Alpha Zero (Alpha LitRPG Book 1) by Arthur Stone (top 5 books to read TXT) 📕

developing, but not getting any spices. I fall down like that, too, when my inner self is developing. Spices can help, but we don’t have any. They’re expensive. We can’t afford them.”

“We’ll get ourselves some spices,” I said with confidence, rubbing my face. “Maybe not right away, but soon.”

“They’re expensive,” Beko repeated.

“That’s all right, we’ll make it work. But we have a more pressing purchase to make first.”

“What?”

“A knife. A normal one.”

“I didn’t lose mine, like you did,” Beko said defensively. “It’s mine! Mine!”

“Relax, I’m not trying to take it from you. But dressing the kote with sharp stone is a pain like no other.”

“We don’t have a kote to dress.”

“Nor do we have a dressing knife, so let’s start with that. Getting a kote will be step two. Oh, and do you know if anyone in the fort can fashion a wooden block?”

“I don’t know anything about any block.”

“Never mind. I’ll be on the lookout for a craftsman.”

* * *

The knife ended up costing five lesser symbols of chi. Truthfully, it wasn’t worth half that. But it was the cheapest possible option in Guppy’s stock. He had asked for six symbols at first, but then relented and agreed to accept five on account of our continued patronage. A loyalty discount of sorts.

The remaining two symbols went to a woodworker who quickly fashioned a wooden block of the right size. Plus I promised him a chunk of kote if he added a groove for the cord. Old leek stalks may be tear resistant, but easily frayed with common rock. And I needed to minimize any risk of damage, lest we remained without tackle and without haul.

The feebleness that had overwhelmed me so cunningly during breakfast hadn’t fully abated. I felt like a vegetable that had been placed in a pot, then removed just as the water came to a boil, still undercooked. And I had to admit to myself that I wouldn’t be able to recreate yesterday’s fishing heroics, even with my upgraded Stamina and experience.

I just wasn’t in the condition to be grappling with Blackriver’s crocs.

Although, if my thinking was correct, I wouldn’t need to.

When we finally got down to the pebbled beach, the first thing I did was start working on fashioning a couple of clubs. My pickaxe experience still fresh in my mind, I wanted to avoid losing precious fish brains going forward.

It was slightly disappointing that the Order didn’t award me a damn thing for crafting the clubs. Apparently, the accomplishment was thoroughly insignificant.

Looking at the crudely fashioned sticks, I didn’t disagree. After that, I moved on to a new tackle, this time following a completely different blueprint. Rather than make another spoonbait, I tied to the cord a flat pebble with a hole in the middle, and secured a hook to it. Then I focused on the reeling mechanism. After securing the block to the loop affixed to a large bough with a sharpened point, I passed the end of the cord through it, then stepped back to assess my creation.

The craftsmanship was just as primitive as you might imagine. Good thing I cared nothing about the aesthetics, but only function.

And we were going to put function to the test.

* * *

Until now, I had been so busy with preparations that I hadn’t so much as shot a glance in the river’s direction. But now, as I looked this way and that, I didn’t see anything resembling a hint as to where to find schools of fish or solitary large specimen. Only the standard circles and splashes that indicated frolicking fry—the kind of stuff no special skills were needed to notice.

Where was my fishing instinct, then? Why wasn’t it pointing me in the right direction?

I didn’t doubt that it was working. Such was this world that doubting such fundamental principles would be tantamount to believing that the Earth was flat. And while those types of people did exist in my old world, they fell strictly into two categories: those with severe mental deficiencies, and those who sought to profit from the mental deficiencies of the first category.

And I was anything but mentally deficient. I knew that the talent was working. I just needed to figure out how.

That took about five minutes. As a result of my investigation, I learned that the talent had to be activated, whereupon it began to expend the aforementioned “shadow chi,” which then regenerated on its own.

That seemed clear enough, so without further hesitation, I went ahead and activated it.

And then my jaw dropped.

The river transformed, becoming translucent—both in the shallows and further out. The bottom was covered with a cobweb of ultra-thin threads, reflecting the relief that was hidden to the eye. And right over this surface, rainbow patches sparkled here and there. Most of them formed clusters, but there were also individual shapes, typically of a much larger variety. Some even seemed enormous, but it was hard to be certain given that their location and dimensions were constantly shifting, inflating and deflating like irregularly shaped balloons on a radar screen.

One of the nearest clusters whirled near the water line. Exactly where circles floated up to the surface, indicating the presence of fish.

Mouth still agape, I tried to remind myself that this wasn’t a museum exhibit for me to stupidly gawk at. And then, just as suddenly, the hazy picture exposing the secret world of the river faded. I tried to bring it back, but to no avail.

The cause of the malfunction became immediately apparent. Scatterbrain that I was, I’d forgotten that the talent didn’t run on good will. The minute-and-a-half of its operation had drained all of my shadow chi, and it would probably take a good while for it to regenerate.

That was some costly gawking. A squandered opportunity to master the talent.

But