Ash. The Legends of the Nameless World. Progression Gamelit Story by Kirill Klevanski (ink book reader .txt) 📕

“If it weren’t for the roots,” Mary interrupted, snatching the flask for him, “he would’ve stuck you on his staff like a shish kebab.” She took a long gulp from the flask and tossed it back to Blackbeard who just frowned in protest. Remembering the skull on the staff and the malicious glint in its hollow eyes, he turned pale and emptied the flask in one gulp.

Lari, having removed the damaged breastplate and replaced it with a new one, was collecting the loot. He had unrolled the magic scrolls and was laying various items on them. The first thing he put there were boots, the most valuable thing according to him. For any traveler, good footwear was more valuable than a loving wife and a loyal friend. After all, without good shoes, even the smoothes and shortest road would feel like walking on glass.

Having placed the boots on the circle drawn on one of the parchments, he waited. The runes glowed with a steady lilac light and soon began to form a text. Lari, scratching the top of his head, was sad to see that the shoes were ordinary, devoid of any enchantments or special materials.

“Garbage,” he said, throwing the boots into the direction of the woods.

Ash, almost letting out a tear, looked down and patted his worn-out sandals as if to tell them that he had no intention of cheating on them.

“Oh, that’s interesting,” Lari mumbled to himself. “Hey, Mary, look at this.”

Turning around, Mary walked over to him and crouched to look at the scrolls. Her eyes seemed to glimmer. The druid’s staff, even though it was split in half, wasn’t an ordinary one. With it, he had the power to control ravens. Not exactly a useful spell, but, according to the runes, a very ancient one, since the era before last. She had no doubt that she’d find some collectors in Mistrit.

“…Esh, don’t you need one?” she asked, feeling like someone had punched her in the gut.

The rules were that the loot had to be distributed among the team members first. Whatever was left would be sold to fill the common purse.

“I don’t,” the young mage replied and shook his head. “Mine’s better.”

Mary looked at his makeshift crooked staff with skepticism but said nothing. If he didn’t want it, he didn’t want it.

“So it’ll go to the coin purse!” she said excitedly, carefully wrapping the trophy in a cloth.

“Nothing out of the ordinary with the robes as far as I can tell… They’re self-made,” Lari said. “They’re odd looking though, but we ought to give them to the experts, the scrolls aren’t picking anything up… There’s also an amulet that allows you to get out of any part of the forest…”

“Tul?”

“Already got three.”

“For sale then,” Mary said, mentally rubbing her hands together as she calculated the profit. If the robes turn out to be something special, they could get more than fifty gold. “What else?”

“Some very strange rings.”

“Strange? What do you mean?”

“Look for yourself.”

Mary looked, rubbed her eyes, and then looked again. Two rings in the shape of snakes eating their tails had burned a big hole in the scroll. She had never seen that happen before. She reached for them but a staff blocked her way.

“Don’t,” Ash warned. Both his voice and face were unusually serious.

“Cursed?” Alice, who had finished healing Blackbeard, guessed.

“Not exactly.”

The Stumps looked up at him with a frown and were about to tell him that this wasn’t the time for jokes when they realized that the voice didn’t belong to him or anyone else from their team.

From the bushes emerged a Ternite, a berserker, and a leader of a bigger group. These scumbags were easily identified by their huge muscles and almost complete lack of armor, as well as their weapon of choice ― two axes. Behind him was an assassin, disappearing in the endless shadows, curved daggers glimmering with the most vile of poisons.

“What beauties,” the warlock behind him almost cooed.

In his hands, he clutched a silver sword. Something told Ash that this wasn’t another poser and fan of the popular Urga. The warlock, in particular his amulets and yellow eyes, gave off a sense of power.

The last member of the squad was a black-haired sorceress. In her hands, she held a carved staff with a blue crystal for a pommel. A very expensive trinket that greatly enhanced ice spells.

“Let us introduce ourselves,” the berserker said with a slight nod.

Mary nodded in return and was about to reply when Ash leaned forward. With his usual carefree familiarity, he approached the warlock and began to study his boots intently. For convenience, the young mage got down on all fours and started making notes in his imaginary notebook.

“By the way,” he asked, not taking his eyes off the shoes, “which one of you is Glich?”

“Uh…” The berserker scratched his head with the back of the ax.

The warlock pursed his lips in annoyance and tried to kick the idiot, but the said idiot disappeared, appearing next to the sorceress.

“Jasmine,” he drawled, inhaling the scent of her hair, the color of strong coffee.

The girl screamed and swung her staff. There was a woosh followed by the sound of branches snapping as Ash disappeared, appearing next to the assassin. The young mage pointed his finger at the dark elf, checking to see if he was a person or a statue someone had put on a tree and forgot about. The assassin didn’t react, but kept standing, wrapped in a cloak bearing the groups insignia – a crossed lute and a blade.

Ash disappeared again.

Feeling a tap on his shoulder, the berserker turned and saw Ash standing next to him on tiptoe. Giving him a smile, he then returned to