HADES ONLINE: PALADIN

  FANTASY LITRPG BOOK 1

  AUTHORED BY ALEX ITSIOS

  STRUCTURAL EDITOR: Aigner Loren Wilson

  PROOFREADER: Christine LePorte

  Copyright © 2020, Alex A. Itsios

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

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  TABLE OF 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 1

  I’m a Shadow, and today is my first and last day in the virtual game world of Elysium. Our lord and Supreme Administrator, Hades, has summoned me here to assign me my first mission: to secretly observe this young, muscular hero that stands before me. We are to depart to the real world soon, where he will begin his mission. He is to find a legendary item and with it get rid of an old agent of our master, Sarpedon, whose actions strayed from our clan’s path. Sarpedon now torments the world outside of Elysium with his cruel army of the undead.

  My hero’s avatar is dark-skinned and muscular, with long blond hair. He is truly magnificent in his shining armor. He’s like a well-oiled machine of terror. His Threat Level 100 avatar is ready to deliver justice swiftly and without remorse.

  “You are dismissed,” our lord, creator, and benefactor booms at him, across the vast empty white room.

  At the same time, Hades stares at me, his glowing red eyes giving me permission to act at last. I must hurry, though, my energy is diminishing by the moment. My only option for survival is to attach to him and feed from his energy like a parasite—that’s what I am, after all. With swift, elegant movements that resemble water, I flow near him and we become one.

  And now I know everything about him. His name is Rostam, and he is a paladin of Hades. It’s not his first mission to the real world. He has done this journey two times before and each time managed to succeed on his mission, returning to our virtual game world a champion and hero. Elysium is a place for the specially distinguished, those who achieved greatness in the real world and were granted admission by the Supreme Administrator, Hades, himself.

  When someone reaches Elysium, he has the choice to either stay here for all eternity or be reborn to the real world as a hero. If someone is reborn three times and each time returns a champion in the eyes of Hades, a reward beyond imagination will be bestowed upon them. They are sent to the Isles of the Blessed, to live in eternal paradise and decide on the future of our virtual game world.

  My hero is an ambitious one. I can tell from the way he behaved in his previous missions. I might like him after all, and if we succeed, I wonder what reward our lord and benefactor will offer me.

  But my thoughts are interrupted as the great armored figure with a black helmet for a face stamps the floor with his staff of domination. “Your mission will commence as of this moment,” Hades commands.

  Just like that, we are suddenly transferred to Cocytus, the Burning River.

  Dark red lava flows everywhere and streams of magma slide into one huge burning river. We like fire, as it’s the most beautiful of gifts. It’s what truly creates life, after all, and my hero is in need of a new body, one forged from the flames of Elysium. So glorious and shining, ready to enclose everything in its searing center. We can’t help but be attracted to the river’s blazing inferno. My hero approaches the Burning River slowly and an elusive warmth embraces us, allowing us to feel the welcoming touch of fire, but as we slowly approach, the heat becomes more and more aggressive, ready to devour everything in a single bite.

  The pain is agonizing now, in a way that my hero has felt only two other times in his virtual life. The air is oven-hot and burns his lungs while the flames snarl and bite at his sizzling skin. There’s no returning now; my hero must fall into Cocytus if he is to forge a new body. And that’s what he does without hesitation or falter. With excess gallantry, he takes a step and dives into the never-ending hellfire.

  As his avatar falls into the blazing inferno, the pain increases in waves, never giving him any hope of an end. The flames rob his ability to speak, but I can feel his mind wailing. All his thoughts, more confused as ever, and then… absolutely nothing.

  Suddenly, a cool breeze whispers to him like a lover, taking away the pain from being burned alive. “Hades Neural Control Interface activated. Chose difficulty level,” a deep voice echoes in his mind. He nods impulsively, as if someone is actually talking to him. There are three levels: Casual, Expert, and Hardcore. My hero selects the casual difficulty level. It’s not that Rostam’s a coward, but it has been centuries since his last endeavor into the real world, and finishing this mission quickly will please the Great Administrator.

  “Casual difficulty level selected. Please choose race and class,” the soft voices echoes inside his mind.

  Rostam chooses the Human race and Paladin class. His choices absolutely make sense to me, as in this world, our faith, the Faith of Elysium, preaches human supremacy above all else. Also, Rostam has chosen to serve our master as Paladin in both the virtual and the real world.

  “Race and class selected. Welcome to the real world, paladin Rostam,” the voice tells him, and he opens his eyes, his vision still blurry. He finds himself inside a wide, concrete-walled room, vested in red carpets. The ceiling is vaulted, without windows or decorations. We don’t know how much time has passed. It could have been hours or months since Cocytus.

  “Get up,” he hears a harsh voice booming at him.

  Initially, he thinks it’s our lord, Hades. He gets up immediately, his heart pumping fast for the first time in this new body of his. Adrenaline courses through his veins, making his muscles pulse with pressure. His brain is too fried to analyze options and is confused by the identity of the man before him.

  As if the blurry figure senses Rostam’s concerns, he speaks softly, his left hand extended, trying to calm my hero. “I’m Dexippus, a cleric and the master of this monastery. I welcome you, Rostam, apostle and paladin of Hades.”

  Rostam’s pulse slows to normal and his breathing calms at the words spoken by Dexippus. Silently, he grips the bedpost and gets up. The cleric figure wears a white turban and a cloak, the usual clerical vestments of someone of his class, but this one is a high-ranking one, level 82, Rostam realizes. It’s not only the cleric’s attire and golden trim that Rostam notes, but the scarlet ornate staff that he holds.

  Rostam uses his insight skill to evaluate the staff. A tool tip appears above the strange item: Staff of Striking. Rare. Requires attunement by user. Grants bonus attack and damage X3 to the bearer.

  “Where am I? Is this the real world?” Rostam asks curtly.

  “Yes, you are in Anatolia, in the kingdom of Pamphylia, which borders with Lycaonia, the Damned Land. Are you aware of your mission?”

  Rostam nods. “I’m to find Sarpedon, the Undead King, and destroy him or lay waste to his plans.”

  “Good,” Dexippus replies with a soft smile on his face. “Care to join me? Our lord and benefactor, Hades, has provided you with an army of Emissaries. Come, let me show you.”

  Rostam nods again and follows Dexippus out of the room into a narrow corridor. Just like the room before it, everything inside is medieval in design, with torches, lances, and shields hanging on the walls. They walk for some time till they reach another room, where two full-armored knights stand guard in front of a pair of double doors.

  “Cast aside,” the cleric orders.

  The men move together in such a synchronized way that he wonders if they practiced it several times.

  Dexippus suggests with a hand gesture that Rostam should enter the room, and that’s what he does. As he makes his way in, he understands immediately that this is the armory of the monastery. It’s full of shields, armor, and weapons of all kinds and nature. But the paladin isn’t impressed at all, as in the virtual world of Elysium, where he comes from, the weapons are limited only by imagination. His boredom is palatable.

  “Hardly impressed?” Dexippus asks, making Rostam wonder if this guy cast a divination spell on him, such as Detect Thoughts, but no, this one’s a cleric. He shouldn’t be able to use spells like that. Probably he’s intelligent enough to read Rostam’s expressions. “We have a weapon that will probably meet your needs, one that will impress even someone from Elysium,” the cleric continues, as he approaches and opens a large chest.

  An ornate dagger with a silver blade illuminates the armory as Dexippus grabs it by the handle and gives it to Rostam.

  “That’s Crissaegrim?” The paladin requests confirmation, impressed. I know of this weapon very well, as I can read his thoughts as if they were mine. It’s an artifact that can transform into any weapon its bearer wants, be it a sword or a crossbow.

  “Yes, this legendary weapon has been under our care for some time now,” the cleric says.

  Now that Rostam grips the dagger from the hilt, a popup window appears, asking him which fighting style he wishes to choose: Defense, Dueling, Great Weapon Fighting, Protection. He chooses Great Weapon Fighting, as this way he’ll be able to exploit the full potential of the weapon.

  “I suggest you wear your armor as well; your army awaits you, Lord Rostam,” he proposes while showing him his shining battle armor.

  This panoply is no ordinary one. It’s built to resemble manly features—certainly a complex and expensive suit even for knightly standards. It must have been forged from steel mined by the dwarves at the peak of Mount Cragos, fused with dragon scales, incantations, and prayers from the clerics and wizards of this monastery. And the shield seems special too; probably it has been carved from a dragon scale.

  Rostam uses his Insight skill again and a tooltip appears above the panoply: Black Dragon Scale Mail. Resistance to Fire. Increased Armor Class. It takes him some time to wear his battle armor and now he looks impressive, more like an avatar than a human being. Dexippus seems pleased as well, seeing the paladin in full armor.

  “You’re almost ready,” Dexippus comments as he takes an amulet from his pocket and hands it to Rostam. “It’s the Amulet of Sphere. A rare item as well. Take special care of it, as it allows you to control the undead for a certain period of time. With it, you could change the tide of the war. We should head out now, your army of Emissaries is waiting for you,” the cleric urges, showing his hand at the door.

  “I’m ready,” Rostam replies and strides from the double door.

  Dexippus follows behind and walks with him for a few minutes, till they reach another double door, but this one’s of steel and has a twin griffon crest emblazoned on it.

  “The Emissaries are just outside this door. Make sure you put good use to them,” Dexippus says to him with a smirk on his face.

  CHAPTER 2

  Rostam sees what the great Supreme Administrator has given him in terms of fighters. These men and women, emissaries as they call them, are former convicts of Elysium, now exiled into this godforsaken place as soldiers. Stripped of all their memories and former experiences, they are the perfect white canvases to forge an army out of brainless amnesiacs, who will live the rest of their lives as minions at the service of the Fate of Elysium. A fitting punishment for their crimes, I guess. I can feel a part of him light up at the damage he’ll bring with the help of his army. A mighty wind blows in through the mountains surrounding us and ripples flow across the lake they stand beside.

  Surveying the lot with admiration, he knows too well that every amnesiac here was trained the previous weeks by the monks to obey his every order, even the most amoral acts of cruelty. It’s not the first time Rostam has led a motley collection of lost souls like these as clan leader, so he knows too well of the robotic single-mindedness of his army. The monks of this monastery have brainwashed those men and women to be weapons on legs and “robotized” them to the point they behave more like well-oiled machines than human beings.

  “Emissaries,” he booms above them from the great platform he stands. “You who have come to fight beside me in this holy quest of justice need know now that this mission is not one for the weak-willed. We plan to bring up deadly and fierce arms against Sarpedon. I ask you not to take up your swords lightly in this quest. All I will ask of you is to follow me with honor and bravery, and I will lead you with the same values.”

  His army shouts in response, in unison, three times, “All hail our victory!”

  In the glint of his sword’s blade, Rostam locks eyes with a strong and burly-looking fellow. He makes his way over to the man who holds his gaze. Rows of shielded soldiers, all between Threat Level 3 and 4, clear a path for him, murmuring words of respect.

  Rostam’s Neural Control Interface warns him of the man’s Threat Level, an astonishing 46, which makes him question the fact that this man is an emissary. Probably an apostle like me, he thinks, but wonders why the Great Administrator hasn’t briefed him that another agent would accompany him in this great endeavor.

  “Who are you?” Rostam asks, his voice strong and commanding. “What brings you to cast a gaze on me such as this?”

  The warrior smiles, bringing a sense of wise warmth to the gang of soldiers. “I am Bahadur, an apostle like you and one of many in the army that follows you to wherever you deem fit.”

  Rostam relaxes at the given respect and beckons for the young fighter to continue surveying the rest of the army with him. He accepts with a bow and walks dutifully a step behind Rostam as he continues his rounds. Together Bahadur and Rostam walk, surveying the warriors beneath the yellow afternoon sun. The young warrior apostle comments on his faith in their mission, and his willingness to be on such a quest with a brave and legendary paladin such as himself.

  If it wasn’t for his choice to select the difficulty level of this mission, Rostam would have doubts that the Great Administrator trusted him, but it was his option, so it makes sense that he was granted so many great artifacts, an army, and a man like Bahadur. It seems that our lord has faith beyond doubt in him.

  “You will be my second-in-command if you so desire,” Rostam tells Bahadur as he directs them to the front of the army.

  “I’d want nothing more,” Bahadur says. “What you say will be law under my command.”

  Satisfied with his lot, Rostam gives the orders for them to march out and make way to the Damned Land, Lycaonia. The road there is long and uneventful. Mountains lie in the distance, at times blocking out the sun with their majesty. More than once, Rostam has Bahadur lead the men in battle practices so that they are always prepared for what awaits them. By the time the mountains of Lycaonia come into few, the men are relieved and release a cry that echoes off the land and dies in the sea of sand.

  Suddenly, a great dragon appears from the yellow-blue sky. The beast is barely noticed by the soldiers, but Rostam and Bahadur immediately sense the menace from miles away. It takes the dragon only a couple of seconds to approach them and flap its wings menacingly above them. Adrenaline floods his system, making his heart pump fast and hard, ready to explode. His mind thinks fast, analyzing options. He changes Crissaegrim into a heavy, repeating crossbow. The weapon is so enormous that no ordinary man could hold it other than him and Bahadur. Yes, this weapon could inflict great damage to the beast if it dares to approach.

  The emissary army remains still in its position, waiting for the two men to decide what to do next. Good, the clerics and the monks of the monastery have instilled some discipline in then. I wonder how Rostam plans to fight this great beast; it will be a bloody battle, for sure. Then something unexpected happens. The dragon leaps and makes circles around them for a few more seconds, then flies higher into the air, leaving the emissary army intact.

  “What was that?” Bahadur asks, confused.

  Rostam still has his head lifted, staring in the direction where the great dragon headed. “Prepare our men, we head out to Lycaonia now,” Rostam orders Bahadur and the commander of the emissary army.

  ***

  And so, it begins. The Undead King’s land lies at his feet. The wretched smell of death is strong. Many apostles and emissaries have fallen here in the past, their bleached bones testament to the cruelties this army will face. Once a prosperous nation, Sarpedon has used his undead legions, who have devoured most of the living, making Lycaonia a desecrated land full of zombies and undead. If Rostam knew about me being along for the ride, I could have warned him that they are about to walk into the deadliest trap that the army will ever see. But alas, I must cling in silence to this great warrior and watch as his dreams turn to ash before him in the red sand of Lycaonia.

  Rostam is a great strategist and tactician, but it has been more than a century since his last endeavor into the real world. This made him soft and careless. A horde of zombies approaches them and comes closer and closer. Now it’s too late, they have been surrounded by them and their stench is unbearable. Deformed bodies, jaws dislocated, severed arms and limbs sticking out. Grunts and moans come out from their open maws, demanding fresh and pudgy human flesh.

 

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