Path of Spirit (Disgardium Book #6): LitRPG Series by Dan Sugralinov (best free e reader .txt) 📗

Once I found the place, I wrote a message to the hobbit inviting him to talk, then went to Patrick to await a response. The role of clan manager had unlocked to him the ability to interact with the clan vault without being in it.

I had to wander to find him. Gyula was building the Small Fort, and several workers who had decided to become builders helped him. Infect was nowhere to be seen, but I heard the strikes of an archeology pick from toward the ruins. Irita rode around the island on her Ghost Wolf alongside Crawler, leveling up Riding to unlock flying mounts. She’d bought Tamed Gryphons for all the officers, all common ones, not even rare. The other inhabitants of the fort were spread across the island…

Jenkins answered as soon as I got the cooking ingredients from Patrick. To say that my message surprised the hobbit would be the understatement of the century. First he told me to go to the Nether for trying to prank him like that, then, apparently, he somehow checked whether it was the real Scyth messaging him (you can have identical nicknames in Dis) and agreed to meet me in Kinema. I told him how to get into the right room at the ASS, then jumped to Kinema.

When we met, Jenkins raised his hands right away, showing he had no weapons. He came gearless, just in shoes, trousers and t-shirt. Once he was sure I was the same Scyth he’d invited to the secret cooking club half a year before, Jenkins clapped his hands and cried:

“Great Athena! Barry and Oliver won’t believe I met you! Scyth, top Threat and terror of the preventers, in the flesh! The same kid who cheated to win the cooking tournament!”

“Hey, Jenkins,” I answered, offering my hand and smiling. “It was all fair gameplay. Before we talk, do what you promised.”

“Yeah, yeah, one sec…”

The hobbit summoned an Arbiter. When it materialized, the hobbit drew his head into his shoulders and promised that he would never, through word, action or inaction, bring harm to Scyth…

“Uhm…” he hesitated, seeking out my class in my profile.

“Level 579 Herald,” I hinted.

“…Scyth, level 579 Herald,” Jenkins continued, raising his eyebrows. “And I will never tell anyone of this meeting or of what I hear from Scyth.”

Even if he did so in real life, the Arbiter would know. Accepting the oath, the smoldering blue Eye disappeared.

“You said your request concerns the other grand masters as well. The Arbiter will notify you if the others take the same oath,” Jenkins said. “So, what do you need, Scyth?”

“Food that can help me stay alive on Holdest.”

“There isn’t any! And even if there was a recipe, it wouldn’t be on the market. Firstly, nobody needs it yet except the Travelers, who have their own chefs, and secondly…”

“That’s why I contacted you. I want you to invent a recipe,” I interrupted him, dropping a few ingredients from the frozen continent on the table.

The hobbit’s eyes gleamed with greed at the sight of the completely new and hitherto unknown culinary resources. His arm stretched out toward them, but stopped halfway. Hiding a smile, I continued:

“I’m willing to share it for exclusive rights to use all the recipes you invent from my resources, for the next half a year. Frost resistance recipes in particular.”

The hobbit fell silent, drummed his fingers on the table — just like Kusalarix, but without the tapping of nails — and sighed.

“Cards on the table, Scyth: I’m friends with Mogwai. Oliver is too. And not just in Dis. Fen is always inviting us his parties, introducing us to interesting people. Hell, our guild leader April Blumfy has a restaurant part-owned by Mogwai. And your relationship to him right now is, uhm… far from warm, let’s say.”

“So the answer is no?”

The halfling hesitated. He was shaking his head, but his hand stretched unbidden to the ingredients. Noticing this, I said:

“My relationship with Mogwai is between me and him. Thanks to the Arbiter’s oath, he won’t hear anything about our collaboration from you. As for me, I can give an oath too.”

“That makes sense,” Jenkins smiled. “The secret club’s next meeting is next week, but this is a special case — I’ll call an emergency meeting. Right after we’re done here. How many ingredients from Holdest do you have?”

“Sixteen types.”

The boys had farmed plenty while exploring the frozen continent without me.

“I’ll give you two stacks of each.”

“Not much… But it’s a start. I’ll tell you what we find as soon as I can.”

There we parted ways. Stopping at the threshold, Jenkins turned:

“Whatever you have in mind, Alex, and whatever the case between you and Mogwai, we’re rooting for you. Lots of chefs among non-citizens. We hear rumors… Just saying, good luck!”

“Thanks…”

“Call me Leeroy,” the hobbit smiled and disappeared through the door.

Left alone, I thought about what to do next. Since Behemoth had shown that he knew what was happening in the world, he might be able to help me figure out how to deal with the frost. He was a god after all, wasn’t he?

Nergal was a god too, and he’d managed to protect his followers from the heat of the Lakharian Desert! True, he was a New God. What was the difference? I wondered.

New Gods, Old Gods, Sleeping Gods, Beast Gods… The last group was fairly cut and dry; just ancient beasts that had gained divine power. But how did the Old Gods differ from the New? Why were the Sleeping Gods believed to be the stronger, and yet provided no solutions? What was the hierarchy of these divine entities?

There were hundreds if not thousands of gods in Disgardium. It seemed Snowstorm tried to satisfy all cultures by adding entire pantheons of all kinds of gods to the game. But what