Retribution: A Fantasy LitRPG Gamelit Adventure (Enora Unleashed Book 3) Read online

  RETRIBUTION

  AN ENORAVERSE NOVEL

  ARLO ADAMS

  DUSTIN PORTA

  CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Enora Unleashed Book 4 is in progress!

  1

  I peered over the bow from the deck of the Retribution in search of the ghost trying to sink my ship. The little shit clung to the hull as if gravity didn’t apply to him. He glowed translucent blue like the others, but was thin with scraggly hair and barely old enough to shave. A dark bruise encircled his neck, and blisters covered his toes. I guessed the mad captain from whom I’d won the magical compass—the one that built my version of the Antigrall—had strung him up in the rigging, then held a torch beneath him.

  It was clear how he’d died when the torturing was finished. Some charitable soul had opened his guts up with a fillet knife. All the ghosts we had encountered since taking possession of the ship three days earlier were the angry victims of the former captain’s wrath, cursed to roam the decks of the Antigrall’s replica I’d inherited.

  Or that was the only theory I could form.

  It burned my backside that the boon of winning a ship-building relic came with the bother of a cursed crew. But after an hour of irritation, it occurred that if the AI did something that underhanded—that insane—there was a reason. A journey for me to undertake to rectify it. Call it a suspicion, and only time would tell.

  I suspected ghost boy remembered his plight aboard the Antigrall and, like an apparitional automaton, sought revenge. His tongue lolled out the side of his mouth, dead eyes focused on his work. Gripping a translucent fillet knife I guessed had come from his sliced gut, he wiggled the blade under an iron nail, working it up and out of the plank.

  “C’mon man. We didn’t do anything to you.” Grasping the rail with one hand, I leaned over the edge to swing my hammer. It passed right through the cabin boy to strike the nail, driving it back into place.

  The ghost didn’t acknowledge me. They never did. He just cocked his head to the other side, chewed on his tongue a bit, then went back to work on the nail.

  “I’m starting to understand why that bastard killed you.” I gazed across the deck and considered waking Flancil. Our gnomish monk’s Light-powered punches were the lone weapons we had against these guys. And even then, they didn’t kill them. Sure, the specters would dematerialize for a while, but they always returned with the same thirst for destruction.

  Nothing is ever fucking easy in this world.

  I flailed the hammer through the ghost’s head a couple times and got no reaction. When the nail wiggled up I drove it down again. The spooky pest went right back to work. I heard a grumble from somewhere in the ship.

  Party Chat

  [Flancil] Will you let him finish already? Haven’t you learned anything? Let them do their damage, then sweep in behind them when they move onto the next task. People are sleeping here.

  I glowered at the chat window for a minute, then dismissed it. I could’ve gone below to drag Flancil Chanz out of his oversized hammock, but he was right. The bastard would move away once he pulled a few nails. As long as we were at anchor, it was best to let him do his naughty business and save Flancil’s magic hands for when we needed them—like the night before, when three of the blue boogers had come out to unfurl sails in the middle of a storm.

  So I sat in my downward dog pose while the one I’d nicknamed Gutsy worked the plank loose. I caught the first nail when it popped free. The second popped loose and plunked into the still waters before I’d finished putting the first into my belt pouch.

  Fists clenched, I slammed them down on my knees. “Really?”

  His head tilted up. For a moment, I thought those blank eyes saw me as they flitted left and right. Then he vanished. I waited to see if he’d reappear on the other side. After a minute, nothing.

  Guess that was enough sabotage for now. Or maybe he went below to mess shit up.

  I pulled an iron nail out of my inventory, leaned over the edge again, then hammered it back into the half-dislodged plank. We’d probably have to pry one out of a hatch somewhere to replace the one that had fallen, but I’d rely on Sylas’s expertise since he was the sailor among us and could discern important slats from less vital ones. From the look of it, we’d have to re-caulk it, then smear tar on the seam…or whatever. Carpentry wasn’t my specialty. Sylas was a godsend.

  Party Chat

  [Flancil] By the burrows of my forbearers, if someone doesn’t stop hammering, I will sink this ship myself.

  [Sylas] It wasn’t me. I was also sleeping.

  [Kyra] Find me a nail or go back to sleep.

  No answer. Rustling from the cabin below meant Sylas had finally tired of the noise and would soon join me so we could start putting the damn boat back together. The ghosts had really torn it up during my watch.

  On the bright side—literally—the sun was up, and a light breeze blew in from the south.

  I scooped up the big floppy pirate hat I’d taken from the mad captain when I won his ship and opened the avatar window to ensure it was on straight. Thanks to the hat, my baggy starter pants beneath the short starter robe, and the Oilskin Cloak of the Caster that hung rakishly over one shoulder, at least I looked halfway like a ship’s captain.

  A staircase led to the main deck from the elevated forecastle in the bow of the boat, and I ran my hand along the polished dark wood of the rail, pausing at the bottom to look around.

  Unlike my last boat, a little schooner that slammed into the rocks at Foggy Vale Island four days before, the Retribution was an honest-to-god pirate ship, with a cannon deck just below the main deck, a captain's quarters with a cushy bed that I’d been tricked into sharing—in shifts—and three masts with five square sails between them.

  Over the last three days, we’d crept north along the coast of the continent of Lau. It was not the right direction. Technically the continent of Bonchuria, our goal, was due Northwest, across the Blood Ocean on the opposite side of a massive archipelago Sylas had called the Shadowmaw Islands. On a map, they formed a jagged oval which resembled a shark’s mouth.

  Nothing ominous about any of that.

  Heading up coast was slower, but it made for a narrower crossing when we eventually turned west. Sylas bragged about his skill, but sailing the square-rigged vessel with just the three of us while a host of disgruntled spirits tried to disassemble it proved a bit too much to handle, regardless of his sailing acumen.

&nbs
p; “Shall we raise anchor?” Sylas asked, stepping up from the ladder to the cargo hold.

  “If you can get the wheel back on. One of them pulled the pin while I was untangling the mess in the bow.”

  Sylas sighed. “I should not have slept.”

  “Hey, I’m not dropping balls out here. Besides, everyone has to at some point.”

  The statement wasn't entirely true. Sleep worked different in Enora. While NPCs of different races required varying amounts of sleep, I could stay awake indefinitely if I was willing to suffer debuffs. Because of the weird shifts we'd been keeping and the constant ghostly interruptions, Flancil was the only one who’d got any meaningful rest in the last three days. I was tired, but I wasn't losing my sanity like if I had gone seventy-two hours without rest in the real world.

  It made sense. It allowed players to take full advantage of their gaming time and not waste it sleeping. But Enora took fatigue out on my stats. I glanced at my log’s notification again.

  Your lack of rest is affecting your cognitive and physical abilities.

  -1 Intelligence

  -1 Wisdom

  -1 Dexterity

  Where I’d initially wondered why in the world a game developer would require sleep in a virtual reality simulation, the answer had eventually come to me on the breeze. Infinity Designs was controlling player population by forcing them to log out once in a while or suffer penalties.

  One problem: I couldn’t log out.

  I planned to open a ticket about that shit, especially since I’d yet to hear from the developer about how they planned to compensate me for my predicament. Not that my death was their fault, entirely. My bum ticker had a lot to do with that. But it had happened because of an event in their world, where a douchebag coworker slaughtered me. When the other player who’d had his consciousness transferred reached out and informed me of their intent to sell my real-world possessions and cash it in for Enoran currency, I’d expected to hear from them sooner. But three days in Enora equaled one in the real world, and I’d just have to be patient. Besides, I’d just bank any gold they gave me and try to survive without it. Call it a competitive streak.

  If nothing else, my robe mitigated the Intelligence loss suffered from not sleeping, leaving me with a surplus of four. But while the debuffs didn’t stack, they expanded over time. The first night it’d only been Intelligence. The second, Wisdom. Now, day three with these damnable spirits, my Dexterity had dropped. While a magic caster could suffer the Intelligence and Wisdom penalties due to higher ranks in both those attributes, my Dexterity score was only four.

  That affected my chance to dodge, among other vital operations.

  Sylas rubbed sleepy eyes. “How much damage?”

  “Another dock line went missing. The longboat needs to be tied down again. A plank in the bow is loose. Those two sails are flapping in the breeze.” I pointed toward the forward mast. “Oh, and we lost our backup anchor.”

  “What?”

  “Yeah, it’s in the drink.”

  “I should not have slept.” Sylas stomped toward where the second anchor should have been. I followed, keeping an eye out for more ghosts.

  “Flancil says there’s a port city north of here. Another day, then we can stop to look for crew.“

  Sylas spat over the edge and leaned his elbows on the ship’s rail. “One of us will have to stay on board, or these spirits will sink us at the docks.”

  “I’ve thought about that. Flancil can stay. He’s got the magic fists. You and I can go hire someone.”

  “Port towns harbor a great deal of trouble. Our party would be weakened. Not only now, but anywhere we travel. Do you think our monk would not tire of being left behind to chase the spirits? Or do you hope to find a second holy gnome to share the burden? I hear the docks are just crawling with them in the north.”

  Sarcasm aside, he was right. Even if we could find someone crazy enough to join our ghost ship, what good would they be? I wanted to visit some instances I’d spotted, marked as little red flags labeled points of interest on my world map, around the Shadowmaw Islands. I suspected they’d be great places to level up… but what did I know? With the region undiscovered, a fog covered much of the details in my interface cartography. But when it came to leaving our pseudo-healing monk at the dock, it wasn’t like the lazy bastard would mind. I just worried he’d sleep through the annoyances, leaving The Retribution to sink. That would piss me off.

  I tried to think like a gamer. Something that, ironically, Enora punished me for every step of the way. I was doing the smart thing—quest, level up, learn some of the meta. Enora, and maybe Sylas as an extension of it, was doing everything he could to railroad us into our main quest before we were ready.

  The Bonchu. His revenge.

  “All right.” I scanned the deck to make sure there weren’t any more spirits sneaking around, “I’m not too proud to admit the plan sucks. Are you proposing a better one?”

  Sylas grunted. “I would sail due east. Skirt the Shadowmaw’s southern edge, then turn due north to Bonchuria. Then I would burn this cursed vessel and anything that stands between us and our vengeance.”

  “We are not going through this again. After Foggy Vale, you said you’d be patient. That you understood attacking the Bonchu with three low-level people would just result in failure. You’re not thinking straight because your sister—goddess rest her soul—dominates your every thought. Besides, we’d never make it that far. They’re taking this boat apart faster than you can put it back together. And Flancil’s at the end of his rope.”

  “That’s another thing.” He slumped on the rail, a sad look crossing his face. “I worry the monk’s loyalty wears thin. If we don’t put this coast behind us, I fear he will jump ship.”

  I shook my head. “If we sail, we sink.”

  “For my sister, I would sail a pitch pot.”

  I clutched my companion’s forearm, but I knew it was no use trying to comfort him. His face hardened, and his eyes grew misty as he stared toward the horizon. So, I just stood there, maintaining my logical disposition in hopes it wouldn’t leave him feeling like I didn’t support his goal.

  “Your sister wouldn’t have wanted you to get yourself killed trying to avenge her.”

  “You did not know my sister.”

  “I’ll bet she was a stone-cold badass. I’m sorry I never got to meet her.”

  “She wouldn’t have liked you.” He glanced at me and grinned out one side of his mouth.

  At least his humor lingers beneath the surface.

  I returned the smile. “I’d have endeared her to me within a week.”

  “You do have a way with people.” Sylas pushed himself up from the rail and started tugging at the knotted lacing on his collar. The bloodstained vest and baggy pants he’d worn since I first met him in the dungeons under the Bluestone Mountains had inexplicably gone missing while he was washing up, and he’d been forced to wear one of the frilly men’s blouses from the drawers in the captain’s wardrobe. It was black with shining ruffles I thought paired quite nicely with his ass-hugging black pants and sword belt.

  Sylas got the collar undone and had the shirt halfway off but he struggled to untie the lacing on the frilly cuffs.

  “What are you doing?”

  “We were here when we lost the spare anchor?”

  “What do you mean?” I blinked.

  “We haven't dragged anchor, haven’t swung about?”

  I eyed the rippling waters around the ship. “Sy, you're not going after it. The water’s deep. You have no gear.”

  Sylas threw his shirt against the mast. Cracking a slight grin, he stretched his sunbaked muscles in the morning air. Washboard abs were one thing, but Sy was all washboard. Like a bodybuilder on a hunger strike.

  Not that I was looking.

  Definitely not.

  I wasn’t.

  “Bring me that.” Sylas pointed at a coil of line next to the mast. “Tie the other end around something. On sec
ond thought, go watch for ghosts. I'll do it myself. Your knots are loose.”

  “I taught you climbers knots.”

  “And I have yet to test them.”

  I was going to tell him to go to hell, but he’d already secured himself, climbed onto the rail, and balanced there like a tomcat. He displayed a lot of swagger for a guy who’d made fishing poles for a living.

  “Are you positive this is a good idea? I can't see captain Ventura jumping in after an anchor.” Ventura had been the respected captain of the Sunfish, which hauled us from Lau across the ocean the day I got my first sailing rank.

  “Bah! Ventura would swim into port with a bowline in her teeth. If she were here, we’d be halfway to Bonchu by now.”

  I felt my cheeks color and turned to scan the deck for ghosts. Then I remembered an item that resided in my pocket. I tossed it in my palm as I offered it to my first mate. “Water-breathing lozenge. At least take that.”

  He shook his head. “It might serve when we really need it. I’ll be fine.”

  Maybe he was right. While drowning would certainly hurt, he couldn’t die, and my bind point was on the Retribution’s deck. It was possible all we’d suffered to win her made me overly cautious.

  I turned back to give him leave to take on his foolhardy task, but the rail was empty. I got the sense he didn’t care that I was the captain.

  My forehead scrunched when I leaned over. A disturbance in the calm waters below created an ever-expanding spiral. Glancing down at the deck, I watched as rope uncoiled in a violent whipping motion then slipped over the edge.