Deadworld Isekai

Brennan and Artemis stood in the doorway, frozen. Asadel had been correct that they'd be surprised. They might not have known what to expect as they burst into the room, but they were completely unprepared for what they actually saw. While Asadel savored the initial surprised expression on their faces, if he had stuck around for a few more moments, he would have seen that he was wrong. Very wrong.

The expression on their faces wasn’t surprise. It was horror.

Brennan was a level 41 Precision fighter, a class dedicated to exploiting weak points and using strategical tactics. Artemis was a Battle Scout, a class that held the mixed role of being a dedicated archer, small blades user, and general battlefield assessor. At level 20, she was unreasonably strong for a non-reincarnator. Both had core class skills with the specific purpose of assessing of enemy conditions.

So when they both burst through the door, they were instantly aware of Asadel's rapidly draining health bar. A second later, Asadel's health bottomed out and he died. They just watched a death, helpless. There was nothing they could do, and even if they had a healing skill, there was no time to activate it. Asadel was gone.

“Brennan!” Artemis would be screaming if it wasn't for her shock. She gripped his arm for balance. “He’s…”

“He’s dead. I know.” Brennan was more used to death. Maybe that wasn't a good thing. But he could keep his calm.

“How… How could this happen?” Her eyes rapidly scanned the room, looking for any possible cause, and landed on the plates and bowls on the table. “The food. He was poisoned.”

“Maybe,” Brennan said without emotion. He stood over the corpse, bending down to check Asadel's pulse. He didn't understand why he did that. It wouldn’t tell him anything that his assessment skills missed. But it seemed like the thing to do. He slowly said his next words, “But… who would do it? Why? He didn’t seem like a popular kid…”

“He wasn’t.” Artemis had snapped into fight mode. She was locking her panic away.

“But who would kill him?” Brennan asked, “You were around him more than most. Was he a danger to anyone?”

Artemis shook her head. “Not likely. He wasn’t exactly pleasant to be around. When he was unhappy, he sulked. When he was happy, he annoyed waitresses. But he didn’t hurt anyone, that I know of.”

A trio of guards burst into the room, finally catching up to the higher-leveled pair. Their eyes went wide as they saw the scene in its full and terrible context. A hero had just died. They could feel the tension emanating from Brennan and the usually calm Artemis.

“Sir?” one of the guards asked.

“He’s dead. Call for a healer. We need to know why,” Brennan ordered.

“And an alchemist.” Artemis added, forcing her voice into a near approximation of calm. Brennan raised his eyes at her, questioningly. “An alchemist should be able to tell us if poison was used.”

“Good thinking,” Brennan nodded in agreement. “We should also talk to anyone who talked to him in the past few days. Who would that be?”

“Besides shopkeepers and bartenders?” Artemis asked. “Us two. He didn’t exactly cultivate friendships.”

“Anyone else?”

“He had been spending time with Bartis. The old blacksmith. You know him. He had a quest line there. I think. At least he had something going on with him. I can’t think of any other reason he’d go there multiple days in a row. Otherwise.”

“Do you suspect him?” Brennan would be surprised if she did. His mental model for blacksmiths didn’t include murder, and he had dealt with Bartis enough to know that the blacksmith was not the type for something like this.

“Bartis? No. He’s an old campaigner. He was in line to be a general, once. If he had wanted the kid dead, he could have just crushed him outright. But he might know something.”

“Good.” Brennan reached down and closed Asadel’s eyes. “Because whatever this might be, I don’t think Derek was poisoned.”

“No?”

“No.” He looked to the door, pleased to see the guards had the good sense to leave one of their number to guard the door and make sure the scene wasn’t disturbed.

“I don’t know a lot about poison, but I doubt that was the cause. I don’t think most poison victims smile as they die.”

—

At more or less the same time, on a different planet, a figure clad in a white tunic was brushing Gaian crater dust from his body. Asadel had arrived. He still didn’t know the situation on the ground very well, but he trusted that he’d learn more soon. He wasn’t wrong. Before the dust had fully cleared, he got heard the first notification chime.

Ding!

 

Martial Missionary Subquest: Renegade Reincarnator

Gaia was once known as the garden planet. That name wasn’t just for show. It was a beautiful, lush planet dedicated to making living things grow and thrive, a philosophy just as true for its vibrant people as it was for their treasured plants.

Facing a threat to their entire planet, the Gaians pled with the system for a hero. Like your reincarnation on Ra’Zor, a man from Earth was sent to them, one who was given skills and power suitable against the threats of the planet.

Then, he went rogue. Disregarding the system at all turns, he raided dungeons to fulfill his own needs. He made no moves to defeat the threat to the planet, apparently content if only he survived. Now, the last Gaian is dead, and only he remains to walk the surface of the world. The only plants grown are the few that he maintains to suit his own needs and twisted sense of beauty. He now resides in his palace, built on the dust of the previous Gaian capital.

So rise, hero. Rise and defeat Matt Perison, and gain rewards that will shape your destiny.

Hell yes, Asadel thought. Gladly. This guy sounds like a dick.

Ding!

Assorted Equipment Rewarded.

Claim? Y/N

Asadel immediately claimed the equipment, which materialized and clunked at his feet in a large burlap sack. The system had said the equipment would be mundane, but he was excited anyway. This was the equipment he’d use to take down his own personal demon lord, and there was nothing mundane about that. He tore into the bag like a kid opening presents on Christmas morning.

The armor was nothing exceptional, Ra’Zorians would classify it as “light plate.” It was reasonably protective, and reminded Asadel of the kind of armor Roman soldiers wore, only without the whole weird-pleated-skirt action they were into. His forearms and shins were protected by sharpened steel bars, meant for parrying. He immediately strapped all the armor on, checking to make sure it didn’t hinder his movements. It didn’t. It wasn’t masterwork or enchanted gear, but it was at least a tier above the mostly bad beginner stuff he had started with on Ra’Zor.

The weapon was a notch better than that.

Gaian Nullsteel Claymore

Gaian Nullsteel was a local specialty, a long time ago. It was more valuable than gold. It's lighter, tougher, and harder than steel. Gaian magical science had advanced to extremes in many fields, but this particular marvel of arcane metallurgy was a point of particular pride for the natives of the planet.

This sword is capable of blocking a variety of magical forces, and is nearly indestructible. It also maintains its edge, even when exposed to abuse that would destroy other swords.

This is the absolute limit of what can be considered a mundane weapon on Gaia. Enjoy.

Asadel gave the sword a few exploratory swings, tracing large-radius circles of razor-sharp death through the air with ease. It really was light. It wasn’t enchanted, but the base material sparkled in Gaia's two suns. Best of all, it satisfied his requirements of looking cool.

Looking through the rest of the bag, Asadel saw an assortment of other goods; general-adventurer stuff like rations, and water. There were various kinds of utility stones and other potentially useful but highly boring things. He skimmed through them with his assessment skill, mentally dismissing all of them as mind-numbingly dull tactical stuff, before pausing on a single stone that he took more seriously. After a moment’s consideration, he put the stone in his pocket. He wouldn’t use it, of course, but better safe than sorry.

The system compass had already lit up with a direction for him to travel. He tied on his sword and scabbard, hefted the bag, and started walking. There was no use delaying the inevitable, especially when the inevitable was so freaking great for him.

He pulled a piece of jerky out of the pack and started chewing it absent-mindedly. The transfer had eliminated the bloat from his giant meal, and he wasn’t exactly hungry. But he could eat. He could always eat.

—

The system instance was beyond pleased. The main system hadn’t read into its message and figured out something was wrong. It hadn't looked into the weird Gaian interference and righted all the substantial wrongs in the system instance’s horrible life. But that was ok. It completely failed in questioning the request, but delivered exactly what the system instance had asked for.

In the grand scheme of reincarnator types, the main system favored variety. It would do its best to find reincarnators with personalities that would slot in well to their chosen worlds. When worlds with significant threats had a variety of needs and cultures, it wasn’t uncommon to send a hodgepodge of adventurers their way, hoping that the law of big numbers would smooth out any inconsistencies in the selection process.

The system instance had been banking on that fact when he made his request. Matt had been a rare type that fit a very, very specific need. He was someone who had achieved a diminished fear of death and also liked gardening. A very rare type indeed. To counter him, the instance required someone almost as rare.

It needed a thoughtless, impatient, power-hungry creature driven by impulse and greed. But he also needed that same guy to have a heart of gold, someone who could be counted on to pursue his system-assigned job with tenacity and determination and not accidentally turn to the dark side.

That’s why, in his listing, he had used system-code to specify something very close to “14-16 years old, not an edgelord.” He had asked for someone who spent far too much time maintaining his gear and not nearly enough time listening to his elders, but who had never committed a crime. His ideal hero would drop into Gaia with rewards on their mind, draw a beeline to Matt, and bisect the threat.

Said idiot had now arrived, and the instance was absurdly happy about it.

The best thing was that the main system had sent the kid with a budget. The instance had assumed that it was going to have to spend its own resources on the projects. With all the energy it had expended on sending out the request and Matt's recent upgrades, the kid would have started with an iron broadsword and leather armor. Instead, the system had come through in a big way, letting the instance equip the kid with the deadliest stretch-the-rules starter equipment allowable, and a few little tricks besides.

It was shaping up to be an exciting week.

—

After a day of walking, Asadel was about as bored as a person can be. The dumb system had to put him down somewhere safe where he could get his bearings, and he was glad it did. But did it have to put him down in this endless nothing? He had been tromping through this wasteland forever, and he hadn’t even sighted the dreaded palace yet.

Meanwhile, the pack annoyed him. He had rope. Rope! What was he going to do with rope? And in what universe was this suicide mission helped by a magic flashlight?

Eventually, he ditched most of the pack, opting to take his armaments, his auto-refilling magic canteen, and a few of the stones. Cutting people in half wasn’t hard, and he didn’t need a full tent to do it.

Much lightened, he continued on his way, swallowing his last piece of jerky as he did. There was no need to let his buffs slip. Eventually, he’d get to the end of this wasteland, and he’d hunt a deer or something to keep him going once he did.