Into the Pit: A LitRPG Adventure (Brad the Impaler Book 2), page 42
As soon as we were in our room, Kira taking the one directly across the hall, Slash jumped up on the bed. Three circles later, he plopped down in the center of the plush mattress.
“Don’t get too comfortable. We’re headed out to get something to eat.”
He pushed his face farther into the mattress. “How about you go and bring something back?”
“Not a chance. Though you’re welcome to stay here until Kira and I get back from the bathhouse.” I moved toward the door.
He jerked his head up. “Alone? No way! You two need my protection.” He jumped off the bed and was at the door, wagging his tail and looking up at me as he waited for me to open it.
The three of us headed out, paid the innkeeper another fifteen gold to have one of his sons keep an eye on our rooms, and headed for the baths.
This being a video game, I don’t know why it surprised me that the bathhouse sat on the public street, facing a busy market of wool vendors across the way. I’d expected it to be discreet, then realized it was an attraction of the old world, when people hadn’t yet been brain trained to be prudish about their bodies. Maybe the developers of Darkworld intentionally put that lost mentality in here on purpose? The only humanistic thing I’d found thus far, if that were the case.
We climbed the white marble steps and entered the building. The rubber soles of my red high-tops smacked on the steps. Kira shot me a look as if I’d lost all my manners. The sound grew more voluminous once inside the cavernous interior, no matter how hard I attempted to step lightly.
It didn’t help that we didn’t see anyone in the broad halls occasionally spotted by pillars that were twice as thick as California redwoods. We stood in the open foyer, looking to the front and both sides. Long white marble with swirls of black and gray, along with a touch of silver, stretched out in all directions. Faint whispers of voices reached us from somewhere behind the massive pillars.
I was just about to explore the building on my own when a tiny man appeared, seemingly stepping out of nowhere. The NPC wore a simple white robe, tied at the waist with a blue sash. It looked three times too large for his size. “Welcome, visitors. Do you seek refreshment?”
Kira and I shared an apprehensive look. I gave him a smile. “We’re, uh, looking for the baths.”
He slowly bent, turning his head as if he was trying to see to the side and couldn’t quite make the angle. “Of course, sir,” he said to me. “If you will wait here, I will escort the lady.”
“I’m not sure about that.”
Kira’s face scrunched. “I’m fine. Remember, I’m a big girl and can take care of myself.”
“Yeah, and she’s more of a badass than you,” Slash said, chiming in. “Plus, I can totally go with her and keep her company.”
“I think it’s better if you come with me,” I said. When he gave me a scowl, I said, “To the boy’s room and stuff. Probably wouldn’t be appropriate for you to go into the ladies’ bath.”
“Why not? It’s not like I’m going to see anything interesting there. You humans, no matter what your gender, are so oddly shaped. All your boy bits and girl bits are in the wrong place. Stop being a prude, Brad.”
Kira giggled and told the assistant to lead the way. When he returned, ensuring us she was getting settled, he took us to the male bath. We spent the better part of the early evening relaxing in the steaming water. The bath was far cleaner than I’d expected. So much so that Slash joined me after a while, doggie paddling until he got tired and then rested on my stomach so he could stay submerged but not have to work to stay afloat.
“Just don’t go touching me with your junk,” he warned.
“I’m going to dunk you.”
An hour or so later, we met Kira back in the foyer.
“You look like a million bucks,” she said, beaming radiantly.
“And you look great without all that grime in your hair,” I said, chuckling and getting an elbow for my efforts.
“I’m going to look even better when I get something in my stomach,” she said.
Slash whipped around in a circle at her feet. “Thank you for saying that! I’m starving.”
The bath assistant recommended a local eatery two blocks away. He said they held a quarterly contest that was quite the spectacle, so we decided to check it out. He wasn’t wrong.
At first appearances, the place was a tavern just like any other in the city. However, it held its secrets within. Actually, its secrets were in the back.
We passed through the common room, following boisterous calls, a cacophony of laughter, and the raucous cheering of forty people. At the front of a garden area, a table spanned the width of three normal tables. No one sat at the front. Instead, a line of NPCs and a few players sat on the backside, facing the crowd. It was obvious they were the spectacle. Trays of stacked meat sat in front of them. At a call from a broad man at the side of the table, the contestants dug into the plates while the crowd roared them on. One threw up almost instantly. Others gorged themselves for a disgusting few minutes, strings of meat and fat hanging from the corners of their mouths or plastered to their chins by the sauce.
I felt a light tapping against my leg. I bent down and picked Slash up.
“Thanks. I couldn’t see.”
“You’re welcome.” Though I wasn’t sure he would think so after he saw the grotesque eating display the contestants were putting on.
Just at that moment, the crowd erupted with a roar. Kira had leaned over to ask something. Needless to say, her question got lost in the multitude of voices.
When the noise faded, a hefty man strode in front of the table, pounding it with a fist. Three gold bracelets dangled from his wrist, and each of his fat fingers bore two rings. “A no contest once again,” he said in a rough voice that rumbled like a ball rolling around an empty bin. “Will no one step up and defeat Bartholomew?”
There were calls of protests from the crowd.
“Can’t be beat!” a guy who looked far too skinny to join in the eating contest lamented.
Two rows in front of him, a woman who could have been his grandmother lifted her fist. “Unstoppable!”
“The best!”
The cheers went on like this until the large man raised his decorated hands, dramatically lowering them. The crowd noise lowered along with his arms as if they were a legitimate lever. “We will have a short recess before the next round while the staff clears the table. We still have a few openings. If any of you are brave enough to enter the contest and believe you can beat Bartholomew, please see me during the break.”
“You should do it,” Slash said excitedly, still in my arms.
“I’m hungry, but not that hungry. Did you see how much they ate? I’d get sick if I tried that. Look how sick it made some of them.”
Slash growled. “You wouldn’t. You’ve got that stupid ring, remember?”
He was talking about the Ring of the Iron Stomach, a quest item I’d received weeks ago and never equipped. The ring made me immune to poison. I told Slash as much.
“That’s the thing,” he said, squinting and bringing his head closer so I got a whiff of his dog breath. “That fat guy is cheating.”
“What do you mean?”
He lifted a paw, pointing at the plates of carnage from the previous round. “The fat man is cheating. If you watch what he’s doing, I’ll bet he’s the only one who serves Bartholomew. The other contestants were served by the two children helping him. Betcha.”
“So?”
“All but one of the dishes is poisoned, Brad. I can’t tell exactly what it is, but I can smell it. Watch what happens in this round. If I’m wrong, then the fat man will help serve others or one of the children will serve Bartholomew. See the plate off to the side, over there, under the cover?”
Behind the long table, where the curtains folded at a hard angle deeper into the garden area, platters covered a table. Behind that was another table, one holding a smattering of dishes. One clump of which was separated from the others. It was hardly noticeable. In fact, I wouldn’t have given it a second glance if Slash hadn’t said something.
“Which ones are the clean ones?” Kira asked.
“The ones off in the back corner, under that red towel.”
New contestants were already taking their places. Somehow, Bartholomew was able to go again already. I didn’t want to know how much gold he spent on food, but being an NPC, that was probably as much of a factor as the expense of playing all these rounds.
The next one got underway soon enough, but not before I watched the man running the racket and the two small boys serve the contestants. True to Slash’s observations, the boys served everyone, hustling as fast as their little legs could take them without spilling the contents of the plates, zipping back and forth between the tables with the food. The ringleader served Bartholomew his plate. It had come from under the red towel.
“I’ll be damned.”
With that, the round began and everyone dug in. Bartholomew did what his coding told him to do. He didn’t need to recognize fullness. He didn’t need to feel guilty about gluttony. He just ate. A lot. Another no contest. Most of the contestants were out of the running before Bartholomew fisted a third handful into his mouth. Two of the player contestants looked to be in great pain.
“See what I’m saying?” Slash asked. “He’s poisoning them.”
Indeed, each of the players who’d taken part in that last round had moved off to the side of the garden area, vomiting onto the cobble. One wiped her mouth with the back of her arm and popped a small vial of green liquid, swallowing the contents.
“Ewww,” Slash said, sticking out his tongue at the poor woman. “That looks painful.”
“I’m sure she’s had better days,” Kira said. “So, Brad, are you going to join the next one?”
We’d just watched two rounds, and I wasn’t any wiser now to the purpose of this contest. “Do either of you have a new quest in your log?”
Kira shook her head. Slash said he didn’t.
“Me either.”
“Why does it matter?” Slash asked.
“Doesn’t it feel weird that the game set up a situation where an NPC keeps winning a contest, and they use that fact to continue the contest? It’s almost like the game is trying to draw players into this. Why? Just to poison them?”
“To kill them,” Slash said, sounding harsh. He pointed at one player still vomiting from the previous round. “He didn’t take a detox potion like the other one. Look at him. He’s not doing well. Figure it out. You’re the gamer.”
As I watched the queue of NPC and players wait their turn to sign up for the next round, I thought about a game I’d played years ago. Its side quests were set up like this. They would never appear as a quest. While playing, you had to be lucky and trip across a situation or an NPC that would lead you into the quest itself. It wasn’t a part of any storyline, major or minor. In that game, every hidden quest offered a reward upon completion. Some were mundane, but a few rewards were substantial. The more I thought about it, the more feasible it seemed that this was what we were looking at.
I slipped on the Ring of the Iron Stomach.
Slash glanced down, shaking excitedly. “You’ll do it?”
“I’ll do it.”
“You sure that’s a good idea?” Kira asked. “You haven’t tested the ring yet.”
The band of my newly equipped item was highly polished silver. When I looked more closely, I noticed intricate designs encircling it. Slight engravings that were clearly serpents. The serpents wrapped around a twine of ivy leaves. The channels of the engravings were dark green, almost black.
“The only way to test it is if you think you’re going to be poisoned,” I said, still staring at the ring and hoping it was everything the description promised. “No better time than now, I figure.”
“Pretty cavalier attitude for a guy who’s about to be puking up his guts if he’s wrong,” Kira said, the corner of her mouth twitching.
“Yeah, I live on the edge.” Watching the line grow, I decided it was now or never. “Smart ass.”
As I left to join the queue, Kira shouted, “Hope you don’t throw up!”
I flipped her off and joined the line. I was the last one to make the cut off. We were seated as soon as I paid my entry fee. It cost ten gold to stuff my face and possibly get poisoned. I sat at the table, looking across the crowd at my pup and friend. Both wore beaming smiles as if they couldn’t wait to watch me get violently ill.
I rubbed the ring with the flat of my thumb. “You better do your damn job.”
“What’s that, friend?” the NPC next to me said.
“I wished you well,” I said.
“Oh, well, you too, my friend.”
The ringleader stepped before the table, announcing the final round as Bartholomew took his place at the far end. From my vantage point, I couldn’t see the two boys nor where they grabbed plates from, but doubted that mattered.
As they came around and distributed the plates piled with dark meat, I pinched the ring between my thumb and finger, turning it slowly. Suddenly, I was nervous. As these things go, I imagined it was best to test the immunity of the ring here instead of in a fight against a creature at my level or higher. Still, that did little to settle my nerves.
“For this last round,” the fat man said, his bejeweled hands raised in the air, “we’re going to end the game with a stiff challenge.” Without turning to face us, he gestured along the table with one arm. “This time around, the contestants will be challenged to consume five pounds of minotaur meat!”
The assembled crowd hooted and hollered at the pronouncement. I found my eyes drawn to the pile of dark meat, a sharp, tangy smell emanating from it. Knowing it was five pounds of a mythical creature made me want to sick up even before we started. I pulled my head away.
The fat man noticed. He slapped the table in front of me. “Looks like we have a loser already, ladies and gentlemen!”
“Hardly,” I said, planting both elbows on the table and bringing my face directly over the pile. “Let’s go. Unless you’re worried about your champion losing?”
All mirth slid from his chubby cheeks. With his back to the crowd, he said under his breath, “We’ll see if you’re cocky in a few minutes.”
The signal given, the last round commenced. I dug in. One thing the military taught me was to tolerate terrible food. Bad food was a reality of that life. From our first days in basic training where we ate pre-packaged rations that tasted like paper, to our training deployments where we were subjected to three meals a day that were prepared and cooked by people just learning their craft, it set a low bar of expectations. Sadly, none of that prepared me for a pile of minotaur meat.
I made the mistake of grabbing a handful and shoveling it into my mouth, wanting to get a jumpstart on Bartholomew. What I didn’t think about was the fact that I’d never eaten it before, so I had no idea what to expect. I wanted a good start. The key to getting anything nasty down your pipe is to do it quickly. The meat was stringy and as tough as eating yarn, dissolving just as quickly. I had to spit half my mouth full out just to get the rest of it down.
“Looks like you’re fading fast,” the man said, knocking his ringed fingers on the table. “Quit now. Bartholomew will win anyway, and you’ll save face.”
I ignored him, lifting the rest of the handful to my mouth and choking it down.
Almost as if on cue, three of the contestants dropped out, one after another. Two were NPCs, but the third was a player. He didn’t look well. I pushed the sight of his blanching face away and scooped another handful of the meat. I can’t say I was gaining an appreciation for its taste, and I would apologize to the first minotaur I met in the game, but each subsequent load went down easier.
Cheers went up when two more contestants tumbled off their stools, one knocking the other over. Laughter and taunting soon joined the cheering. I ignored it all except the tiny barking buried under the noise of the humanoid crowd. Slash’s support meant everything, and it helped me get through the point where I thought my stomach was going to explode. The swell was artificial, coming on too fast to have been caused by the meal. The fact the poison was kicking in pissed me off and pushed me on. As quickly as my stomach swelled, I felt it retract. The sensation reminded me of how turkey basters sucked up juices in a pan. I imagined that happening inside me. The ring was working its magic, literally.
From the far end of the table, the crowd roared. Bartholomew shoveled food into his mouth. His minotaur pile had been cut in half.
I blew out a deep breath and opened my throat. “I better not fucking choke.”
With that self-threat, I got to work, not only keeping up with Bartholomew but passing him. As another contestant dropped out, the crowd’s attention shifted to me. I shut them out. Years had passed since my last serious sports day, but I remembered what it was like to perform in front of a crowd. This was easy compared to those pressure moments back in my high school glory days.
Bartholomew’s reaction to the crowd was as muted as mine.
Before I finished my next handful, the last three contestants dropped out. Two got up, groaning and holding their stomachs. One guy toppled onto his back and had to be dragged away by the supportive portion of the crowd. The contest came down to me and the eternal champion.
By now, Slash and Kira had moved to the front of the crowd. When my little man tried to jump on the table, the event wrangler shooed him away, approaching a little too closely. A step forward and a fist raised by Kira had the fat man backing up.
It threw me off my rhythm, but I managed to regain lost ground, much to the angst of the fat man. Nearing the end of my plate, I realized that as an NPC, Bartholomew’s capabilities were capped. He could eat a metric ton, but he could only do it at the programmed pace. Without internal motivation, without being influenced by the situation, he couldn’t change. I could.
Kira fist-pumped as I extended my lead over the grand champion. The crowd pushed to get closer. The way they stood, they cut off Bartholomew, as if he didn’t even exist.
