should give me at least a few resistances, right?
He holds out his glass to me. I put the rim of mine to his and clink it.
Bottoms up!
Though, of course, since it would be rude to chug the clearly expensive drink, I just take a sip. The status messages will be sure to roll in any second no—
Hang on a second. This is …
Moleman grins at me. “It’s good, isn’t it?”
Good? This, good?
I bring the glass to my lips and take a full swig. Flavor and sweetness and mellow aromas explode across my tongue. Spices! Spices! Spices! But the second I swallow down half a mouthful I stop myself, my throat wringing itself shut. No, I can’t drink this too quickly! I have one glass and that’s it—I need to be frugal! I can’t allow myself to just drink this all down in my greedy carelessness! I have to—
But that half a mouthful was my downfall. My throat is flooded with yummy yummy yummy yummy delicious honey water that suddenly can’t go down my esophagus, and with no other road ahead, it obviously goes down into my lungs where I’m promptly choked and/or drowned. Pain blossoms through my chest as I clutch the glass with trembling hands, desperately trying to keep it steady as I cough my lungs out. COUGH COUGH COUGH COUGH—
“H—hey, Kitty, calm down!”
In some attempt to help me, Moleman starts slapping my back something fierce in an attempt to dispel the demons, which is silly because he literally has supernatural abilities of healing, something he himself realized after pounding my back a couple of times. “Hang on just a second—”
If the pain was flower blossoms before, it now explodes into full-on rosebushes, granting a sensation closest compared to that of my rib cage being cracked open from the inside. The pain only lasts for a moment, though, before instantly receding, leaving my chest warm and clear, and I take a deep gasping breath, my airways cleared and open. “Haah, haah, haah …”
Moleman pats me on the back, this time clearly as emotional support rather than physical. “You alright there, Kitty?”
I nod at him. “Yeah, I’m okay. I just got a bit of hubris is all.” My voice is a little hoarse but it’s okay. I’m good now. No more problems. Now I’ll be fine.
My gaze surreptitiously slides over to the half-emptied glass of honey water. I glance up at Moleman. He doesn’t say anything, instead letting his actions speak for him by reaching out, grabbing my glass, and holding it out to me. I reach for it, but he pulls it out of reach at the last second. I glare at him. “Only,” he says, “if you drink it slowly. And don’t choke on it. Hanging around you is really starting to drain my recovery crystals.”
I look at him, and then at the glass of auburn water, and then back to him again. I put on the face of a soldier going to war. “I swear I won’t drown on it again.”
He holds my gaze for a second before finally capitulating and handing me the glass. Living up to my username, I snatch the glass from him like a greedy little cat, almost spilling a few drops. I put the glass to my face and take a careful, tempered sip. Ahhh. Oh, that is good. More than good. Absolutely yummilicious.
For a few seconds, Moleman watches me carefully, like I’m some unlucky kitty who always gets caught in the clothesline when his back’s turned. Eventually, though, he grabs his own cup and takes a sip. When he puts the cup down, he turns to me, looks me up and down, and asks, “So, what did you want my advice for?”
I gulp down a mouthful of the tastiest liquid I’ve ever had. “Advice?” He stares at me. I stare at him. Realization flashes through my head like a lightning bolt. “Oh! Advice, yeah, okay, you’re right, um …” To stall for time while I let my thoughts spin in their hamster wheels, I wave my hands a little. “So, okay, to make a long story short, it kind of started when I reached the boss of floor fourteen …
“And now I’m not totally sure what to do. I want to help Simel, but I don’t even know how I’d do that, or if that’s even what the gods want me to do, and for that matter, do I even care about what the gods want me to do when Simel’s life is at stake?” With that, I finally turn my gaze back to Moleman. He hasn’t stopped staring at me since I opened my mouth. There’s a weird look in his eye, which might be attributed to the non-specificity of my question. “So, uh … yeah. What should I do?”
His face tightens just a smidge. He’s been holding the cup during my whole explanation, but it’s still mostly full. For some reason, he seems a bit reluctant to say anything. “Do you really want to hear what I think you should do?”
I hope my face is as firm as my heart is. “Yes,” I say. “If there’s anyone’s advice I trust, it’s yours.”
That seems to put him a bit at ease, as the tension melts from his face a little. “Right. Okay. In that case, I really think you should ███ ██ ████ ██████ ████ ███ ████ ███ ████ ████ ██ ██ ██████ ████ ███ ████ ███ ████ ████ ████ █████████ █████ ██████ █████ ███ ██████ █ ████ ████ ██████ ███ ███ ███ ██ ████ ███████ ███ █████ ████ ███████ ███ █████ ██ ███ █████ ███ █████ ████ ████ █████████ ████ █████ ██—”
“H—hang on a moment,” I say, interrupting him mid-sentence. If that can even be called a sentence to begin with.
He turns to me, a sympathetic look on his face. “I know it’ll be hard, but—”
“No, no, that isn’t it. What you just said, uh …”
His heavyset brows furrow. “What’s wrong? It might not be what you’d like to hear; however, I think that ████████ ██ ███ ██ ████ █████ ████████ ████ ████ ████ █████ ███ ██—”
“There it is again!” I cry. “It’s like—it’s like you’re cussing up a storm and the censors are bleeping out every single word you say!”
“B—bleeping?” Moleman repeats. “I’m being bleeped out?” His lips form into a little frown. “Are you sure you’re not just—”
“No, I am not hallucinating this. Something is making it so you just sound like one long bleep instead of actual words.” A little thought strikes me. It’s so logical it makes me grind my teeth. “And I know just who and why.”
Moleman looks skeptical at best. “And who and why is tha—”
“Those damn gods!” I blurt out. “They don’t want me getting pro gamer advice, so they’re messing with my head so I can’t even hear what you’re saying! Argh, those damn hacks … !” I gnash my teeth and scowl at the empty air around us. I’m sure those damn gods are around here, watching—waiting … !
Moleman lifts his hand and almost says something before closing it again, rubbing his chin in thought, and then finally admitting, “Honestly, I wouldn’t be too surprised. Going by what you’ve explained before, they seem to really have it out for you. I mean—forcing you to decide for yourself what the right thing is? Clearly, they’re testing the merit of your morality.”
“For what, though?” I grumble.
He shrugs. “That’s the question, friend. Maybe, if you do what they think is right, they’ll be nicer to you? Maybe even remove your debt and let you buy armor and food?” His words make me rub my chin. Hmm. That’s possible … “Personally, though, I’d bet they just want to see if you’ll █████ █████ ███ ████████ ██ ██ ███ or if—”
“Stop, stop!” I say, waving my hands at him. “Just—stop making that damn bleeping, okay? It is really getting on my nerves.”
For a moment, he’s actually quiet. But then I see something develop inside him. Something I have only ever seen in my sister. Something that now takes form with such power and vengeance that we might as well be related by blood.
He grins at me like a brother just about to do the one thing his brother told him specifically not to do. “Or what, Kitty? You’ll make the right choice and ████ █████ █████ ███████ ██████████ ██ █ ███████—”
“Stooooooopppppppp!”
Suffice it to say, after that, I did not receive much future advice for the floor. But I did get to dunk a pitcher of water over his head, at the cost of him using magic to dangle me over the drop outside the window. In the end, though, we were able to find a common ground in the desire to neither drop nor sully the cookies, so the final few minutes of our chat were spent calmly and not at all in tense expectation of the second shoe to drop.
After that, I accidentally mentioned the fact that I couldn’t get the whole magic thing to work, which surprised Moleman enough to decide to try to teach me magic himself. I would show that progress in more detail if it hadn’t been composed solely of me failing and of Moleman proving himself somehow even more patient than I had previously believed.
By the time the sun went down, I had learned more theory behind the magic and why it should work, but actually having the magic take form inside me was something completely different. It just wouldn’t happen. In the end, Moleman swore that he would try to find the reason behind it, despite my objections.
Once the huge, serverwide New Year’s Eve party was going full blast in the main hall of the castle, we both agreed to simply leave and take our places on the dance floor.
I couldn’t enjoy it, though. Not really. The fun little tussle and the magic teaching had distracted me from the real thoughts at play.
The only one who could tell me what the right thing to do was me.
The gods didn’t want me to do the right thing. That wasn’t their goal here. They couldn’t care less if I killed the giant or saved Simel or ended world hunger. What they really wanted to see, what they really wanted to know, was what I considered to be the right thing. And if that thing just happened to be what they would consider the wrong thing, then …
Then what?
I don’t know. I can’t know. That’s in the future. A future I don’t know. One I can never know.
The room is thumping with music and stomping feet and the air is thick with breathing and alcohol. I don’t really want to be here. But I don’t want to think, either. And when I weigh them against each other—thinking or drinking—one’s clearly the winner.
I look across the dance floor. Over by the group of musicians stand Virgil and Almos. They smile and wave at me and I wave back. I take a swig of the bottle in my hand, though I’m not sure what it is. The sting of alcohol burns a track down my throat and I take another. The world seems to slow down around me, and I stumble out onto the dance floor.
After that, I don’t remember much.
Off to the Empire, I Guess
will end in 00:00>
has ended.>
You will now be returned to your lobbies.>
…
…
Hm? Where … where am I … ?
I pry open my crusty eyes. Oh, hey, it’s the crib! That makes sense. Yup. Total sense. Ah, my body feels a bit weird … As I move to a sitting position, a little prick of pain rings out from my left shoulder. Hm? What’s this … ?
I blink at the thick cactus needle stabbed deep inside my shoulder. Huh. That’s kind of weird. I can’t remember wrestling a cactus …
Pulling out the needle, I toss it to the side. Still, that’s pretty weird. Normally if you step on a cactus, you’d get more needles in you than just one. Odd. It’s almost like someone purposefully stabbed that in there, but I can’t imagine who’d do that, so … Yeah. Must’ve been the wind or something.
With the needle removed, I sit up fully. The first thing that alerts me to the fact that things are not as they maybe should be is the frankly unholy amount of gore littering the room. Most of it is concentrated in a huge pile in the middle of the place, but a fair bit has splattered the walls, and the roof, and pretty much any place where a bit of blood and organ mush might be able to get in. It is, frankly speaking, enough gore for at least three full humans.
And surrounding this pile, like the candles around some unholy ritual, are what appears to be five empty bottles of vodka.
I feel like there’s a story to be read here. Unfortunately, I am currently illiterate.
Standing up, I walk over to the pile. It’s very fresh, without a single sign of being spoiled. What exactly could have made this much raw meat and organs? Did some animal die here? No, the intestines are too small. In that case, gobli—
My heart rears in my chest and I start digging through the pile like a madman.
Simel? Simel?! Oh, God, please, don’t tell me I—
There’s a tiny movement in the edge of my vision and my head flashes to face it. On the other side of the room, as far away as physically possible, I see clearly as Simel squeezes himself closer to the wall. He’s covered in blood. Huh. Now that I look at myself, I’m also covered in blood, a lot of it dried. It’s clearly from before my current dig. I look back up at Simel. He draws back in animalistic terror. Hm.
Returning my gaze to the pile of organs, I allow myself to notice a little detail. You know, these intestines are quite similar to the ones I have in my stomach. Same shape and everything. And if I take a bite …
Yup, that’s my own spleen.
Okay, so, to summarize what may have happened here … I was probably still pretty drunk when I came back from the symposium. In my non-sane state, I decided that the best way to spend my night was to train my evisceration resistance. Right. Okay, yeah. That feels like something my drunk self could have done. Still, that doesn’t explain the cactus barb in my shoulder, or why Simel is also covered in blood. Hmmm …
Well, we’re both alive and okay, so it doesn’t matter what happened.
Sitting down, I try to make sense of what the best future course of action is. I can’t exactly keep this pile of rotting organs. Eating it would be fine, but I don’t think that that’s something Simel would like to see. In that case, putting it into my inventory …
As I furrow my brow in thought, I suddenly notice the sound of gentle footsteps moving over the soggy floor with quiet squelches. I look up at Simel. He jerks back in fear, but after a second or two of trembling, he’s able to pull himself together, taking long, deep breaths. With his whole body shivering, he steps closer to me. Our eyes meet. He slowly points a trembling finger toward the door.
