Shadow Seer (Rogue Merchant Book #3): LitRPG Series by Roman Prokofiev (read ebook pdf .TXT) 📕

deals with the trade. I don’t recommend you go alone, however. I can give you a tour for a good price.”

“What is this place? Who are the Gravekeepers? Why is everyone bandaged? What’s inside the coffins?”

“Oh, so many questions!” He laughed again. “Let’s do it this way, my young friend. You’ll treat me to a drink in the nearest pub, and I’ll answer your questions. Deal?”

* * *

The town was extremely weird. What had he called it, the Tombtown? It seemed like a fitting name. Drowned in the darkness that enveloped everything, it looked like foxfire glowing in the woods at night, and all I could see were the cliffs just outside. The only waymark was a bright ray of light beaming down from a tall tower above the water—a beacon of sorts.

“Why is it so dark here?” I asked, glancing at system time.

“Dark?” Rocky chuckled and finally understood me. “Ah, that’s what you mean! This is the Hole, man! There’s no sun, no moon, no sky. It’s always night here!”

The perpetual twilight was illuminated by the soft green glow of crystals hanging from crooked lamp-posts, which only served to make the scenery more malevolent. One-third of all the houses on the rocky shore looked abandoned, glaring at me with dark empty slits for windows. An odd crust of mildew and pale slimy mushrooms covered the stony walls. Pieces of roofing and rust-colored ash crunched beneath our feet. Cobwebs were omnipresent, just like shadows, blanketing the windows of abandoned homes, fluttering in the wind and flickering under the dark roofs. Apparently, it had never occurred to local residents to clean up.

The streets were mostly empty save for a rare passerby, all of them looking like each other’s twins. Some wore ordinary clothes, while others didn’t care. Still, everyone had a thick layer of bandages covering their faces and bodies. A strong smell of decay hung in the air.

“This is my favorite place!” Rocky pointed at a door set ajar under the sign of a foamy beer mug. “Don’t be scared, come on. Everyone’s welcome at Blind Widow’s. It’s a respectable establishment. Just wear your hood up.”

The tavern was completely empty with not a single visitor in sight, and the long tables were covered with a thick layer of dust. It didn’t look like many people frequented it. Rocky sat down, carefully wiped the table with a big lacy handkerchief he pulled out of his pocket, and had a quick word with the creature that appeared behind the counter. Going by the dress and the bonnet, at some point, it used to be a woman, but everything else was hidden under the bandages.

She brought us a tray with two tall tankards and a plate of round pies. Rocky immediately emptied his pint mug and gave me a rakish wink with his only eye.

“Come on, drink, don’t be afraid! This is the famous Tomb Pale Beer!”

I raised the mug and gave a suspicious look to the muddy white liquid that was slightly bubbling. It didn’t resemble beer and reeked of decay—or maybe it was the tankard or the bandaged hands that poured it? I wasn’t going to find out, which is why I suppressed a gag reflex and carefully put the “pale beer” back on the table.

“Too bad!” Rocky remarked. “Local cuisine only seems disgusting, but after you take a while cruising the Hole, you start realizing how great it is. Finger-licking good! You won’t eat the worm pie either? Why did you come to the Hole, then?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, only real weirdos come here. Thrainul calls them perverts, actually. Players keen on local exotics. So you’re not one of them?”

“Yes, I’m here to do business. I hope I won’t have to stay long.”

“We’ll see. Everyone says that.” He winked at me again. “So you’re sure you don’t want the beer? Then I hope you don’t mind if I drink it. I could order you some mushroom wine. Do you want some?”

“No, thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Anyway, you’re paying. So what questions do you have, smoothskin? About the Gravekeepers and this place?”

“I’m not so certain anymore that I want to know that.” I chuckled.

“But you have to!” Rocky laughed. “All right, so listen up. There’s a reason why the Hole’s considered a closed zone. Getting here is far from easy. And the Tomb...this is a place for the cursed ones. For freaks. Some wounds cannot be healed even by death, and the public doesn’t always like that. You players know so many nasty ways of killing, and even without you, there’s no shortage of experts. In short, those who have too many death marks come here to avoid burdening their loved ones. Some of them become Gravekeepers and escort new pilgrims. Got it?”

I got it. When you received a new injury in Sphere, the game asked you whether you wanted to keep a scar. Most of the time, I refused, although I did leave several marks as mementos of battle. I had never thought about what might happen to immortal NPCs who respawned at their home resp point. By default, they resurrected without any marks, but there might be exceptions. So a curse? I shuddered imagining what an NPC killed by a Grand Fire, a Pool of Acid, or a Hungry Darkness might look like. That explained why all of them were wrapped in bandages and some walked with a drag as if put together from parts. I wondered if such curses worked on players, too.

“So it’s the same with you?” I asked Rocky as he gobbled down the “worm pie.”

“Mutilated? Yeah. It’s a long story. I don’t want to revisit it. There was a scuffle... Well, now I’m cursed with Unhealing Wounds. Not uncommon here.”

“All right, so that covers the Gravekeepers,” I said. “But what was in the other coffins?”

“Fresh meat. New settlers. Thrainul