The Road East (Epic LitRPG Adventure - Book 2) (Fayroll) Read online

  The Road East

  Fayroll

  Book Two

  Andrey Vasilyev

  Copyright © 2017 LitWorld Ltd. (http://litworld.info/)

  All rights reserved.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this ebook with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter One

  In which the hero realizes that fun little jokes can have serious consequences.

  Spain is incredible. It’s warm and sunny, there aren’t any mosquitoes, the fruit is cheap, and there’s enough wine to drown in—at prices that boggle the mind. And, if you have the wherewithal to leave your SIM card at home, there’s nothing stopping you from having the time of your life. Sure, I was a little worried that Elvira would have us risking life and limb, seeing as how she was about as unpredictable as they come, but it turned out fine. All she did was drag me off to go rafting in the Pyrenees once. Naturally, I tipped over and gulped down some stream water, but that was all. It helped that the Pyrenees were nothing like the rushing, twisting rivers we have crashing through the Altai Mountains.

  And so, on the whole, everything was fantastic. I was able to relax like I hadn’t in a long time, and the only downside was that it had to come to an end. Elvira kicked me out of the taxi by the metro, leaving me standing there with my suitcase.

  “Take the train home. I’m so tired after the plane…” Off she sped, leaving me coughing in a cloud of exhaust.

  “Okay then,” I replied as I plodded into the station. A quick check of my wallet showed that I didn’t have enough money on me for a taxi.

  At home, everything was just as I’d left it nine days before, with the exception of some dust here and there. That didn’t bother me, though. What am I, a woman? They’re the ones who come home and have to whirl around the place getting it just how they want it.

  “Dust, dust, dust everywhere. You vacuum; I’ll grab a rag. Why are you leaving your suitcase there? Everything needs to be washed. Right now! Okay, the refrigerator’s empty, so I need you to hurry over to the store.”

  Go to the store? Wash everything? All I wanted to do was throw my old bones down on my favorite couch. We hadn’t seen each other in nine days, and I missed lying on it.

  Thank God, I wasn’t married yet (maybe “still wasn’t married” would be more accurate). My lady friend had gone home, and I was alone. The couch creaked as I eased my 86 kilograms down onto it. I got comfortable, cast my eyes around the room, and stopped when I got to the capsule. To be honest, I’d had such a great time the last week and a half that I hadn’t given much thought to my virtual adventures. There hadn’t been time in Spain to remember that there was a clan I belonged to off somewhere, or that I had unfinished business and a vila bride waiting for me. What was her name? Ah, right, Elmilora. Incidentally, I appreciated how much less grumpy she was compared to Elvira. On the other hand, Elvira didn’t shoot lightning out of her hands.

  I should jump in there at some point. The account is paid for, after all, I thought before turning over and falling asleep.

  It was the next morning by the time I woke up. The long flight, coupled with the constant buzz I’d had for the past week and a half (Yes, I drank a lot. Have you tried Spanish wine? Or sangria? That costs practically nothing? Then don’t judge me.) left me exhausted, and my body took full advantage of being back home in my own country and on my own couch.

  I walked out onto the balcony to smoke my first, and therefore best cigarette, and on the way grabbed my SIM card from the shelf. It was time to hook back into the real world. Although, really, who needed me there? Mammoth?

  Having plugged the card in, I barely had time to click the back of the phone into place when the ringtone started playing—the theme song from Karpov,[1] a favorite TV show of mine.

  “Hi, Kif? Oh, thank God!” It was Zhanna, Mammoth’s assistant. “The boss has been screaming and yelling for what feels like a week already!”

  “What’s he screaming and yelling about?” I figured it had something to do with me, since I was the one she was telling. Maybe I was even the main reason.

  “He can’t find you. Guess what? He even tried to make me call around to all the hotels in Salou.”

  “You’re kidding! And did you?”

  “Ha, right. I told him that they all speak Spanish, and I don’t.”

  “But what happened? Do we have an audit coming up?”

  “I have no idea. Some people just keep calling and asking to see if you’re back yet.”

  “What people?”

  “Kif, I’m not a psychic. How should I know? Let me put you through to the boss. Good luck. If worst comes to worst, we’ll buy you a wreath with a nice red ribbon.”

  “Thanks, you’re a peach,” I said to Zhanna, wondering if I should call my old friend Seva Verkhovtsev. One time when we were drunk together, he mentioned something about an opening on the Finnish border. If things got really bad, I could go find some fishermen to wait things out with.

  Mammoth’s voice thundered through the phone. “Nikiforov!” It hit me that real mammoths probably roared just like that, and for a second, I sympathized with my ancient ancestors who preferred trapping them to jabbing at them with spears. Trapping them at least gave you the chance to run away—and I was considering doing just that. I’d never heard Mammoth so violent. What could I possibly have done?

  “Nikiforov! Where—were—you?” The phone jumped in my hand.

  “Hi, Semyon Ilyich,” I said, my voice cracking. “I was on vacation. For just a few days.”

  “And why didn’t you pick up the phone, you little parasite?”

  “How was I supposed to do that?” I had a defense ready. “The money ran out on my phone, and where was I going to top it up in Catalonia? They have terminals, but they don’t work with Beeline.”

  “I told you to stay in touch, you bastard, so why didn’t you?”

  “I could tell you about the terminals again, but you’d just rip me a new one again,” I said thoughtfully. “What’s the point?”

  “You’re right about me ripping you a new one.” Mammoth’s voice dropped a couple decibels. “I’m going to kill you, and then I’m going to resurrect you just so I can kill you again. Ten times!”

  “No, that won’t work.”

  “And why not?”

  “Well, you’re going to be especially violent when you kill me, and after the sixth time, all you’ll have left is all the molecules and atoms. What will you resurrect then?”

  “You piece of trash, you can never just
let me yell at you. Okay, I’d better see you right here in front of me in an hour. And not a minute later!”

  “But what happened? What’s the rush?”

  “I’d tell you, but I want to enjoy this a little longer. Just get over here to the office. Oh, and you’d better shave before you do.”

  “And put on a clean pair of underwear?”

  “That’s up to you. I’m killing you either way.”

  And with that, he hung up the phone, the inconsiderate wretch. I stood there for a bit longer lost in thought until the cigarette I was holding burned down to the filter and singed my fingers. With a curse, I hurled it off the balcony and turned around to go shave. There was no sense giving Mammoth yet another reason to murder me.

  On the other hand, I mused, it didn’t really matter what Mammoth did. There were plenty of newspapers in Moscow; I had already earned a decent reputation; I had experience; and there were plenty of people I could ask to get me a job if he fired me. But I had no idea who was asking to talk with me. I didn’t owe anyone money, and I wasn’t involved in crime or drug smuggling or anything like that. What could they want?

  In some confusion, and with mixed emotions, I arrived at the office and walked into Mammoth’s reception area.

  “Oh, Nikiforov,” said Zhanna, with a start. “Did you bring me a magnet?”

  “What?” I was too on edge to realize what she meant at first. “Oh, a magnet. Yes, but I don’t have it with me. I’ll give it to you later. Probably.”

  “You can go in. Mammoth told me to send you in as soon as you get here. And those men are already there,” Zhanna said in a conspiratorial whisper. “Go, go, go.”

  I knocked on the door, pushed it open a little, and stuck my head into the room.

  “Semyon Ilyich, can I come in?” I asked as nonchalantly as I could.

  “A-a-ah, and here’s the star of the hour!” He was so happy to see me that I almost believed he was sincere. “We’ve been waiting for you!”

  He got up (!!), walked over to me, and gave me a quick hug.

  I thought I must have already died and gone to visit Alice on the other side of the looking glass. What was happening simply was not possible.

  Mammoth gave me a friendly punch in the stomach before turning to the two men in black suits and white shirts sitting on the couch.

  “Let me introduce you, gentlemen. This is Harriton Nikiforov himself, ascendant star, I’m not afraid to say, of Russian journalism and one of my most talented writers. He’s the apple of my eye!”

  Could they be slave traders? Was he selling me to them?

  “Good afternoon, Harriton…” The first white shirt held out his hand and inquisitively waited for me to tell him my patronymic.[2]

  “Just Harriton. Or call me by my last name, whatever’s easiest for you.” I shook his hand and that of his friend.

  “My name is Nikita, Nikita Valyaev. This,” he said, gesturing to the second white shirt, “is Maksim Zimin. We represent the board of directors at Raidion. You recently wrote a series of articles about Fayroll, one of our products.”

  Well, thank the Almighty! I had already begun to think I was a goner. But, as it turned out, they didn’t want to kill me after all. If they didn’t like the articles, I could just apologize and say—

  “Why be modest?” Mammoth melted into an enormous smile. “They’re not just representatives; they’re members of the board of directors. And they’re the new owners of our newspaper.”

  Oh, wow! Suddenly, I realized why he was acting so strangely. New owners meant a new broom and sweeping out half the staff. So, our fearless leader was afraid of losing his cozy office.

  “That information isn’t really being advertised yet,” said Valyaev.

  “I’d say not—it isn’t being advertised at all,” added Zimin.

  “It must not be if even the secretary doesn’t know about it,” I said. “Can I ask you a couple questions?”

  “See? Didn’t I tell you? He’s a professional,” said Mammoth proudly. “Already asking questions. That’s how meticulous he is.”

  “Go ahead,” said Valyaev with a nod, having completely ignored Mammoth.

  “Why do you need this newspaper? And why are you telling me this? I’m nobody important, really.”

  “Good questions,” answered Zimin. “The right questions. And they lead right into what we wanted to discuss with you.”

  “I don’t know if you’ve seen,” continued Valyaev, “but your articles went viral. Even we didn’t expect them to be so widely read, but they were. The game’s ratings and traffic jumped by 35 to 40 percent, which is a lot. It’s an incredible number for our industry.”

  “And all because of my articles?” I was having a hard time believing it.

  “Well, they got things started. You know, like the first little pebble that causes an avalanche—it doesn’t seem like much but, soon, you have a river of rock sweeping away everything in its path. You wrote the articles; someone read them and shared their opinion; someone else disagreed with them; and it took off from there.”

  Mammoth jumped in. “And our server keeps getting overloaded. It’s almost like a DoS attack.”[3]

  I stared at him. “Seriously?”

  “Seriously. I couldn’t believe it at first either. I almost smacked our system administrator when he told me.”

  “To be honest, nobody really even remembers the articles anymore, though the buzz is still going strong. Game traffic is still going up, too. And it’s all thanks to the little pebble you kicked off the cliff,” said Zimin complacently.

  “Not to detract from the work you did, but we should note that you just happened to be in the right place at the right time, or at least that’s what our analysts think,” said Valyaev. “You aren’t the first person to write about Fayroll, but where did everyone else write?”

  “In specialized gaming magazines?” I said, hazarding a guess.

  “Exactly. The kind that people only read if they’re interested in the gaming industry. And also on gaming sites, places like that. But here’s a newspaper with a readership that includes everyone of all ages. You hit the nail on the head.”

  Zimin chimed back in. “Obviously, we weren’t about to let something like that slip through our fingers. The board of directors decided to push our advantage and squeeze it as hard as we can, so we’re going to release a weekly supplement to your paper called the Fayroll Times. It will be about six pages long, we’ll release it every Thursday.”

  “Why every Thursday?” I asked.

  “Our meetings aren’t on Mondays like everyone else’s. We have them on Thursdays,” explained Valyaev. “So we made the decision on a Thursday and the Fayroll Times will be published on Thursdays.”

  It was a little odd, but there was some logic to their decision. Really, though, it didn’t make any difference to me.

  “Plus, we’ll publish a monthly magazine. We haven’t thought of a name yet—you can do that. It will be based on your—well, our—newspaper as well. We bought the paper or at least 91% of the shares. Raidion prefers to maintain control over everything it does.”

  “A commendable decision,” I said approvingly. “And where will I be in the food chain?”

  “What do you mean where?” Zimin and Valyaev both stared at me in surprise.

  I felt self-conscious under their gaze and shifted in my chair.

  “Harriton, you got all this started, so you’re going to keep it going,” said Zimin softly.

  “And not just this,” added Valyaev. “You’re going to be the editor of the supplement and the magazine. Semyon Ilyich can’t do it, obviously.”

  Mammoth rustled behind his desk. He obviously wasn’t happy with what Valyaev was saying, though he was afraid to object. One wrong word, and his erstwhile favorite Nikiforov would be taking over his office. That’s what he got for playing with fire…

  “Wow,” I said. “That’s great, but on my own, I’m not sure I can—”

  “Why on yo
ur own? Who said that?” Zimin shook his head. “You’ll be in charge of four people responsible for collecting and processing information, separating the wheat from the chaff, handling technical issues, and making sure everything is ready for you. Your job will be to approve or polish what they give you and send it off to be printed. You’ll have your editorials, too, since you’ll be the head editor of the supplement. Once we get to the magazine, you’ll get more people. As many as you need.”

  A muffled noise came from Mammoth’s corner. I wasn’t sure if he was crying or blowing his nose. Maybe he had just snorted in frustration.

  Zimin correctly diagnosed the situation. “The good Semyon Ilyich will remain the newspaper’s head editor. You will be a sort of state within a state. A kind of Vatican City, so to speak.”

  “But I’ll report to him?” I asked immediately.

  “No, you’ll report directly to the Raidion board of directors. Well, if we can reach an agreement, of course.”

  “That’s all very interesting…” I said, drawing my words out meaningfully.

  “Oh, I almost forgot,” said Zimin. “Company management really appreciated what you did to promote the game, so they asked me to give you this bonus.”

  He pulled a plump envelope out of his coat pocket and handed it to me.

  This time Mammoth’s “harrumph” was much louder. He was watching money leave his pocket, after all. Who did all the work pushing me along? And then who got paid? Zimin and Valyaev paid him no attention.

  “Thanks, that’s great,” I said. “Well, I’ll do it. Though with the supplement and the magazine, and only five people…” The squeaky wheel gets the oil.

  “I told you, the magazine is separate. And it very well may not have anything to do with you. Or it may not end up happening in the first place. We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. For right now, focus on the weekly supplement. And hurry, too, since the first release needs to be this coming Thursday. Like I said, a six-page insert with the latest news. Who took which castle, who beat which dungeon, statistics, and a comic. Something like ‘Two dwarves walked into a bar.’”

  “I could do a couple running pieces,” I suggested. “‘Fayroll: the History,’ for example. Not many people have read the backstory, and it’s pretty interesting. You know, the Departed, or whatever you call the Old Gods, the Great Dragon…”