The Crow Cycle Book #4: LitRPG Series by Dem Mikhailov

Author:Dem Mikhailov [Mikhailov, Dem]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Magic Dome Books in collaboration with 1C-Publishing
Published: 2024-06-14T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seven

“I KNEW IT!” MITH DECLARED victoriously in a hoarse voice, wrapping his nose in a fluffy yellow scarf. “I knew it! Digging is sacred! We won’t get anywhere without it!”

“A plague upon my beard!” cursed the normally calm dwarf, pulling the fur cap off his head. “And a crack in my hammer! How can this be?”

“Like this,” said Lori grimly. In one smooth movement, she landed on the dwarf’s shoulders and began to scout the surroundings from her new perch. “The forces of digital nature did quite a number on this place... and so did the rain...”

The rain was worth mentioning.

It was fairly heavy and unusually monotonous, as if some invisible heavenly hand was holding a watering can over their heads. There was not even the slightest hint of wind. The streams of rain fell vertically. From the gray skies came slightly mocking rolls of thunder. What was surprising: the adventurers were already standing knee-deep in clouds, which were slowly crawling north. The clouds at their feet seemed to be absorbing the moisture as it literally poured down on them from the clouds above.

What was even more surprising: if you were to descend a quarter of a mile, down to the place where they got chucked out by teleport, to the start of a narrow winding trail, the place there would be absolutely dry. There would not be a single hint of rain, not counting the solid mass of clouds moving overhead.

It was raining here only.

Lori, who continued to stand on the dwarf’s powerful shoulders, pulled up the hood of her jacket. Then, with a click, she opened a dark red umbrella over her head. A second later, Amou followed her example and opened a yellow umbrella decorated with black designs. Discouraged, Mith reached for the hood of his own jacket, but, noticing the grim and indifferent frown on the dwarf’s wet face, lowered his hands. Together, they stared across at the mountain temple.

Rain is nothing. A minor inconvenience. Let the digital water pour down from the heavens — who cares? A good few inches of rain could only benefit cultivated fields, orchards, well-groomed parks, and personal lawns — that is what any valley dweller would tell you with confidence, having never ascended into the mountains where water rushing down steep slopes presents serious danger.

Especially when the mountain slopes are made of loose earth... that’s where real trouble begins.

As was the case here.

During his discussion with the dwarf, Centurion Vurrius mentioned that the last time he was here was two years ago.

Well...

Many things had happened in that time. The temple, cut into the mountainside, had been abandoned. Out of a busy location teeming with pilgrims, the place had turned into a squelching swamp. It had taken on the form of a slow mudslide, which gradually slid downhill, disappearing in the cloudy mist.

Waves of mud flowed over the temple’s stone walls, briefly lingering in the square courtyard and swirling around the mud-clogged buildings. The waves vaguely resembled a crowd of

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