The truck crawled up to the center of the intersection as Sam looked left and right, searching for any sign of trouble. Standing up with her front claws against the window, Coop did likewise.
“Looks good,” Sam said. “No, wait.”
She pointed ahead to the lodge's metallic kiosk sitting like a sore thumb in the middle of the street. A bright green cartoonish picture of a figure that Pete assumed was Tongsly Belch sat cackling through a broad, toothy mouth. The goblin’s ears and nose were bejeweled with rings and precious stones, and it wore a large purple hat with a huge diamond nestled at its center. The figure’s mouth rose and fell as words appeared in a neon orange speech bubble hovering out to the side.
“Come one, come all! Sup at the teat of your glorious master and supreme leader, Tongsly Belch!”
“What the fuck are they supposed to be?” Sam said, pointing down in front of the kiosk where several small figures milled about.
A trio of small goblins was standing just in front of the Vend-o-matic machine, dressed in plain white robes, their broad faces partially hidden by hoods. Each of them held a large crimson-covered book to their chests, holding the volumes like they were a religious relic. They stood smiling, waiting patiently and not making any move to approach the truck or its passengers.
“Nero, any idea what we’re looking at here?” Pete asked, clutching his chest and shifting his weight a little to ease some of his pain and discomfort.
[Nero] These are followers of The Path. They are a clandestine religious order that stands against everything that our gracious Baron and benefactor, Lord Tongsly Belch, represents, forsaking the accumulation of wealth and denouncing the amassing of profit as a sin against the natural order. The order’s full name is The Pious Path of the Penniless Penitents, and they see the accumulation of wealth and the pursuit of profit as a spiritual sickness, a poison that corrupts the natural order of the universe and twists the soul.
“That’s a hell of a lot of pees,” Sam said, picking up the pistol and sliding out of the driver’s seat and onto the road. “Are they dangerous?”
[Nero] The Path’s followers do not believe in violence. Instead, they operate in the shadows, quietly spreading their message of asceticism and communal harmony. They infiltrate Belch’s financial institutions, not to steal, but to subtly disrupt the flow of credit and currency, to undermine avarice and greed wherever it can be found. Their goal is to sow seeds of doubt in the minds of Belch’s devotees and to guide the disillusioned toward a more meaningful existence—one free from the tyrannical grip of wealth.
It wasn’t hard to detect the tone of disdain in Nero’s voice. That made sense given that he was an AI programmed to assist players in navigating the contest. He was most likely hardwired to possess a fanatical love for Tongsly Belch.
“Okay, so if they’re not gonna hurt us,” Sam said, moving to the back of the truck, “we can just ignore them.”
Pete winced as he pulled the door handle and shoved the door away. He heaved his legs over the side and climbed down out of the truck, every twist and jerk sending a shock of pain through his system. He’d been hurt before, injured after too strenuous a gym session or after a particularly rough game of basketball in his earlier years, but this was something else entirely. He felt weak, dizzy, and it seemed as though every bone and sinew in his body was screaming in complaint.
“You go first,” Sam said, hoisting her way up into the back of the truck. “Patch yourself up, and then you can help me drag some of this stuff over. I want to see how much this kiosk can take, try and get as much coin as we can while we’re here.”
Pete nodded and began limping toward the kiosk. Coop trotted by his side, eyeing the goblins up ahead with undisguised mistrust.
“Gonna need to watch these commie goblins closely, Pete. I don’t like the way they look.”
As she spoke, one of the three goblins raised a hand, smiling broadly as it waved above its head.
“They look pretty harmless to me,” Pete said. “And Nero says they won’t harm us.”
“Never trust a commie, Pete. They bang on about equality and the equitable distribution of wealth, but the slippery bastards are just as greedy as everyone else. They just hide it better.”
“Maybe,” Pete replied, wincing as his leg spasmed. “But at least they’re not throwing giant axes at us.”
“It’s about freedom, Pete! You start talking about the evils of profit, and it’s a slippery slope to a totalitarian regime based on—”
“I get it!” Pete barked, pinching the bridge of his nose in an attempt to ease the throbbing headache that was pulsing behind his eyes. “Sorry, I just… I need to get a medkit.”
The little ferret snorted, stalking alongside Pete and baring her teeth at the white-cloaked goblins. As Pete limped closer, the first of the three figures stepped forward, grinning broadly and producing a piece of paper from behind the book he was holding.
“Welcome, friend. Have you received the light of revelation?”
Pete looked down at the pamphlet. “Ah… sure.”
“Truly?” The goblin pressed, eyes wide as the two figures standing behind him shuffled closer. “You are already a follower of the Pious Path of the Penniless Penitent? You have forsaken the acquisition of wealth and renounced profit in favor of true inner fulfillment?”
Pete nodded, looking over at the kiosk and spotting a cartoonish symbol on the large Vendo-o-matic display screen that looked suspiciously like a medkit.
“Yeah. I’m totally on board. I just need to grab myself a medkit and—”
“Oh, goodness no,” the goblin said, shaking his head. “Even to touch this machine abomination is to fall from the path. If you should purchase a medkit from the Baron’s wretched machine, you will pay more than mere coins by way of a price. For each purchase steals from your soul, reducing your capacity to truly exist and engage meaningfully with the world around you. Tongsly Belch takes a hefty price, the hidden cost of your very soul!”
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
Pete let out a ragged breath. He was tired, badly injured, ravenously hungry for some reason, and the last thing he wanted to be doing at that moment was engaging in a lengthy discussion with a bunch of religious zealots over the morality of accumulating wealth.
“If it is healing you need,” said a female goblin standing to the left of the other creature, “we can aid you in this, and without you having to sell a portion of your soul to the abominable machine.”
The little goblin opened the book it was holding and began flipping through dog-eared and well-worn pages. She found the page she was looking for and pressed a finger against the sharp, angular text, which ran in tightly packed lines across the page.
“A reading taken from the Gospel of Flaag Thriftworthy. Chapter Eleventy, verses one to nine. ‘A warrior, a follower of The Path, sought to sharpen his blade, not with steel and stone, but with purpose and purity of heart. Yet, in his striving for perfection, he grew impatient. He was met by a trader who did not walk The Path—a lost soul long ago drawn astray by the honeyed words and dark profits of the Betrayer.’”
Pete frowned. “Yeah, I really need—”
“‘The tainted trader offered him a powerful salve. “A single coin for this vial,” the trader said, “and your blade will possess an edge like no other.” The warrior, blinded by the promise of an easy victory, paid the coin, and with that single act, a piece of his essence—the truth of his spirit—was taken from him, leaving a hollow ache within his soul.’”
“What the hell are you blathering about?!” Coop said. “This is some commie bullshit! Just push past them, Pete, for God’s sake!”
Pete attempted to do just that, but as he limped to the right, the three robed goblins shuffled across to block his path, still grinning broadly and clutching their books to their chests, except for the female who was still reading. She’d managed to shuffle across in perfect unison with her companion without looking up from the page.
“‘The salve worked as promised. His blade became razor-sharp, cutting through steel as if it were parchment. But with each use, a sickness crept into his body. His skin grew jaundiced and bruised, and his body was wracked with a deep, internal fever that no amount of victory could quench. The more he relied on the salve’s tainted power, the weaker his body became, mirroring the corruption of his soul.’”
“Just kick them!” Coop said. “Give them the boot like you did with those little bastards back at the house!”
“I’m not going to kick them to death,” Pete insisted.
“Fine! Then I’ll handle this!”
“No!” Pete shouted, wincing as he bent down and scooped up the ferret.
Coop squirmed in his grip, but he pulled her in tight to his chest.
“Just let me bite the commie bastards!” she spat. “I promise I won’t kill them; I’ll just claw them up real good!”
The female goblin continued, undaunted by Coop’s threats.
“‘Broken and defeated, he returned to the elders of The Path, the vial clutched in his hand. “My blade is keen,” he cried, “but my body fails and my spirit is in turmoil.” The Elder took the vial, holding it up for all to see. “The flaw is not in your blade, but in the purchase you made.” The warrior understood. He cast off his weapon and began the work of atonement, ridding himself of all desire for an easy path. He spent his days in quiet contemplation, purging his mind of the memory of the sharp edge and the wealth it represented.”
Coop continued to squirm, forcing Pete to hold on even tighter as she bared her teeth and hissed at the robed figures. They seemed utterly oblivious to the danger and unconcerned with Coop’s violent words.
“‘As he turned away from the ways of profit, the light of his soul began to mend itself, thread by thread. For every selfish thought he abandoned, the sickly pallor left his skin, and the fever broke. When his soul was finally free from the stain of profit, the warrior’s body was healed. His strength returned, his eyes cleared, and his spirit was made whole. Thus, it is known that a true edge comes not from ill-gotten gains, but from a life of purpose, and that the body cannot thrive while the soul is tainted by the lust for wealth.’”
The female goblin looked up at Pete with an expression of pure contentment. She and the others stood staring up at him, clearly waiting for a response.
“Yeah, so that was great and all, but I think I’ll still go for that medkit now.”
He moved again to the right, and all three goblins shuffled over into his path.
“Commie fuckers!” Coop frothed. “Get out of our way, or I’ll bite your noses off!”
“Embrace the Path,” the goblin at the front of the group said calmly, “and your wounds will be healed.”
He was still holding the pamphlet he’d thrust at Pete earlier.
“Fine,” Pete said, taking the pamphlet. “I’ll have a read of this and think about it, okay? But right now, I need to get my hands on a medkit, so thanks for the chat, and I’ll let you know if I want to learn more about this Path stuff.”
The goblins stood their ground for a few moments before they all bowed in unison, parting ways and allowing Pete to shuffle past with Coop in his arms, still hissing and spitting curses under her breath.
“Forsake the pursuit of profit, young soul,” the lead goblin said. “Enlightenment can only be found in the purity of an empty wallet and the simple joy of a profitless life.”
“Eat an ass, you commie bastard!” Coop barked, clawing her way up to Pete’s shoulder to fire the insult back at the goblins.
“Ow! Jesus, Coop, settle down!”
“Sorry,” she said, turning back to face the kiosk ahead of them. “Just chafes my ass that these socialist bastards are sprouting all their nonsense. I mean, this whole competition seems like it’s built on money, and these little pricks want us to give everything away? Sounds like a surefire way to get killed.”
[Nero] Indeed. Yet despite that fact, the ranks of the cult continue to swell as more and more souls are drawn into their madness. I think, perhaps, that some contestants and even a few NPCs tire of the gladiatorial games. The constant struggle can be quite draining, and that makes these souls susceptible to manipulation by groups such as the followers of the Path.
“What the hell is an NPC?” Coop asked.
“Non-player character,” Pete said. “It’s what you call all of the inbuilt characters in games, the ones that aren’t real players.”
[Nero] Ordinarily, yes, but in this case, Pete, the term refers to Non-Player Capitalists. These are all the intelligences, entities, and beings that work within the Mammon System but who aren’t gladiators themselves. Like the hobgoblins and Goblin Scrappers you faced earlier. They each take part in the game in their own way, either as enemies, rogue elements and complications, or simply to add flavor and texture to the contest.
“Non-Player Capitalists,” Pete mused.
[Nero] While they cannot directly take part in the gladiatorial contest, they are still able to acquire wealth and prestige after a fashion. Just like you and the other human players who will take part in the contest, NPCs are able to fight enemies, loot, acquire, and sell goods. They have access to Vendo-o-matic machines such as this and can even kill and loot gladiatorial contestants and sell or use whatever they find. In fact, while this starter kiosk is relatively free of enemies, you should know that, in the future, it will not be so easy to reach these machines as they will tend to be a hotspot for both NPC and player activity.
Pete nodded. “Like a watering hole in a desert.”
[Nero] Precisely.
“Okay, well as interesting as that is, I’m about to drop a lung here, so I need to get myself a medkit.”
[Nero] A wise choice. By my estimation, you have approximately three hours to live if you do not seek medical treatment.
“Three hours?” Pete said. “Don’t I have a health bar or something that will tell me when I’m getting dangerously low on health?”
[Nero] Of course! Once you have a full complement of core attributes and your HUD has been completed, you will be able to purchase a health bar in addition to a permanent mini-map, a spell bar, and even more functions.
Pete rolled his eyes, and even that gesture seemed to hurt. “Because everything here costs money.”
[Nero] Such is the way of Mammon and the will of our illustrious leader, Baron Tongsly Belch.
The sound of a heavy metal object scraping along the ground drew Pete’s attention. He turned around to see Sam dragging a shovel along the ground while struggling with what looked like a pair of shotguns. The dragging shovel screeched as she walked slowly toward them, drawing a puzzled expression from the previously implacable robed goblins.
Sam shot them a cheesy smile and walked right in front of them, moving up beside Pete and summarily dropping the shovel and the weapons on the ground with a loud clatter. Pete and Coop stared at the young woman.
“What?” she said. “I figure at least some of this shit will be worth some cash.”
