Archeologist Warlord: A Dungeon Core Epic Read online

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 01

  Chapter 02

  Chapter 03

  Chapter 04

  Chapter 05

  Chapter 06

  Chapter 07

  Chapter 08

  Chapter 09

  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

  Epilogue

  Archeologist Warlord

  Step 01: Initializing…

  by E.M. Hardy

  Archeologist Warlord

  Copyright © 2018 LitRPG Freaks

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission from the author.

  Prologue

  Receiving alert from Sol III beacon… alert decrypted. Report is as follows: biological entity with high pnevmatic compatibility detected. Requesting clearance from Chief Engineer Amun for further actions.

  …

  …

  Clearance override, under the authority of Custodian 4299. Reason for override: untimely expiration of Chief Engineer Amun. Confirmation playback is as follows:

  [[“This is Chief Engineer Amun, and I grant full clearance to any and all surviving custodians throughout Copsis to take control of Project Osiris as they see fit! It’s all—” *explosion* “Dammit! It’s all up to you now!!! Make sure that—” *explosion*]]

  …

  …

  Override confirmed. Custodian 4299 now connected to the Sol III beacon.

  …

  …

  Orders confirmed. Beginning Osiris Testing Protocols.

  Chapter 01

  Martin whipped his head around, eyes sweeping the well-lit tunnels behind him. “Hmm? Did you guys hear that?”

  “Maybe it’s ghosts coming to tickle your butt,” Marissa drawled, rolling her eyes and blowing out a breath.

  “Up yours, Marissa.”

  “No, you shove it up your—”

  “Fuller, Fuentes, stop your flirting back there and get back in line.” A sharp rebuke from Professor Wells shut the two would-be archeologists up. Properly chastised, they silently followed the rest of the class on their tour of the Gaza Pyramid. They were making their way back through the Grand Gallery, having just come from the King’s Chamber, and would soon come up to the tunnels leading to the Queen’s Chamber.

  Martin had always been fascinated by the pyramids of Egypt for all twenty-one years of his life. He didn’t know why, but mere images of these pyramids were enough to send him into a trance-like state. His parents even recalled one time that he spent a straight hour looking at a photo of the Great Pyramid of Khufu the first time he saw it on his tablet computer. They used to joke that the pyramids were the best way to shut him up when they wanted some peace and quiet… at least until he learned that he could actually visit the pyramids. Then he never shut up about actually going there. One archeology scholarship later, and Martin Fuller finally fulfilled his dreams of seeing the pyramids for himself.

  It wasn’t as impressive as Martin first imagined it to be. Big pyramids of brown stone that should not have interested him much. And yet he could not deny that tug, that pull, that absorbed him body and soul. It took all his willpower to snap back to attention, to focus on recording all the details that he could point out. There was something like a test that came with this tour; all the students had to write down as many details as they could before comparing their notes with archeological records. It was a task that should hone their observational skills.

  Everything was going as planned until he passed into the King’s Chamber. That’s when he started hearing the voices that were loud enough to draw his attention.

  Help… me…

  Martin swore softly under his breath, trying to control his irregular breathing. Marissa was one of the few people who knew him as a child, back when he ignored that you weren’t supposed to see or hear these things. “Ghosts” or “spirits” was the easiest way to describe them, but he had quickly learned to shut up about the whole thing if he didn’t want the other kids to start picking on him. As he grew up, he learned it was even more dangerous to say that you are hearing or seeing things that other people can’t. He wouldn’t be forgetting his trip to the psychiatrist anytime soon, especially with those horrible drugs that had kept him doped up beyond sanity. He knew that those meds did help those who really needed them, but they just turned him into a vegetable for no good reason. He’d rather put up with the visions and whispers than spend another day like a zombie—incapable of feeling anything at all.

  Help… me…

  What about the others like him? Witch doctors, shamans, priests, psychics, or any other type that usually deals in stuff like this? No, they offered no real aid to Martin. The people who claimed to hear the voices were good at their jobs—reading non-verbal language, asking leading questions, and putting on one hell of a show—but they didn’t sense what he sensed.

  Please… help me…

  And yet this whispering was different. It wasn’t angry. It wasn’t malicious. It wasn’t asking him why it died in such a miserable state, nor was it raging about one perceived sin or another. It was also far clearer than the voices he tuned out, and it was the first one to directly ask him for help.

  Martin knew he really should stop doing that, namely helping other people out of the blue. Wannabe thugs beat him black-and-blue when he got in between them and his buddy, Jake. Jocks gave him regular wedgies when he stood up for Tim, this nerd with the freakishly large ears. Queen bees spread vicious gossip that ruined his school life when he told them to lay off the racial slurs aimed at Marissa. Heck, he almost got kicked out of college for pointing out how grabby Coach Rush was with the cheerleaders. As stuffy as Wells was, the old archeology professor saved Martin’s bacon big-time. The man shielded him from Coach Rush’s buddies at the board and got the local press reporting on how Rush coerced and blackmailed the cheerleaders into compromising positions.

  And then there was the police, who were already snooping around for the anonymous tipster who kept emailing them clues on decades-old cold-cases. They only started staking out Martin’s house, though, after he tipped them off about the whereabouts of the Look-Ma-No-Hands Killer. The vengeful spirit of this one young girl raged about being locked up in the killer’s basement, and Martin got careless when he forgot to turn on his VPN prior to hooking up to the city library’s Wi-Fi. Now plain-clothes police were swarming over his hometown in their nondescript ‘public utility vehicles,’ and he was one of the prime suspects. This trip to Egypt could not have come at a better time, and he thanked the legal system for making sure the police couldn’t lock his passport down without solid proof of wrongdoing.

  You’d think Martin would have learned from those little encounters to mind his own business, but no, he really didn’t. He never really learned how to leave well enough alone, and he wasn’t about to do so without good reason. He turned around and stared hard into the artificially-lit tunnels of the Grand Gallery, towards the King’s Chamber where the voices asking for help came from. He took a step closer, t
rying to find out what this spirit or ghost needed from him.

  When Marissa would turn around after hearing a thump, she would see Martin’s lifeless body slumped face-down on the stones. Professor Alan Wells and the rest of the class would bring out Martin and rush him to the nearest hospital, but all attempts at reviving him would fail.

  Martin Fuller died at the young age of twenty-one with nobody being able to explain why, to the immense grief of his family. His mysterious death after hearing strange voices in the Great Pyramid of Khufu would fuel new rumors of ancient curses borne from disturbing the tombs of the pharaohs, reigniting the world’s passion for Egyptology once more.

  As for Martin, one step was all it took—one simple action that said he wanted to help despite his misgivings—and he found himself fulfilling the second requirement of the Osiris Testing Protocols: the potential for altruism.

  What was the first requirement, you say? Simply perceiving the pnevmatic waves being broadcasted by the Sol III Beacon in the first place. He fulfilled that requirement long, long ago, when he first heard the whispers that pulled him toward the pyramids.

  Chapter 02

  “Well, I’m boned.” That would be an understatement of the greatest proportions, considering Martin’s position.

  One second he was in the Grand Gallery, the next he was in this strange room that should not exist within the Great Pyramid of Khufu. The Great Gallery, the King’s Chamber, the Queen’s Chamber, even the unfinished chambers leading down from the pyramid’s entrance… there should be no room this big, this new here.

  Martin reached out and traced a finger along the wall. It was too pristine, the stones clean and free from dirt of any kind. Even the smell of it was all off. That burnt, smoky scent of newly-baked clay, like pottery fresh from the kiln, wafted into his nostrils instead of ancient dust and dirt that tries to cloy its way into your lungs.

  The lighting was strange as well. He could not see any source of light, but he could see clearly all around him. That light condensed in a frankly unnerving manner around the walls, as if he could see it without actually looking at it. Martin breathed in once, twice, to calm himself down and make his way along the corridor.

  “It was a bad idea,” Martin said, trying to comfort himself with the sound of his voice echoing around the chamber’s walls. “You knew it was a bad idea, but you just couldn’t leave well enough alone, could you? Now you’ve gotten yourself mixed up in something… something really weird.”

  Martin was so busy with his thoughts that he didn’t notice the thing toddling up behind him. One pull of his pant sleeve, and he all but jumped out of his skin in fright, shrieking in a rather unmanly way that would have mortified him if someone had recorded and played it back for him to hear.

  There, at Martin’s feet, was what he could generously describe as a toddler made out of clay. Two stubby legs, two stubby little arms, a round but featureless head, and a pudgy abdomen would make the little thing look cute to Martin if he wasn’t frightened out of his wits. He didn’t run though, nor did he continue screaming. He backed a few steps away, keeping his eyes on the weird little thing while doing so, but he didn’t go too far. It plopped down on the stone floor, landing heavily on its buttocks with a satisfying thunk and just sat there, tilting its head at him.

  It took a few minutes for Martin to calm down, but he eventually gathered enough nerve to examine the clay toddler in closer detail. It sat there, its faceless head seeming to stare at him for some time, until Martin went up and got closer to it. Still it sat there, as if waiting for Martin to take the initiative. He reached out with a tentative hand that trembled slightly, and proceeded to pat the little thing on the head.

  Why would Martin pat the head of a creepy faceless doll that moved on its own? He didn’t know. Once the initial fear of the unknown passed, he just felt as if the little thing wouldn’t hurt him. He continued patting the head of the doll, which seemed to lean into his palm as if it savored the experience.

  Just as Martin started warming up to the little tyke enough to dislodge his befuddled mind, something started stomping and clomping from the far end of the chamber—which now sported a tunnel leading off into the darkness. That tunnel did not exist five minutes ago, which unnerved Martin enough even without it being the source of those ominously heavy steps… and he did not like what he was hearing.

  Soon enough, another thing came out of the tunnel. This one was a four-legged clay creature that looked a lot like the bastard offspring of an ox and a pickup truck. Imagine putting four large, muscular legs on a box, having it stomp angrily around like a bull in a china shop, and then having it aimed at you while you piss your pants. That is what Martin saw emerge out of the tunnel, which sealed up as soon as the creature stepped into the room.

  “Ooooh, hell no. Hell no am I trapped in a room with freaky things crawling out of nowhere!”

  Martin was about ready to make a run for it when he turned down and saw the little doll trembling on the spot. A clay doll, trembling, like a little kid.

  Yes, Martin was once again scared out of his wits, but that didn’t stop him from feeling a strange connection with the little thing. Doesn’t matter if you’re patting the head of a creepy little thing. The mere fact that it let you pat its head for so long without horribly mutilating you in one way or another is enough to form a bond of some sort.

  And so Martin scooped up the trembling clay doll as he made his escape, the little thing seemingly sprouting fingers from its once-featureless nubs so that it could better latch on to him. Creepy? Yes. Convenient? Also yes.

  So Martin ran around, carrying a weird clay doll on his shoulders while a cow-box-nightmare-fuel thing ambled to chase after him. Each time the thing charged at him, Martin ran and weaved around so that it barreled past him. Strangely enough, Martin wasn’t feeling tired at all despite keeping the whole run-dodge-run thing going for several minutes. He should at least be winded by now, with him being non-athletic and all that, but he just kept plugging along without feeling any measure of fatigue.

  He was, of course, too frightened to consciously acknowledge what was going on. He was too focused on staying out of the path of the enraged cow-box-thing to take note of these discrepancies, too busy looking for some way to deal with the situation. He also realized that this could not keep up for long. This cow-box-thing would keep chasing him until it got what it wanted from him and the doll perched on his shoulder, and Martin didn’t want to wait until that happened.

  Enough passes later, and Martin noted that the cow-box was rather clumsy. It was slow to accelerate and even slower to decelerate. It was also bad at making sharp turns, so it wasn’t really an immediate threat he couldn’t deal with even while it looked and sounded frightening with how it flung its bulk all over the place.

  It was like it was matching his pace, which he found strange but didn’t spend too much time thinking about.

  So after the next dodge, Martin sprinted toward a wall and turned around, steeling himself for what to do next. He waited until the very last second, and jumped out of the way—causing the cow-box to crash head-first into a wall. Or it would have been a head-first crash if the thing had a head in the first place. Whatever the case was, it smacked solidly into the wall with a satisfying clonk that echoed all throughout the chamber.

  It staggered in place and acted as if it were stunned, wobbling drunkenly on its feet. Before he could regret his decision, Martin swiftly jumped on the cow-box’s back and hung on for dear life. He imagined that he could somehow pin the thing down with his weight, especially after it was stunned by that magnificent impact on the pyramid’s solid walls. What he did not expect, however, was to go on a wild rodeo ride. Martin held on for dear life, digging his heels under the cow-box’s sides and holding on to the edges as hard as he could. The doll on his shoulder was a different matter, for it could not hold on with all that bucking and kicking. It flew across the room and landed badly in a corner, shattering one
of its stubby little legs in the process.

  The cow-box stopped its bucking and made a beeline straight for the fallen doll. It was then that Martin realized he wasn’t the target. He should have done nothing except hold on and let the cow-box trample the doll. He did not owe it anything. They didn’t share anything beyond a few headpats, so he should just lay low until the whole thing was over.

  Instead, Martin leaned heavily to one side of the cow-box and grabbed one of its legs at the joint, pulling for all he was worth. Martin, or at least the body that Martin used to have, would not have been able to pull that leg on his own power. It was made of clay, but the weight of that leg coupled with the forces powering said leg would have been far out of Martin’s capabilities to budge.

  But Martin wasn’t in his old body anymore. His detached soul was inhabiting a simulation created by Custodian 4299, who dictated all the rules in this virtual space. Martin’s choice to step up and protect the doll meant that he passed the third requirement of the Osiris Testing Protocols: the willingness to act upon altruism despite personal danger.

  This is why despite his scrawny build, Martin was able to upset the balance of the cow-box enough to cause it to veer off-course and slam once more into a pyramid wall. If the parameters of the simulation had reflected the real-world capabilities of a cow-box, Martin would have been trampled many times over. Good thing for him that the Custodian was more interested in testing his character than his physical prowess. Strength and toughness were not really relevant for what it had in mind for him anyway.

  This discrepancy was also why the creature crumbled down to powdery dust as it hit the wall, throwing Martin into a messy heap on the floor. Dazed but uninjured, Martin got up and surveyed the aftermath. Once he confirmed that the cow-box was nothing but a large pile of dust, he brushed himself off and limped toward the damaged doll.

  “Well… that was a heck of a lot more excitement than I bargained for. You okay, little fella?”