Crab On!

  ©2023 VALERIOS

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  Print, eBook formatting by Josh Hayes. Cover design by Steve Beaulieu. Cover art provided by Fernando Grenea.

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  CONTENTS

  Also in Series

  1. The Beginning of the End

  2. We do not Live to Die. We Die to Live

  3. Raving Crab

  4. Phac's Shell

  5. Otto’s Accidental Brilliance

  6. A Turbulent Introduction

  7. The Descent of War

  8. A Night for a Lifetime

  9. Into the Frying Pan

  10. Hell

  11. Dragon

  12. The Kobold Sailors

  13. Something Between Genius and Stupid

  14. The Phackers Arrive

  15. Immi the Imp

  16. Gamble or Die

  17. Otto’s Evolution

  18. A Deal With The Devil

  19. Otto’s Battle and Operation Reverse!

  20. Dance With The Devils

  21. Aerial Battle

  22. The Battle of Hope’s End

  23. Rain’s Evolution

  24. Air Surfing

  25. Reunion

  26. The Return of the Crab

  27. A Truel

  28. Phac's Phackers

  29. Ambush

  30. Old Friends and Old Habits

  31. Crabs

  32. The Beginning of the Battle

  33. The Siege of Salom

  34. The Battle of Salom

  35. Nemesis

  36. Finale

  Epilogue

  Author's Closing Remarks

  Thank you for reading Crab On!

  Groups

  LitRPG

  ALSO IN SERIES

  What the Shell?

  Pincer Tactics

  Crab On!

  ONE

  THE BEGINNING OF THE END

  A whiskey-filled glass slammed on the counter with a heavy, loud sound—not nearly loud enough to penetrate the cacophony that filled every corner of the Brawling Crab, but enough to be heard by the glass’s current owner, who smirked in satisfaction.

  "It’s been almost 24 hours since I last had a drink." Nick smiled as he half-spoke and half-yelled; this bar wasn’t the quietest. "That’s a new record."

  "Do you really like this place?" replied Gregory, taking a look around. The interior of the basement-turned-bar that called itself Brawling Crab was dirty, noisy, stinky, and filled with sweaty, drunk sailors who apparently enjoyed shouting to each other instead of speaking like civilized people. Gregory was pretty sure he could see a vomit corner at the far end of the bar, while, from the ceiling, three yellow lamps—two working and one broken—were the bar’s only source of illumination.

  Not the only source, Gregory reminded himself, observing the crowd of lit cigarettes that shone like fat fireflies. He and Nick were the only ones not currently smoking. According to the retired sailor, that was one of the few bad habits he’d never taken to.

  The two men were sitting on stools by the counter, right next to one of its ends. Nick had told him there used to be a small television here too, but it had broken down in a fight recently. From the hint of pride in Nick’s voice, Gregory could only guess as to who exactly was responsible for the broken appliance.

  In any case, this bar was as far as possible from anything the balding, slightly plump, bi-spectacled accountant would feel comfortable in, yet here he was.

  "Reminds me of the good old times, minus the good part." Nick took another sip of his whiskey, looking around almost tenderly. Gregory had originally ordered some wine, but the barman had laughed, Nick had laughed, and then Nick had ordered some whiskey for him too. "You’ll get used to it,” he’d said.

  But Gregory didn’t like whiskey, so Nick had also gotten them three shots each. The first was pure disgust, the second was bad, and the third was tolerable. All of a sudden, Gregory could handle whiskey. Then again, he was unable to taste anything after three consecutive shots of alcohol. He never had been a heavy drinker.

  "Why do you want to be reminded of the old times, if they weren’t good?" he asked, and Nick smiled sadly.

  "Because they’re all I have,” he replied in a heavy, bittersweet voice before taking another big gulp. Nodding, Gregory did too. He didn’t want to drink more tonight, but when the situation called for a drink, it called for a drink.

  "By the way, don’t stare at people too much,” continued Nick. "Unless you fancy a good fight, of course, which I doubt you do."

  "Is that why everyone’s staring at me? Do I look that appetizing?" Gregory chuckled. He didn’t particularly fancy fighting anyone, but after what he’d gone through in the other world, a few drunk men were far from enough to spook him. Oh, how long ago those days seemed, back when he was a low-key, insecure introvert at peace with himself.

  "Nah, it’s the suit." Nick smiled back. "Doesn’t sit well with sailors."

  "Screw them. I wear whatever I want." Gregory shrugged before continuing in a brave, yet hushed voice. "If they don’t like it, they can come here and tell me."

  "Not while I’m here. They know better than that."

  "Curious name, by the way." Gregory changed the subject. "The Brawling Crab. Strangely coincidental. I don’t suppose you’ve been to Salom recently?"

  "Heh, cool, wasn’t it?" Nick threw back his head as he took another big sip, emptying his drink before raising two fingers to order another, presumably double.

  "It wasn’t cool. It was a disturbance."

  "A cool disturbance." Nick winked, but Gregory shook his head.

  "Cool for a disturbance, maybe, but not cool at all. It was dangerous and completely disorienting for whoever was trying to get some serious work done. Do you know how painful it is when meticulous planning goes to waste due to some random animals?"

  "Don’t be like that, Greg. What’s the point of living if you don’t have some fun?"

  "Hmph. You speak as if you enjoyed it. You must have been the only one in all of Salom."

  "I did enjoy it. That’s what you do with cool things; appreciate their beauty, and then, if you don’t like them, go kick the ass of whoever did it."

  "Heh." Gregory chuckled but didn’t speak further, sinking them into a silent break.

  He intended to do just that—kick Phac’s ass—but didn’t plan on sharing this information with anyone. Given that people could kill you to kill your alter ego, it would be foolish to reveal your other identity, especially when you were a big-shot like the Adventurer Guildmaster.

  Or Phac, for that matter, who was an infamous figure in his own special way. Nick wouldn’t reveal his identity either, and the two men had quickly come to an unspoken agreement not to probe each other on this matter.

  The silence—only between them, since the place was rowdy to the point of annoyance—was finally interrupted by the dark-skinned bartender placing two glasses in front of them.

  "What’s this?" Gregory raised a brow, and Nick shrugged, happy that they’d changed the subject. He didn’t like Greg’s approach on the Crab Heist but didn’t feel like getting angry at his only friend either.

  Come to think of it, when did I start needing friends?

  "One’s for you. Your glass is almost empty."

  "You really didn’t have to." Gregory grimaced, staring at his glass before sipping its last few drops. He hadn’t intended to get another, but, well, tomorrow was Saturday. He could afford a headache.

  "No problem. You got me some fried crab the other day." Nick smiled, not understanding Gregory’s meaning. Drinking less to avoid a hangover could never cross his mind.

  After coincidentally meeting at the fried crab place, the two men had quickly hit it off. It wasn’t difficult, as they both filled a role that was missing from the other’s life.

  For Nick, it was a friend. As much as he’d gotten used to solitude and convinced himself he was better off alone, the
company he’d experienced in Peras had changed his outlook. Oreg, Neville, Daryll, Rain, Otto, even Lorelei… Perhaps he could use some company in his life, after all.

  As for Gregory, the hardness he’d recently developed due to his own Peras experiences had estranged him from his previous life. He felt like a stranger, leading the peaceful existence he’d created for the previous him. He needed someone who could understand him, someone who could handle the hardness that now existed inside him. Nick happened to fit right in.

  The two men had taken to dining together every few days, always fried crab, and eventually bonded enough that Nick offered to take his friend for a drink. Gregory knew what kind of place Nick referred to, but he agreed. He’d never been anywhere similar, but an almost teenage excitement for adventure had sprouted in him. Why the hell not?

  And that was how they ended up here, drinking and chatting as buddies. Nick and Gregory. Phac and Reginald.

  If only they knew.

  In a recently redecorated wooden office with a large circular window overlooking the city of Salom, a white-dressed man sat at a desk, his face buried in his palms. Long, blond hair cascaded down his body, reaching just below his shoulders.

  The man sat in silence, trying to come at peace with himself in the last moment of tranquility he would get for a long time to come. The silence, however, was soon broken by a soft knock on the door.

  "Who is it?" he asked without looking.

  "Meadow, sir," a feminine voice came from outside. Sighing, Reginald finally raised his head to regard the sky-blue double doors. They used to be brown, but, since he had to practically renovate his office after the battle it had hosted, he’d painted the doors too. Thank God for magic and its speed at manual labor.

  "Enter,” he replied, and the doors slowly split to reveal the form of Meadow, who confidently strode into the Guildmaster’s office with a sheet of paper at hand.

  "My apologies for the disturbance, sir, but they escaped," she said as soon as she arrived before the desk, handing him the sheet of paper she was holding. Her face was straight, but Reginald frowned as he discovered the hidden joy in her eyes. He could imagine where it came from.

  "So, they did… How did they lose Klarissa?" He glanced at the paper. It was a report of what had happened, but Reginald wasn’t in the mood to read anything. Meadow would inform him of anything important anyway.

  "Our people caught up with them, sir, but they fought back. Master Klarissa was heavily injured, and Master Karozan…" She shook her head, her wood-colored hair swaying from side to side. "He fell."

  "Karozan fell…" Reginald sighed again. The knight could be a bit obnoxious at times, but he wasn’t a bad man. A pity.

  "Did we get any of them?" he continued with a hint of hope in his voice. "Did we get…"

  "Phac? No," she replied, and Reginald’s eye went dark. An itch suddenly appeared under his recently acquired black eyepatch, where his left eye used to be, and it took all his determination to keep himself from scratching it. That man… That naive, ignorant, destructive caricature of a man…

  "He was heavily injured by Master Rudy but will probably recover soon. The half-orc had even worse injuries, so at least that one’s fate is still hanging. They were rescued by orcs, when…"

  Meadow continued reporting, but Reginald had already zoned off. Phac… Why did that man have to always stand in his way?

  First, he’d stopped Treya, the necromancer Reginald had toiled to create and whose successful development was crucial to his plans.

  Then, Phac had infiltrated his Guild and office, discovering the Badge golems. Even when Reginald personally took action, all he managed was to lose an eye to a heavily underleveled opponent and then fail to stop him from escaping, as well as unleash a raging minotaur in his own office with the expected destructive consequences. Not to mention that he’d become a laughingstock among Salom’s higher class.

  It was the very first time he failed.

  Then, just as Reginald had everything covered, thinking he’d calculated all scenarios Phac could follow as a result of discovering the Badge golems, that despicable man had once again managed to act in such an odd, unpredictable way that Reginald could only stare! He had unleashed an army of sewer crabs in the town, ruining the golem production facilities and stealing up to seventy percent of his finished golems! With an army of crabs to move them, they were probably dumped into the sea already, lost forever.

  Afterward, not only did Phac make the adventurers’ life a living hell in the sewers, he had even managed to trick them, escape, run through half the town, and then attack them and kill a Master.

  It wasn’t so much the ridicule that Reginald was undoubtedly incurring from the townspeople. It was the unfairness of it all.

  He had donated all his energy and even his soul—both literally and metaphorically—to save the island, gone many sleepless nights, went above and beyond his limits just to make sure that everything would work out. And then, out of the blue came an astoundingly strong man with such poor luck and critical-thinking capabilities that he was always at the wrong place, at the wrong time, with the wrong motivation, and all of Reginald’s meticulously designed plans immediately went to the garbage bin!

  When Treya had fallen, Reginald had already been forced to employ other, crueler plans that led to a greater loss of lives, but it was necessary. If not, everyone would probably die.

  And now, after the most recent disaster, when more of his plans were foiled and everything fell behind schedule, teetering on the brink of collapse, Reginald was out of options—almost. He still had one. A last-ditch plan. One that he dreaded using, but one he could no longer shy away from.

  That was why he had stayed here all night, thinking it over and over. Partly to try and discover another solution, and partly to justify his actions to himself. However, he knew that this was the only way, and it had to happen today. The clock was ticking.

  Raising his eye, he found Meadow standing wordlessly in front of his desk. Who knows how long he’d been lost in thought?

  Her absent-minded gaze rested above his head, through the window, into the open blue sky. She was distracted. Reginald smiled.

  This girl was the only upside from that man’s interference. She’d seen the light and was smart enough to be of great assistance to Reginald. His subordinates were strong in battle, but he definitely lacked capable people by his side.

  Of course, it was a bit risky to trust her so much already, but he didn’t get to where he was without giving the right opportunities to the right people. The risks he took were calculated, and man, was he good at math. Everything was numbers, after all.

  She’d even helped with planning the sewer assault, and it was thanks to her that the whole operation went so smoothly, given the circumstances. If only she wasn’t a bit absent-minded sometimes…but that was to be expected. From what Reginald understood, Meadow had feelings for the man she’d helped escape, Rain. She hadn’t mentioned him before, when reporting casualties, so he should be fine. Perhaps that explained her smile.

  Still, Reginald trusted her. When the time came, she would do the right thing. That was why he invested so much in her despite her still-unconfirmed loyalty. Half-measures wouldn’t take him anywhere.

  And, above all…he desperately needed a person who could understand him. Some weights could not be carried alone. He needed support.

  He just had to keep her away from that water mage, which he was confident in doing.

  "Meadow." He brought her back to reality, and the girl almost jumped in surprise.