Keymaster Read online

  Universe ICS

  Keymaster

  by Sergey Zaytsev

  BOOK TWO

  Text Copyright © 2019 Sergey Zaytsev

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book can be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the author.

  Introduced by Valeria Kornosenko

  Translated by Evgenii Giga

  Cover designed by Ekaterina Andreeva

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Chapter 65

  Chapter 66

  Chapter 67

  Chapter 68

  Chapter 69

  Note from the author

  Recomendations

  Facebook LitRPG groups

  Chapter 1

  The bright flash of the portal engulfed me from head to toe, enveloping my body in a yellow-blue glow and blinding me.

  The drastic drop in temperature made me gasp; the cold felt like a punch to the face. An icy wind blew, biting deep into my skin. My sight returned immediately, as if switched on, and I was stunned to find that the green world of the sandbox had disappeared into a raging snowstorm.

  The Fairy on my left shoulder squeaked in fright and instantly dived into my bosom. Half a foot tall and naked, Tinnie was having a hard time in the cold. System messages about the new location appeared one after another, but I didn’t care about them just yet. Not rushing to take the first step into the unknown, I cautiously looked around for any danger. I was knee-deep in the snow. Clouds of steam were coming from my mouth. The piercing wind was howling and hurling handfuls of needle-sharp snow pellets at my face.

  Nothing.

  I could see nothing beyond thirty feet or so; the white whirlwinds had obscured my sight completely. It seemed that the only danger for me and my pets was the cold itself...

  Fury, my pseudo-panther, grumbled discontentedly, also pretty dazed by the abrupt change. Smoky-gray fur on the back of her neck stood on its end. She made a couple of cautious steps over the unfamiliar, white substance. The frost was biting her paws. Getting from a warm, evergreen paradise and into an icy hell-hole felt like a knockout...

  Fury suddenly hissed and nimbly turned around. Her enhanced hearing, far better than that of a human, allowed her to catch the approaching sound of hooves. A silhouette of a galloping rider emerged from the snowstorm. Wind gusts saturated with snow hid his outlines. Being so confused, I didn’t immediately understand what I was looking at. A few seconds later, the whirlwind suddenly parted and I stared at the marvelous thing in utter amazement.

  Hooves trampling the snow cover, galloping toward me was a real Centaur. The horse body, covered with fur, was connected to a human torso dressed in brown leather and metal armor. I felt an attentive, appraising gaze staring at me through the slits of the closed, cylindrical helmet. As soon as our eyes met, the warrior moved his hand, directing the dimly glowing tip of a long black spear in my direction.

  Damn... This wasn’t a good start!

  As if woken up, the blizzard blew fiercely yet again. I grinned crookedly, squinting from the sharp snow pellets that were flying around my head, scrubbing my bald head like sandpaper. With a quick move, I pulled the sword from my back, mentally activating my protective auras at the same time, and tried to evaluate my enemy. Puzzled, I cursed. Instead of symbols and level, race and class, all I saw was a bunch of unreadable squiggles. Was it a system failure due to the transition to a new location? I didn’t know who I was facing or even their abilities... Chills went down my spine. My pet was still too young for serious battles. The Centaur would simply trample the Direcat with its hooves.

  “Fury, move!”

  Hissing and arching her back, Fury jumped to the right and out of the Centaur’s way. I darted to the left, dodging the spear’s tip, which pierced the air near my shoulder with a threatening whistle. Rolling over the squeaking snow, I jumped up, ready to repel the next blow. But it did not come. The Centaur didn’t turn around. On the contrary, having gained speed, it rushed away into the blizzard. I didn’t have time to stand there and be amazed. Sensing something moving by my side, I recoiled and turned around, facing the new danger. Sword in hand, I rose my other hand and used Flamespear.

  A humanoid figure wrapped in a fur cloak leapt out of the snowy whirlwind. Its face was obscured by the hood it wore. Not paying attention to me, the stranger, the size of a teenager, briefly and energetically waved their hand. I heard a muffled whistle of a projectile flying through the howling snowstorm, followed by a dull thud that sounded like a stick hitting a bag full of sand. The Centaur arched its back with a throaty cry, but did not stop. Its silhouette was out of sight a moment later, wiped out by the blizzard’s tumultuous dance.

  The “slinger”, armed with a simple sling, vigorously shouted at the enemy. Judging by the tone, they were swearing. The stranger then stared at me. I still couldn’t make out their face, but I felt a disgruntled and angry gaze being shot in my direction. I didn’t understand the next, equally angry phrase. However, its meaning was easy to guess. The person was unhappy that the Centaur escaped and that I did nothing to stop it.

  “Well, excuse me,” I grinned awkwardly, my lips slowly turning blue from the cold and feeling my fingers grow more and more stiff with each second. “I don’t like sticking my nose in other people’s business without understanding the situation.”

  My voice got lost in the howling blizzard.

  Realizing that talking was futile, the stranger gestured that I follow, turned and started walking.

  “Should we follow?” I looked askance at the Direcat.

  Fury snorted as if saying that we had nowhere else to go, and ran after our guide. She had a point. Despite the obvious disagreement with the Centaur, the stranger didn’t seem hostile toward us, which meant that it would be reasonable to try and establish some form of contact with them. As a local, they probably know where to find shelter from the wind and cold. I was slowly turning into an icicle.

  Putti
ng the sword back onto its place and shielding my eyes from the wind with my hand, I followed my pet, quietly rejoicing at the failed fight. I didn’t want to have to shed blood the moment I got to this new world for many reasons. Who knows what those Centaurs are, how strong they are as opponents, and whether it is worthwhile to become their enemy. It’d be wise to gain an understanding of your surroundings before unsheathing your weapon... There were, however, significant difficulties with that part of the plan — the local language, as it happened, was unfamiliar to me...

  I stopped abruptly and frowned. Not only was the information about encountered characters turned into a squiggly mess, the entire interface suffered the same fate - all option menus, stat panels and descriptions of attribute properties were unreadable. Damn it! I should be thankful that my auras got activated at all — instead of Tempest Blade and Wind’s Breath were intangible symbols; only the spell and ability icons remained the same.

  Fury turned around and meowed questioningly, not understanding why we had stopped. She is right. I will deal with this problem later. The most important thing right now is not to lose sight of our guide who is quickly disappearing in the whirlwinds. I picked up my pace, and then broke into a run, noticing that the short man had accelerated too. Hardier and more dexterous than that of an ordinary person, the avatar body made it possible for me to move rather smoothly across the snow without leaving me short of breath. At the same time, it was a good warm-up. Hopefully, Tinnie did not die in my bosom. Fairies are magical creatures; the little one should have at least some cold resistance. Meanwhile, the Direcat clearly got accustomed to her surroundings and was running freely around me. Her wide pads were not falling through the snow, and the sharp piercing wind powerlessly ruffled her smoky-gray fur.

  Soon enough, rocky heaps appeared on our sides, like sharp teeth cutting through the snow-covered mountain slopes, their peaks lost somewhere high in the restless whirlwinds. The cave showed up suddenly. A dark maw leading into the rocky formation opened before our squinting eyes. The wind that had been mercilessly howling into our ears was cut off after a few hurried steps. The frost finally stopped tearing at my face and throat. A minute later, on my way through a dark tunnel, I saw a campfire, near which another stranger was sitting, stirring with a spoon something that was gurgling in the pot placed over the fire. The man was as short in appearance as my guide. The brew smelled of a tasty broth, and my stomach rumbled. The last time I ate was... In the dungeon, before killing the boss. That is, in a past life. Literally.

  The sound our footsteps made the “chef” raise his head and grab the blade that was sheathed at his belt — either a short sword or a long dagger, given the height of its owner. But, recognizing our guide, the short man gave me a quick, evaluating look, left the weapon alone and returned to stirring. There was also a third lodger who was dozing off in a sitting position on a flat stone bed against a wall not far from the passage that led deeper into the mountain.

  The guide finally threw off the hood, shook his shaggy chestnut hair that was randomly sticking out in all directions, and turned around. His chubby muzzle gave us a wide smile, showing large, yellowish teeth. His big, brown eyes, emitting lively curiosity, reflected the quivering campfire. With a cheerful and hospitable gesture, he invited me to warm myself up by the fire. He then took off his shoes and put them on a stone near the campfire, where two similar pairs of shoes were already drying — worn out and made of something akin to rough skin, they were obviously hand-crafted by an amateur. He then plopped onto the stone as well and stretched his disproportionately wide feet in dark knitted socks toward the fire. Socks? Damn... Looking closely, I realized that I was wrong — the feet of these creatures were covered with dense fur of “their own making”.

  Well, after the Centaur, was this really that surprising?

  Chapter 2

  A lively conversation immediately ensued between our guide and the chef. I didn’t understand a word. The language was completely unfamiliar to me.

  Looking warily at the cave dwellers, I took off my backpack and sat on one of the many smooth boulders scattered around the fireplace in this spacious cave. Looking around, my gaze paused on two worn-out leather bags placed near the wall that were filled with something black and lumpy. Interesting. No wonder that the hot coals in the fireplace seemed too large; the bluish-yellow flame reminded me of that from a gas burner. The cave was being heated using coal. My gaze returned to the pot. I hope that that’s animal meat gurgling in there, and not a chunk of a hapless visitor. Fortunately, I didn’t remember Halflings being cannibals. They could be Hobbits too. They are strikingly similar to those at least.

  Looking at their worn-out and unsightly clothes, obviously handmade and patched many times, it was difficult to determine whether they were players or locals. Fur cloaks with hoods, leather jackets and baggy leather pants... Regular clothes, with no info. The interface was a ruin. If they are players... It was highly unlikely that everyone who went through the Inferno Portal had bad luck, as was my case. So, despite their silly grimaces and carefree laughter, I should stay on guard. Especially since they are staring at my Direcat with a gastronomic interest. God forbid...

  The locals differed from the classic “small folk” in terms of their height – four feet, maybe a little less. Regular Hobbits didn’t wear shoes, while these ones did; their own fur didn’t seem to protect them from the cold well enough. Their clothes weren’t brightly colored, either, contrary to the stereotype. It was clear that everything had been adapted to the local conditions. They probably were players after all. As with the Centaur, I didn’t see their levels, names, or class. I found that a little bit discouraging. I was glad that these guys weren’t hostile toward me, unlike that spear-armed “ungulate”. But first, it’d be wise to get a better grasp of the situation before I draw any final conclusions.

  The guy sitting on the bed was slightly different from his comrades around the campfire. His wavy hair was a little lighter and longer. He had an attractive face, neater clothes, and a different complexion... Yes, yes, it was a girl. A female Hobbit. Her feet were much smaller and fur on them shorter and smoother, like mouse hair. Well, let’s call her Mousy, and those will be Chef and Guide. I had to have some names for them somehow until I find out their real nicknames. Also, further hair on their feet was a good substitute for knitted socks. Despite running so much, my feet were starting to freeze. The hilt of a long dagger was sticking out of the right side of Mousy’s belt; a dingy, metal flask and a sling hung on the left side. Using throwing weapons, such as the sling, was also characteristic for Halflings. On the bed next to Mousy was a half-empty backpack, made from rough, tanned leather.

  Feeling a little warmer, I began paying attention to smaller details of this encampment.

  First thing I noticed was the smell. All of my new mates were in desperate need of a thorough wash. If this cave was their permanent home, the deplorable state of their hygiene was not surprising. Rather, it evoked sympathy. I suspected that the same fate was waiting for me. Disgusting weather, poor living conditions, strange “comrades” about which I knew nothing so far... Considering that I had only one save left and that I could survive only one more death... In general, they must’ve had fun living here. More precisely, they must’ve had fun surviving here. What a pity…

  The cave didn’t look accommodated either — there was only one bed, covered with furs of unknown animals. Most likely, this was a temporary camp that served as a shelter from bad weather that would catch up to hunters and travelers. That must’ve been what happened here too. One asleep, two awake; they took turns resting so that enemies like that Centaur wouldn’t get them by surprise. The Centaurs probably couldn’t get through here as the entrance to the cave was too low for ungulates. However, there may be other, no less dangerous foes out there.

  The skin on my face and bald skull tingled as if a thousand of little needles were prickling it from the inside — heat was slowly restoring my blood circulation. Dam
n, that feels good! My baldness wasn’t that big of an issue in the eternal summer of the sandbox, but here it would prove inconvenient. I had to find a way to grow out my hair. There had to be a barber somewhere around here...

  Fury sniffed the air, rich with the smell of the brew, her black nostrils expanding and narrowing at a ridiculous speed, and then lay down beside my feet, resting her head on my boot and gazing at the Halflings with her narrow, emerald eyes. Snowflakes stuck in the ash-grey fur quickly turned into droplets of water. Tinnie, also sensing the change in scenery, stirred under my clothes, peeked out, looked at the cave dwellers and immediately flew into the air.

  The conversation instantly stopped.

  Halflings jumped up, their eyes wide. Even the girl woke up. Squealing enthusiastically, she also jumped to her feet. Their wild reaction made me alert, but it was too late to stop the Fairy. The Direcat came to the rescue in time. She grunted and warningly opened her mouth, revealing a row of sharp, white fangs. Seeing a cat the size of a dog was enough to calm the little ones down. They now simply stood and stared in silence. But Tinnie, enjoying the attention, did not hold back. Never being the modest type, she decided that this was the right time to show off. Proudly holding up her button-like nose and looking at the Halflings with royal grandeur in her large, cornflower-blue eyes, the Fairy tossed a wave of golden hair behind her back and fluttered her translucent dragon wings. Needless to say, there was not a shred of clothing on her miniature, yet very feminine body, but embarrassment was a thing unknown to her. If you asked me how come that the fluttering hair does not interfere with Tinnie’s wings, all I could say would be: “It’s magic.”

  The Fairy flew around the campfire, almost dove into the pot, sneezed, and, for some reason, tried to pull out the spoon that was almost her size. However, she didn’t manage. Shrugging as if nothing had happened, she went on inspecting the cave, looking into every dark corner and touching everything — pebbles, twigs, leather scraps, and all the garbage that littered the floor. Was she looking for poorly hidden treasures? That would be nice. In addition, each treasure found awarded her with XP— the better the find, the higher the bonus. Meanwhile, the Halflings still stood frozen and speechless. Strange. That’s not a normal player reaction. Have they never seen a Fairy before? Were they players, or had I mistaken them for ones?