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

“Yes, we will. And if you get a fire going here soon, I’ll give you a whole kote, larger than my arm’s length. Two of them, even. But we need a big fire. And we need it right away. Like, as soon as yesterday. And we need to cook a pot of kote brain soup. The hotter, the better. And some tea.”

I was ready to jump into a pot of boiling water. At least the wind down here wasn’t strong, or I’d have frozen to death by now.

* * *

The impact of my development of not one, but two freshly unlocked attribute levels was manifest. My body’s reactions were much more sensitive to the changes of laws governed by ORDER. I felt a kind of drowsy stupefaction, my body shaking violently even after being wrapped with thick and grimy burlap graciously brought over by one of the Carps. I sat there, staring stupidly into the bonfire, eating when served roast fish on twig skewers, and drinking when served brain soup. Straight out of the bowl for want of spoons.

I had a vague memory of Romris coming by again, questioning me about my fishing methods, trying to suss out how we had managed to catch so many kote using only a stone with a hook. Me being in no condition to divert and deflect, it fell on Beko to carry the load. Not known for his eloquence and brilliance, the ghoul came up with some half-assed theory about my being a mage on account of knowing how to read and write. And that I had some secret talent that, when activated, compelled kote to obey me. Pure drivel, but it seemed to satisfy the seasoned angler, as the questions eventually stopped.

The tactical victory must have empowered Beko, for after Romris left, he went on the offensive against the Carps, recalling old grievances and insinuating that our nocturnal act of vengeance hadn’t sufficiently made up for them. All the while, he would grab his bundle of rags periodically and declare with spite that, lest anybody forget, it belonged to him.

In short, he was as Beko as Beko could be.

I didn’t recall how I’d ended up in the cellar. But it was only there, spread out on a thin sheet of hay laid out by Beko, that I came to terms with the unpleasantness of my situation.

It wasn’t the cold that had drained me of my strength. No, I had fallen sick. And that was serious. Very serious. In this world, individuals with my parameters died in infancy. And for those that didn’t, even a hint of the sniffles could kill them.

Spring water was a perfidious thing. And I had taken a dip in it twice over several days.

And that second dip was one too many.

Chapter 23 Minus One to Life and a Bad Raft

Degrees of Enlightenment: 0 (201/888)

Shadow: 201

Attributes:

Stamina: level 2, 112 points

Strength: level 0, 31 points

Agility: level 1, 83 points

Perception: NA, 50 points

Spirit: NA, 50 points

Talents:

Fishing Instinct (tier 2): 10/10

States:

Equilibrium (6.31): level 6

Enhanced Enlightenment (0.5): level 0

My state of delirium persisted for two days. Most of the time I spent in dreamless sleep, and when I woke, it would take me some time to realize where I was. These stretches of slumber were interspersed with short bouts of manic activity. I would leap out of bed, gorge on food and drink, then rush to do this thing or that—until the kill switch struck again, taking me back out of commission.

On the evening of the third day, I opened my eyes and finally felt OK. Not at all like a beached jellyfish or a corpse being shocked with electricity by a team of paramedics who can’t help but laugh at its comical convulsions.

Though I was still far from perfect health, the sickness had clearly abated, leaving behind ordinary weakness that I welcomed almost with joy.

Indeed, the weakness had a pleasant feel to it. It was the weakness of an organism that had embarked on a path of recovery, aiming to remind its master not to interfere with the process.

The cellar had a single source of light: a tiny dormer window almost at the ground level. At night we covered it with a thick mat that Beko had woven out of stalks of wild leek, which filled the space with the plant’s acrid smell. Sort of similar to garlic, though not quite that.

The window was closed, the crude shutter clearly visible. But how? At this time of night, the cellar was steeped in darkness so thick, you could cut it with a knife. A cage of fireflies could disperse it, but its luminescence was cold and faint, not at all like this one.

I turned and saw the source of the unusual illumination. Hoisted atop a pine billet was a clay bowl filled with oil or some other burning substance. A tiny tongue of flame rose from the wick peeking out of the bowl. The light it was giving off, though modest, was sufficient to scatter the darkness to the corners of our equally modest dwelling.

Beko bent over me, extending a cup. “Drink, Ged. To the last drop. Don’t spill any, like last time. This cost a whole fifteen squares.”

“Fifteen squares?” I frowned. “Then this should be made of gold. Only it smells like manure.”

“It’s not made of manure. It’s made of special spices, roots and herbs. Bilessa brewed it especially for you. You must drink the whole thing.”

The potion tasted no better than it smelled. Still, fifteen squares was a small fortune, and there was no way I was going to let it go to waste. Grimacing and fighting back nausea, I drank it all down as ordered, to the last drop.

“Got any water?”

“Bilessa said