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

A massive egg-shaped helmet covered his head, exposing nothing but his face to the world. It was rough—as though a novice carpenter had carved it out of discarded wood, and with a rusting ax. His beard reached nearly all the way to his wide belt, which was chaotically covered with crooked ovals of bronze.

There he stood, clad like a knight-errant. Except for his legs. They were ridiculously thick and short. As if nature had wanted to create a giant-dwarf hybrid and had given up on how to merge them together. But this flaw did not give him the appearance of an invalid. It was funny, yes. And I doubted very much that it interfered with his agility. Even from out in the river, I could tell he would not be an easy man to defeat in a fight.

He stood more firmly than some statues I had seen.

“We have to go back right now,” Beko said unquestioningly.

“Who is that?” I began to pull up the rope attached to the huge triangular stone and toothed metal bar that together served as our anchor.

“Stubs,” Beko replied as he rushed to help.

“Never heard of him. Who is he? Important man at the trading post?”

“He’s not from the trading post at all.”

“So why do we have to obey him?”

“Otherwise he’ll take our ears. Then later, he’ll tell us we don’t need them, since we obviously never listened with them anyway.”

“So he’s a strict man.”

“What, does he look kind to you?”

“Not at all,” I admitted.

“He’s the best tracker in the Wild Wood. Gurro Stubs, they call him. After his stubby limbs. You just call him Master Gurro, okay? Otherwise he’ll... uh...”

“I get it, I get it. Otherwise he’ll take my tongue out and tell me I didn’t need that, either.”

“Exactly. Once, a dire ratwolf jumped him. Gurro just saddled the beast and rode him off. The people who saw this thought that Gurro would never return, of course —ratwolves don’t take kindly to riders. The rest of the pack was following close behind, too. So they assumed Stubs was dead. They even put together a service of some kind. People here love to do that. But then, the following morning, Gurro returned. Right here, to the First Stone. He went right to the tavern, tossed the ratwolf onto the floor, its jaw torn clean off, and asked for a glass of the strongest drink the keeper had. They gave him some of that stuff the convoys bring in. The stuff they give a teaspoonful of to cows to break up gallstones. Two spoons of that and the cows’ hooves fall off. Gurro downed the whole glass and told the innkeeper to cook up the ratwolf’s liver and other innards. As they cut up the carcass in the kitchen, they noticed that the beast had no heart. They informed Gurro that this organ would be missing from his meal. He said he knew that already. Because he had eaten the heart the day before. Eaten it raw, as he watched the life fade from the ratwolf’s eyes and the frightened pack scatter to the four corners of the earth.”

“Whoa. Tough guy indeed.”

“He does not belong to the trading post. He is his own man. But when he comes here, he has the rights to anything and everything that a local does. We need him. He’s the only man around who can walk the left shore for a week and come back undamaged—and with loot, too. The Emperor of Pain has wanted slips posted up everywhere, offering good money for Gurro’s head.”

I was so taken by this conversation that I was surprised to see the raft was nearly at its destination. A couple of good pushes off the bottom with our poles, and we were there.

We pulled the anchor ashore and approached Stubs, greeting him in unison. “Hello, Master Gurro.”

He kept his voice grim. “Hello to you, too. Which one of you is Ged, and which is the ghoul?”

“He’s Ged,” Beko replied, pointing at me—but surprised that the great tracker was unable to, or declined to, tell a ghoul by sight.

“Ah, so you think I’m dumb enough to not notice the difference between a ghoul and a weakling?” Gurro barked. “Are you patronizing me, kid? Is your tongue just as malformed as the rest of you?”

“N-n-no.”

Gurro stared at him for a moment, then clapped his shoulder. “Oh come on, I’m kidding. Don’t look so sour. I’m not here for you—you can go wherever you want. I need you,” Gurro pointed at Ged. “We have important things to discuss.”

“Alright,” I nodded. “Beko, while Master Gurro and I are talking, you get the Carps and Romris. We need to bring the catch in before dark.”

The ghoul took off, at the speed of a motorcyclist. He clearly did not enjoy the company of the tracker.

Stubs pointed at our raft. “Did you make that yourselves?”

“No, Romris made it.”

“Since when did Romris do another man a favor?”

“He didn’t. I paid him, in squares.”

“So you’re rich.”

“Not yet, but we’re on our way.”

The man chuckled. “When did you get this raft?”

“Just yesterday. Today was our first try fishing from it.”

“I see you caught a lot.”

“It’s been a good day, yes.”

“Now, that raft with the dead men—you found it?”

I shook my head. “Not quite found. Noticed.”

“What’s the difference?”

“I saw it when it was floating down the river.”

“Pushed towards the shore?”

I shook my head again. “No, someone set it sailing in the middle of the river. The currents here run in such a way that the raft was pulled to the right. It would have passed the Stone right there,” I pointed.

“So you know how the river’s currents work.”

“It’s not that difficult.”

“Please do share. Tell me how the raft was launched and