Author: G. Akella
Date: 2016-03-13 05:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Fantasy; Virtual Reality; Magic; Adventure; Science Fiction; Role Playing Games
Description: A new update arrives to the ultra-popular online game, Realm of Arkon. With Patch 17, the level of immersion experienced by players in their gaming capsules has made virtual reality indistinguishable from the real world. But every gamer's dream becomes a nightmare for Roman Kozhevnikov after he gets confined to Arkon against his will. And not just to Arkon, but to its deadliest zone - Demon Grounds. Playing - or rather living - as his character Krian, it's not just about survival for Roman. He longs to exact revenge for his banishment to the virtual world where the sensation of pain has reache

The Cursed Princedom

Chapter 1

I ducked under the attack, emerging behind the skeleton warrior, and hit his exposed side with Ice Blade. The mob's heavy two-handed sword struck the column right where my head was a moment ago, sending forth a shower of stone chippings. I wouldn't survive another blow, even one blocked with the shield. I still didn't know how I stayed on my feet—my HP bar was just barely over one third.

A two-handed sword was a massive weapon, and difficult to maneuver. While my skeletal foe was turning around, I managed to land two quick strikes in the collarbone area, plunging its HP bar into the red. With the blood pumping in my ears, my whole world constricted to this six-foot figure with eye-pits that radiated a magical azure glow.

"Die, you bastard!" I bellowed, stepping up to the skeleton just as it was gearing up for a swing. Harnessing all my hatred, I struck with an upward motion, burying my blade hilt-deep in its chin. My attack landed first by a mere fraction of a second, ripping through the skull with a crunch. As the glow in my foe's eyes faded, the bones burst and rained down to the slabs with a gnashing sound.

Just then, an arrow plunged into my shoulder with a sickening champing sound—having escaped from Earth Shackles, the last surviving skeleton from the pack that had managed to ambush me had rounded the column and was already drawing its bow for the next shot.

Your Toughness skill has increased to 44%.

The world became shrouded in bloody fog. At around twenty percent life, I was struggling to think straight, my whole body warped with agonizing pain. Gritting my teeth through the pain, I pounced on the freak, interrupting the shot with Tongue of Flame. The skeleton archer tried to get some distance, fighting me off with a dagger that had appeared in his hand, but I didn't let up. I kept swinging, landing blow after frenzied blow, until finally I realized that my attacks were simply slicing through air. I'd survived! Lacking even the strength to drink a healing potion, I collapsed to the slabs and let the blessed darkness wash over me.

I didn't know how long I'd been unconscious, but it couldn't have been more than five minutes. Were this happening in the real world, no doubt I would have bled to death without ever waking up. But this wasn't the real world, or rather, though this world had become quite real to me, it still operated by the game's laws.

Where the hell had that bloody pack come from? I got up from the floor, where I'd been lying like an embryo, and surveyed my surroundings. Torchlight bounced off cracked mossy walls of a broad stone corridor in which six ugly columns carved with strange symbols were propping up the pending ceiling. Just ahead the path took a sharp right—it was from behind that very corner that the four skeletons had popped out of several minutes earlier, catching me unawares. I had been finishing off the last group in this area, and the pack's appearance was entirely unexpected. They definitely weren't a patrol group. Both patrols—six piles of bones and rusted iron—were lying dolefully in my wake. Before commencing with the clearing of the dungeon, I had sat for half an hour, diligently studying the pathing of all the undead mobs, so I could make this claim with absolute certainly. But then, where had that pack of attackers come from?

I had rushed into this dungeon roughly an hour and a half prior in a desperate effort to escape certain death in the face of a level 232 gargoyle—a named mob that for some ridiculous reason had been hanging around a zone designed for characters in their 70s and 80s. The same gargoyle had once already dispatched me to a six-hour resurrection that ended up costing me seventeen levels—nearly all the progress I'd made over the past three weeks. To say that I had wanted to avoid going back to that graveyard was to say nothing at all.

Dungeons in the Realm of Arkon—the game to which I had been irrevocably banished about a month ago—operated by the Spartan principle of "return either with your shield or on it." Any players who ventured into a dungeon couldn't leave it so long as the final boss was still alive. That left them with two simple options: clear the dungeon in its entirety, or die trying.

If you told anyone about a level 65 player waltzing into a level 75-80 dungeon designed to be completed by a party of three, the person would laugh and call that player a nutcase. And they would be absolutely right. Fortunately, my situation wasn't quite as hopeless as it may seem at first glance. Before my in-game death I'd already reached level 82, and all of my skills had remained with me. Losing all those levels certainly stung, but out of all my gear there were only three items I couldn't equip: the ring, the earring and the cloak, all of which had 70 as the minimum level. And losing 51 stat points wasn't particularly critical since stat boosts in the Realm of Arkon came mostly from equipment.

Presently I was wearing a set of unusual quality armor comprising eight items. Each item in the set added 35 points to strength and 35 to constitution, and wearing just four of the eight gave a set bonus of 50 to constitution. Along with absorbing 60% of incoming damage with every successful block, the triangular shield added 10 points to strength and 55 to constitution. My rare quality sword that dealt an average of 220 damage per second added another 100 to strength and increased my chance to hit critically by a whopping 3%. It wasn't the most OP get-up imaginable, sure, but it was more than sufficient. My greatest strength, however, was rather a unique spread of talents, and that was what kept me optimistic about my chances of getting out of this jam. And it had all been going according to plan until that group of four skeletons appeared out of nowhere and nearly spoiled everything.

With a sigh, I unequipped my helm and gauntlets, used my shirt sleeve to wipe the blood off my chin, and circled the freshly killed mobs. The clanging sound signified a boost to my net worth: 218 copper coins, a little over two silver. I looted from the corpses three chunks of fur and a rusty iron belt without any stats. I'd already collected copious amounts of similar junk, having determined from the start to loot everything and sort out any valuables later on. Thus far my efforts in the instance had yielded only one item of unusual quality—level 70 mage gloves. Perhaps they might fetch a few gold down the line, seeing as I had absolutely no use for them. I may be a mage, but not exactly a proper one—my build called more for warrior gear.

Torchlight painted fanciful shadows upon the stone floor. The dungeon's silence was spoiled only by the sound of dripping water and the heavy shuffling of feet around the corner, accompanied by the soft clanging of metal. Gotta keep going, I thought to myself. The decision was a difficult one to make due to the still-fresh near-death experience, but I had unfinished business out there. Waiting for me somewhere on the game's mainland called Karn were the only people in the world I still cared for, and a few unsettled scores.

A wisp of gray mist ran along the ceiling—covered with cracks and streaks—toward the dungeon's exit. That was the toxic substance that had been raising the dead from their graves. I had no map of the instance, but this mist would serve as the thread of Ariadne, leading me ultimately to the final boss.

I put on my plate gauntlets and helm, fixed the straps on the inner side of my shield, added some healing potions to the empty belt slots, and refreshed my Shield of the Elements buff. Now I was ready. Rounding the column with cautious steps, I peeked around the corner, my body plastered to the rock so as to avoid aggroing any mobs. The corridor branching off to the right was virtually identical to the one I was coming from, maybe a little longer, but no more than fifty-sixty yards. Otherwise, it was same torches on the walls, the same eight packs of skeletons roaming amid the columns, and the same black aperture serving as the passage to the lower floor at the end.

And then I saw the source of the noise. A seven-foot level 80 ghoul in shackles was patrolling this part of the corridor, walking the length of it and back again. The monster's step was heavy as he moved about this route. Metal bracelets encircled his wrists, and the bits of rusty chains dangling off them accompanied his movements with a soft clanging. The first boss encountered here boasted 40,000 hit points, which made me feel a little dejected. At least he didn't have any armor on—I wouldn't have a chance against him then. The monster moved slowly, stopping every so often near the undead packs, and standing still for several minutes every time he reached the end of the corridor.

I observed him for a while, studying his pathing. Waiting until he made it to one of his more distant stops, I cast Earth Shackles on the nearest pack, rooting two swordsmen and an archer. Following up with a Silence on the skeleton mage, I ducked behind the column to avoid a stray arrow from the now-stationary archer. The mage, having been deprived of the ability to cast spells, appeared next to me in five seconds flat, and engaged me in close combat. Easily dodging his two-handed staff, I countered with four consecutive blows for over 2,500 damage, vanquishing the foe. I gunned toward the exit, hearing the heavy rattle of iron on stone—now free of my shackles, the swordsmen were hot in pursuit. I rounded the next-to-last column, kiting the brainless mobs, then Jumped toward the archer and interrupted his shot with Ice Blade. Any player worth his salt playing ranged dps would instantly hop back or to the side to avoid a melee situation, but, thankfully, the skeleton NPC lacked that kind of intelligence. Instead, he went with the standard strategy and produced a dagger; I, in turn, continued with my standard strategy and hit him with Tongue of Flame, taking his HP down to half. I snuck in another Ice Blade before running off—I had no desire to wait and see what two skeleton warriors in rusted armor could do to my defenseless back.

Now that I'd cleared a part of the corridor, evading pursuers had become much easier than before. I wound between the columns for a while, constantly breaking line of sight to prevent the warriors from Charging me, though the archer did manage to hit me with an arrow that took seven percent off my health bar. At last, my kiting got me back within melee range of the archer. Just as another arrow plunged into my chest, I focused my cold fury and crushed the bonehead with Ice Blade. No pain felt thus far—excellent! I spun around, meeting my pursuers in the gap between the wall and the column. Blocking the first attack, I countered with Ice Blade which procced Freeze, transforming the sword-wielding warrior who'd reached me first into an ice statue before he could land another blow. Blocking the other one's attack with a shield, I finished off the frozen one in under five seconds, before the effect wore off. Then I Jumped to the side and and kept running, downing a health potion on the go. I kept kiting amid the columns for ten more seconds or so, waiting for my health to recover, then turned around to meet the last remaining skeleton in battle. Like his companion, this one ended up needing six strikes to fell—though rusty, the armor still lent the skeletons some degree of protection against physical damage.

I waited for my HP bar to refill, then made my customary rounds of the slain mobs, collecting the loot. Besides the standard trash and two silver coins, I picked up four more skulls for the repeatable quest given by the captain of the punishers protecting Urcahnta. Disregarding even slivers of experience in my situation would be the height of foolishness.

Before attacking the boss, I repeated the same process of pulling the skeletons toward the dungeon's entrance and fighting them there. After killing the fourth pack, upon my return I was surprised to discover that the skeletons I'd just killed were right back at their posts, alive and kicking. So that was where the mobs that had nearly sent me to the graveyard came from! The instance kept generating new packs of undead, probably at specific intervals, that simply appeared out of nowhere. Too bad I hadn't timed their spawning the first time around, but I would estimate the interval to be roughly twenty to twenty five minutes. I would need to be more careful henceforth, and be mindful of the time, but that shouldn't be overly difficult.

The floor's boss ended up being surprisingly easy. The ghoul's behavior was predictable, with just one special two-strike combo with his chains every thirty seconds or so that stunned and knocked me down. After the first instance, I would simply Step through Darkness behind him, and keep hacking away at the repugnant lumpy flesh, alternating my top two skills. The clumsy mob's standard attacks were even easier to avoid by either dodging or blocking them with a shield. To be sure, I still had to do some kiting a time or two, but I never lost control of the fight, and the ugly bastard was down in about five minutes.

The biggest downside of the fight was the unbearable stench oozed by the walking corpse, and the revolting slime that now coated my armor. Though regular skeletons hardly smelled of lavender in bloom, when comparing the reek of fresh corpses versus ancient bones, the latter most certainly came out the "winner." RP-17, the artificial intelligence that had confined millions of people to the game, had somehow made these virtual sensations feel exactly like the real world. I felt a pang of sympathy for the players who'd had the great misfortune of once selecting the necromancer class—having to smell all this foulness every day was a sure way to lose one's marbles. Besides, though I knew nothing of that class, somehow I doubted that fielding brainless skeletons was all that productive. Perhaps if they bestowed upon their master a special skill that blunted all sensitivity to odors...

The boss' loot was a pleasant surprise, yielding the first drop I could actually use—level 70 plate bracers which, according to the game's canons, were called Ghoul's Solid Bracers and added 40 points to strength, 30 to constitution, and boasted a higher armor class than the ones I was currently wearing. The ghoul also dropped four health potions and a few gold coins—not a fortune by any means, but more or less in line with my expectations of a level 80 boss from a simple instance.

Guarding both exits from this level were two remaining packs of undead, which took me another ten minutes to breeze through while adding more skulls to my already sizable collection. After passing through the dark arched doorway, I ended up in a spacious, scantily lit cylindrical room, with a wide spiral staircase hugging the wall at a downward slope. Carefully following the trail of grayish mist down its slanted steps, I began my descent to level three. Crushed stone crackled underfoot, and the draft was strong enough to waft in smells of rot and decay. A solitary magic lantern from level two illuminated—just barely—the old cracked brickwork.

As I descended, I passed by two passages that appeared to be leading to other dungeon levels similar to the one I'd just cleared. It was likely that several different quest chains led to the Ghorazm Ruins; or perhaps those arched doorways concealed treasure chests crammed with gold and epic loot, just waiting for an enterprising player to crack them open. It wasn't that I lacked for curiosity, but such senseless curiosity when exploring alone called for a much higher level—I'd say at least 90—and ideally bolstered with an epic set of armor and a comparable weapon. And so, without any regret or hesitation, I proceeded down to the very bottom, and took a narrow passage, as if carved in the rock, to the dungeon's ground level.

The large, rectangular space extended outward some one hundred yards, and the low ceiling, collapsed in places, pressed on my psyche. The walls were lined with all sorts of urns and sarcophagi—most were empty, but some still held decayed corpses. Crudely cut wall niches were stuffed with piles of bones, as if somebody had tried to hastily tidy up the place. Because of the low ceiling, the six dilapidated columns looked more like huge curbstones. The odors permeating every inch of space in this graveyard were so nauseating that I had to breathe through my mouth, and even that hardly helped. The trail of gray mist ran through the space, disappearing in a crack in the wall at the end. The way there was blocked by sixteen packs of skeletons and two patrol ghouls of the same type I'd wasted three levels above.

It took me about four hours to clear the entire hall, though it would have taken much less if it weren't for new packs respawning every twenty five minutes. I'd polished my strategy to perfection: root three skeletons with Earth Shackles, cast Silence on the mage, hide from the archer's arrows behind the closest staircase or column while demolishing the meleeing mage. The mobs all had varying movement speed, and generally ran up to me solo—sometimes I didn't even need to kite them amid the columns to restore life. In the end, with mountains of bones in my wake, my booty amounted to seven gold, heaps of junk of every material imaginable, a level 75 unusual quality dagger, and a potion of underwater breathing.

The crack at the far end of the crypt led me to a square-shaped cave of stone, each side roughly forty yards long. Standing at the opposite end were two large stone tables lined with vials and vessels of varying shapes and sizes. The gray filth that had been my guide all this time was rising up from two simmering cauldrons affixed to three-legged metal constructs. Four massive heaps of skulls and bones piled up against the walls were used for kindling.

There it was—my primary goal! The dirty gray window of a portal rippled softly at the far end of this laboratory of death.

Master G'Hrash, the final boss of Ghorazm Ruins, wore a dark gray robe with an open hood, and was standing by one of the stone tables, sideways to me, crushing something in a makeshift mortar made of the parietal section of a skull yellowed with time. Looking at him from behind, one would never guess the creature was a walking corpse, what with his gray hair neatly combed and held together by a silver band, and a frock fully concealing his body. He could easily pass for an ordinary alchemist hard at work if not for the general ambiance and... Well, for my money, this was where the game's developers and RP-17 went a little overboard with pushing the macabre, for even walking corpses would much prefer using actual dishware—not old cracked skulls—for their experiments. There comes a point when trying too hard to create a dark and sinister environment instead produces the campfire scary story effect, a la "Once upon a time, in a Dark room of a Dark house at the edge of a Dark wood..." And instead of dread, you get mocking laughter.

Master G'Hrash—a fitting name for the ugly bastard and a real mouthful, like having marbles stuck in your throat—had meanwhile concluded his manipulations, walked over to one of the cauldrons and tossed into it the contents of his vile vessel. Pausing for a moment, he then tossed the vessel itself. Sure, why not? I thought to myself. Plenty more where that came from. All right, jokes aside now—the boss wasn't going to be a pushover at 75,000 HP. More importantly, the freak was a necromancer, which completely nullified my regular strategy. Necromancers specialized in damage-over-time curses, and you couldn't kite much with massive amounts of health disappearing from your HP bar at every tick. Well, you could technically, but in my situation the finish line would certainly be the graveyard in Urcahnta. Having already completed the dubious achievement, I had no intention of repeating it.

I felt cold fury starting to seethe inside me. I didn't give a rat's ass that the necromancer had poisoned the land surrounding the dungeon—dozens of square miles' worth of land, in fact. Nor did I care all that much for the poor locals suffering from his shenanigans. All that mattered was that this squishy douchebag was standing between me and the people I loved!

I rushed the boss. When I got to within twenty yards, I Jumped right to him, and just as he began turning toward me, I smashed the vial with the Netherworld's Elder Demon's venom into his ghastly mug. The lich's body convulsed and his HP dropped to 7,000. With a guttural croak, the boss tried backing away, but I was just getting started. A piercing Ice Blade landed square in his jaw, sending yellowed teeth flying every which way and chopping another 10% off his health bar. Black billows formed around the lich's wrists as he threw up his arms, but I countered with a timely Silence, and continued pummeling away at the abominable creature with the same silent resolve. I could almost hear his bones shattering under my blows. The lich was desperately trying to fight me off with a dagger gripped in one hand, but melee combat wasn't his strong suit. A few more seconds, and the necromancer's remains crumpled to the floor slabs with a dry crackle.

Attention! You've earned a unique achievement, First in Ghorazm Ruins. You and your allies have been granted a permanent 1% increase to your physical and magic damage.

You have gained a level! Current level: 66.

You have 3 stat points to allocate.

I waved away the irritating spam in the chat log. The rage bubbling within me demanded an outlet, and I wasn't going to fight it. With a yelp, I knocked the two boiling cauldrons off the fire, stomped out the makeshift bonfires with my plate boots, and swept all the shelves clean of the alchemical junk, glass vials and all. The lich's skull took flight and smashed against the far wall from a powerful straight kick.

"Stop!" I bawled to myself. And so I did, breathing heavily.

Well, this was a party, I thought with a grunt, surveying the transformed space—a huge puddle of ooze spreading across the floor slabs from under a pile of blackened bones. The trail of gray filth no longer streamed toward the dungeon's exit. Walking over to the lich's corpse, I leaned over and touched it through my plate gauntlet, too disgusted to remove it.

At last! There it was, the first decent item I could actually wear.

Runic Ring of Power

Accessory; ring.

Durability: 520/520.

Rare item.

Minimum level: 80.

+80 to strength.

+40 to constitution.

+1% to armor class.

Weight: .01 lbs.

It would be a while before I could equip it—level 80 wasn't anywhere in sight. I recalled with a seething hatred the gargoyle that had been the culprit behind my losing seventeen levels. Hopefully the legionnaires were annihilating the foul beast at this very moment—I only regretted not being there to see it!

In the Realm of Arkon, a player could equip up to four rings, lest certain particularly enterprising characters try and decorate all their fingers and toes with them, and then move to create more "slots" with piercings. I'd already had a ring on me, but this one definitely was going to come in handy. Oh, and I'd completely forgotten about jewelry when I was in Nittal. I'd ordered armor but totally spaced out about rings and a charm. Upon my return, I'd need to drop by some shops and outfit myself as needed.

Besides the ring, the lich dropped two more rare quality items—leather druid boots and chainmail for some ranged class, both level 80 as well. Such a nice haul was probably the result of this being the server's first killing of the boss. The achievement granted me and everyone in my party or clan a one percent increase to physical and magic damage. Slaying Shaartakh had resulted in five percent, but the elder demon was level 473, whereas the sucker resting at my feet was a mere level 80. Were he at least above 100, I would have probably gotten two percent; three percent for level 200, and so on. Twenty gold coins switched owners as well. Hmm, where's his head? Then, upon remembering, I smacked myself on the forehead so hard the plate gauntlet gave a dull echo off the plate helm—I'd kicked it away myself just a few minutes ago. I searched and found the missing piece shortly after. After G'Hrash's skull was deposited into my inventory, the leather scroll that I'd looted from his corpse along with everything else, figuring it to be some kind of crafting recipe, flashed and rippled with a light blue spark. I sighed and reached for it.

You've accessed the quest: Cleansing the Land.

Quest type: normal.

Deliver the scroll with the swamp poison recipe to Peotius the Mage in Urcahnta so that he could concoct an antidote to the spreading poison.

Reward: experience, ten potions or elixirs from Peotius' stock.

The lich's head needed to be in the inventory to get the quest, apparently, I thought, stashing the scroll in my bag. Then I went around gathering up all the alchemical reagents I myself had strewn around the grotto. Even if I wasn't going to level up the skill, I could sell it to Master Reus in Nittal. He would probably give me the best price for this junk, given my high reputation with him. The puddles on the floor had vanished, and I proceeded to quickly pick up all the tubes, boxes, packets and vials. I didn't have the slightest clue as to the origin of more than half of the reagents collected. With some, it was easy enough—"bone meal" couldn't be anything but bones crushed into powder form. But how about "leafmuncher slime" or "ecilote discharge?" The devs sure had their fun with the crafting system. For my part, I'd much rather toil away in a mine with a pickaxe, extracting ore from the bedrock, than to scrape slime off whatever the hell "leafmunchers" were, or follow ecilots around with a scoop, waiting for them to discharge the required reagent. I couldn't help but physically shudder at the mental image, and my resolve to avoid alchemy at all costs became unshakable. That settled it. As soon as I found myself in a starting city of any friendly race, I would head on over to the miners to learn their craft. Let alchemists gather all the slime and discharge their hearts desire—I'd rather just buy the fruits of their labors sealed in vials and be done with it.

I threw three stat points into constitution—my damage output was already decent, and 30 extra HP never hurt anyone. Talent points, likewise with my class bonus to spirit and intellect, weren't going to kick in till level 83. This new and rather hardcore development had been introduced with the latest patch by RP-17 Sage, an AI that must have either become self-aware or totally lost its proverbial marbles. It was anybody's guess at to what its motives were to implement a 20% reduction in levels upon a character's death. Perhaps it was a response to the people pulled into the game world essentially being granted immortality, intended as a check on their unbridled development. At any rate, there was little I could do but make lemonade, albeit with virtual lemons—the lost spirit and intellect points were going to into strength and constitution instead. This was rather curious—my spirit and intellect were sitting at 72 points each, and the class bonus wouldn't kick in until level 83. In theory, were I to level down by dying repeatedly to 30—the lowest possible level—I should be able to get rid of the useless stats and recycle them into strength and constitution. Of course, I wasn't planning on dying anymore—once was more than enough.

I surveyed the space contemplatively, making sure I'd collected everything. Now what if... I walked over to the skulls by the wall and picked up one. Externally, the skull was identical to those I needed to hand in for my quest. Oh, what the hell—I tossed all the skulls from the pile into my bag, then returned to the previous grotto and did the same. Some I even had to break out of the hardened lime. It was nice to have a virtually bottomless bag, limited only by my carrying capacity. The lifeless heads folded neatly into stacks of fifty, and didn't take up much space at all. Some sticklers might call it cheating, but I didn't give a rat's ass about such conventions. At two pounds each, five hundred thirty six skulls weighed one thousand sixty two pounds total, while my strength, boosted by the potion of possibilities, currently allowed me to carry two thousand forty four pounds—two pounds for every point of strength. Therefore, even accounting for all the junk collected from the dead skeletons and the weight of my own gear, I could still stash roughly five hundred pounds of pure weight into my bag. Captain Neyl should be ecstatic to see such an epic pile unloaded at his feet. But let's shelf my heroic return to Urcahnta for later, though I allowed myself a chuckle at the mental image of my entering the village riding a white steed, a marching band celebrating my triumphant return, grateful villagers throwing bouquets of flowers at the horse's feet, and pretty village girls shooting enamored come-hither looks my way. Then again, if memory served me right, the only girls in the village were the elder's two daughters—hook-nosed and thin as rakes. I smiled, maybe for the first time today. All right, enough with the comic relief. This wasn't what I came here for. Sure, saving the villagers from an undead blight was a noble endeavor, but I had my own ulterior motives that currently lay beyond the gray haze of a portal door in the laboratory of a twice-croaked alchemist.

No additional skeleton packs were spawning, so I walked up to the portal and produced the vial given to me by the mysterious messenger of Hart, the God of Thieves. The powder in the vessel resembled your typical manganese—the ubiquitous remedy from the days of the Soviet empire that, according to grandmother's stories, was sold on every corner in glass jars just like this one. Similar though it seemed, I wasn't going to handle the substance with bare hands—indeed, better safe than sorry. After loosening the cork, I tossed the powder from the vial into the oval-shaped window in a single motion.

ERROR@#$*&^

I hadn't seen a system message since the time when a certain scumbag was creating my character. But then nothing really happened, aside from the portal window growing noticeably darker. It worked! I grunted, then took a swig from the flask to bolster my resolve—it was the local moonshine, around 80 proof—and stepped through the dark gray rippling screen.

"Motherf..." I couldn't help but blurt out when I saw my new surroundings. Now, sure, I half-expected to see something similar, but it's one thing to expect and another thing to behold it firsthand. I was standing on a stone platform about six feet off the ground, with a small rock formation rising over my shoulder. To the fore, as far as the eye could see stretched a dreary, drab plain, carved from the right side by a colossal rift, its far end shrouded by smoky gray clouds. The ground—featureless save for sparse scatterings of sickly saplings and underbrush—was fully blanketed with billowing murky-white mist, all the way to a dark mountain ridge abutting the horizon. The full moon overhead illuminated the occasional animal carcass, mostly of the larger variety. On the ground directly below the ledge I was standing on rested the remains of three humanoids, half-shrouded in mist. There might have been more, but I only registered three heads. Gnawed shinbones, broken skulls, and ribs scattered all over the place painted a vivid picture—the cause of death probably wasn't the flu.

A road meandered through this desolation some two hundred yards away, ending at the ruined gate of what must have been a massive citadel. The once mighty stronghold could hardly even be called ruins anymore—more like a huge heap of rubble enclosed by crumbling stone walls.

Tall figures clothed in dark cassocks were moving along either side of the road in somber silence—some solitary and some in small groups. Each head covered with a hood, each shoulder bearing a scythe that glinted in the moonlight. They would halt periodically, as if to pick some things off the ground, and then would continue their journey. Sometimes their path would cross the road leading to the citadel. "Reaping, level 378"—I read the legend above one of the figures, and cussed once more. "Gray Frontier, Weeping Valley, Jort Stronghold Outskirts, zone level 370-390"—the chat log declared.

I spun around and let out a sigh of relief—the portal wasn't going anywhere. If it does disappear, there's no way I'm getting out of here, I thought to myself, zeroing in on my purpose here. Leeque didn't lie—the vault was visible even from here. But upon examining where it was located, I cussed for the third time in the last five minutes. The dark cubic space, its edges glowing softly, hovered right over the rift at the edge of which once stood the citadel. A trail ran from it to the lip of the rift—lacking a railing but emitting a faint blue light, it looked like a thin thread from where I was standing. It was hard to imagine how I would traverse it, but that was a problem for another time. I would need to get there first, and I wasn't going to make it on my own.

Hopping off from the stone platform to the ground, I cleared a small patch by simply kicking the old bones to the side. I felt zero reverence for the remains of the humanoids, and zero curiosity as to who or what had devoured them or what race they belonged to. My own immediate problems overshadowed just about everything else.

Leeque's scroll bore a basic pentagram, and though I was no longer in the physical body that made a living as an illustrator, my drawing skill seemed to transfer into the game. It therefore took me only a few minutes to depict the required image on the ground. Without a size guide to orient by, I instinctively drew the pentagram so as to be outside of it the moment I commenced with the final summoning phase. It was better to play it safe with all this magic business—you never know when something might explode prematurely, or maybe the wrong creature might appear instead of the one being summoned. Have fun explaining then that you're just an innocent bystander, and that the actual summoner "went that way."

I put the rock given to me by the demon into the center of the drawing. Then, following Leeque's instructions, I poured the powder from the box on top and quickly retracted my hand. Nothing happened for the first several moments, but then I felt the earth move under my feet. The lines of the drawing flared with a blinding white light and disappeared. A lightning bolt struck the ground a hundred feet away, followed by another, and another... As the lightning kept striking, the earth kept shaking, and I struggled to stay on my feet. The smell of ozone was overwhelming. Shielding my eyes from the dazzling light, I waited for the creature Leeque had referred to as his kinsman to appear.

Suddenly everything died down, and eight massive figures stepped out of the billowing dust raised by the lightning bolts. They were clad in suits of golden armor, the kind worn by warriors in Ancient Greece, and were led by a long-haired, six-foot-six behemoth of a man with the mug of an actor who played the role of Conan the Barbarian back in the XX century. Only, in contrast to the moronic filmmakers who had Conan running around the world with a naked torso, this one was covered head to toe in plate, and looked far more formidable than his Hollywood prototype with his black-as-tar hair tied with a leather band, an enormous two-handed mallet crackling with electrical energy, and a golden Corinthian helm in his hand.

His companions were nearly as imposing as their commander: one male orc and one female, a pair of dwarves that looked to be twins, a tall dark-skinned elven female and two humans, a man and a woman. All were melee fighters, all armed to the teeth and clad in a mix of plate and chainmail. The names and levels of the new arrivals were hidden, but I had an inkling that the Reapings, who had been gathering hell knows what while blocking the way to the vault of the Twice Cursed God, would surely feign innocence and pretend to be harmless mushroomers at the mere sight of this group.

Keeping total silence, the black-haired giant looked left, then right, eventually stopping the wrathful gaze of his deep blue eyes on my humble person.

Attention! You have garnered the attention of a higher being. Ingvar the Warrior God is unfriendly to you.

Crap! the thought flashed in my head. The next moment Ingvar appeared next to me in one fluid motion, his helm and mallet gone from his grasp. The earth jerked from under my feet as the deity grabbed me by the belt with one hand and squeezed my neck with the other. My health bar dropped by one third—so strong was his grip on my neck that I struggled to breathe.

"I trust you understand, thiefling, that your death will not be easy?" he roared into my face, then swirled his head as if considering where to throw me.

What in the seven hells was this?! Why was it that every scuzzy freak I came across would first act from the position of strength?! Rage washed over me. Sure, I knew that my chances against this bastard were no higher than of an ant against a forest fire—indeed, the deity could break my neck with the subtlest movement of his fingers. And I really, really didn't want to go through the whole resurrection process, level losses and all. And yet, I just couldn't help myself. Grabbing the hand that was choking me, I swung my torso backwards and kicked Ingvar square in the chest with both feet. My belt broke under the pressure, sending vials flying all around; a moment later I landed as well—rather painfully—on my posterior.

I leaped back to my feet, my sword leaving its sheath with a smoosh.

"You can kill me, you ape," I hissed at him like a snake, my left arm bearing a shield, the tip of my sword pointing right at the deity. "You can kill me all you want, but then you will never see your wife's diadem. And I'm no thiefling to you—call me 'master mage!'"

An imperceptible motion knocked me right back down to the ground, my sword flying aside and my health bar plummeting to less than thirty percent. Fighting through unbearable pain, I struggled back to my feet and put the shield back in front of me.

Attention! You have once more garnered the attention of a higher being. Ingvar the Warrior God is intrigued by you.

"The cub's balls are dropping?" the god's voice dripped with irony as he sized me up with his deep blue eyes. "You look like a mage no more than Leede looks like a streetwalker," he chuckled. The dark elf female standing behind him—bearing a diagonal scar on her right cheek, and armed with twin sabers radiating a green mist—gave me a skeptical lookover, as if pondering her likeness to a common whore. Seemingly pleased with her assessment, she crinkled her nose in disgust and turned away. "But you don't much look like a thief, either. Now, what were you saying about a diadem?"

Ingvar nodded at the human female. With a subtle motion of the wrist, the woman fully restored my HP. A warrior cleric? That's new. The heavy two-handed sword resting on her shoulder looked nothing like your typical priest staff. As the cool wave of healing washed over me, my rage abated along with the pain.

"Your kinsman insisted that if I summoned you, you would help me get to the vault," I grumbled. Paying no mind to Ingvar's companions' curious glances, I picked up my sword and set about gathering all the scattered vials off the ground. "It was him who gave me the reagents for the summoning, and mentioned that you would want the diadem."

Looking over my poor belt whose durability displayed a big fat zero, I sighed and stuffed it in my bag, along with the vials. Then I looked up at the deity.

"You can see what's hidden behind the Nameless' seal? You can see the vault?"

"There it is, hanging over the chasm," I gestured at the hovering box. "I don't know if I can enter it, but Leeque seemed to be certain of it."

"Leeque?"

"The one who gave me the reagents to summon you."

"That's my brother all right—that old fox always gets others to do his dirty work," said the black-haired giant with a smirk. "But if he's certain of something, you can bet it's true."

You've accessed the quest: Returning the Diadem.

Quest type: unique.

Bring Loaetia's Diadem to Ingvar the Warrior God.

Reward: experience, unknown.

"So you will take me to the edge of the cliff?" I asked after accepting the quest.

"Aye," Ingvar nodded. "We know the way—this ain't our first rodeo. I never thought I'd be back here. Well, let's finish what we started," the mallet crackling with electricity reappeared in the warrior god's hands. "Stick with Ulissa," he shot over his shoulder and, nodding to his companions, started toward the ramshackle citadel.

Somehow I had thought that gods in this world would look somewhat different. After all, they were the all-powerful beings in the game, and none should rival their might. And yet... when you see a higher being that looks exactly like an ordinary human, the stereotype cracks, if not shatters entirely. Most raid bosses in the game, though far less powerful than the warrior god, were many times his size, with some reaching truly inconceivable proportions. Then again, every god probably had some kind of special form of their own, transforming into some colossal monstrosity when needed.

In the meantime, Ingvar's companions had spread out some, following their commander in a strategic semicircle, like on a hunt. Bringing up the rear was the fair-haired human woman with an athletic figure and penetrating blue eyes. Turning to me, she winked and made an inviting gesture.

"Fear not, handsome. Stay behind me, and you won't get hurt," she said with a smile in a voice that was surprisingly pleasant for her build.

Ulissa's short cloak swayed in the breeze, and I couldn't help but stare at her firm rear end that made her heavy chainmail skirt, reinforced with metal sheets, look like a pair of short summer shorts. The heavy two-handed sword seemed tailor-made for the woman's shoulder, and the way she moved—with the grace of a large predacious feline—I found myself unwittingly admiring the warrior maiden. Take that massive two-hander away and her image would seem incomplete. I pictured to myself the young woman standing before a mirror, choosing precisely the sword that would match the design of her armor, and chuckled. Most women picked out purses to match their shoes, but hey—to each their own.

There was the sound of numerous dull chopping blows—the warriors had engaged in combat. Then again, calling the engagement "combat" was a real stretch, as the Reapings crumpled to the ground after two-three strikes, often without countering even once. The acoustics here were really odd—Ingvar and his group were cutting down the Reapings some fifty yards away, but the sound made the battle seem as if it were happening right in front of us. Perhaps it was the three-foot high layer of mist blanketing the ground? Ulissa was staying out of the fight, gazing around herself with a bored expression—she hadn't even bothered equipping her helm. So much wasted XP... I thought woefully, watching Ingvar's companions demolish level 380 Reapings. The loot was just an unavailable to me as the experience. When I nonetheless tried to touch one pile of bones in the warriors' wake, I was swiftly reprimanded by a pop-up system message—alas, the game was unimpressed with my clever attempt at scavenging.

"Was it you who laid waste to the stronghold?" I asked my guide, motioning toward the ruins—we were no more than three hundred yards away at this point.

"Aye," the woman nodded. "But the bastard still slipped through our fingers. Lately that tow-headed son of a whore has been making enemies left and right. All it took was twenty catapults and a two-week siege. Now, his main fortress would take some effort... If only we could find it," she concluded with a sigh. I walked in silence for a while, trying to imagine the catapults that had managed to wreak this kind of destruction.

Meanwhile, the moon had vanished entirely behind the clouds, and it had gotten considerably cooler. Nobody tried to enter through the ruined gates—the warriors simply kept moving past the crumbled walls.

"You're a lucky guy, you know that?" Ulissa broke the prolonged silence. "I was pretty shocked Ingvar didn't kill you. Can you guess who it was that stole his wife's crown and passed it to Vill?"

I had already been suspecting as much, so the question didn't really surprise me. The gods had their own affairs, it ess usually best for mortals not to meddle in them. Alas, I was never given that choice.

Chapter 2

The far edge of the rift was hidden by the gray mist. The goal was right there before me, no more than three hundred yards away, but those yards would need to be traversed over a narrow path woven of some unknown substance, overlooking a chasm whose bottom was cloaked in impenetrable darkness. A warm air was rising from the bowels of the gargantuan crack that smelled of cinders and ash. With the moon fully obscured by the clouds, the blue glow illuminating the trail as it extended past the cliff at an upward slant appeared even more illusory.

I had always been scared of heights. Back when I was twelve years old, I bet a friend that I could jump into a pool from a thirty-foot diving board. The wager was witnessed by a girl that I had a crazy crush on at the time, so losing was never an option. Courage is often the consequence of not wanting to look cowardly in others' eyes. Back then, twenty years ago, I learned one thing for sure—just take the first step. It doesn't matter if you're on a diving board or at the edge of a cliff—just take that first step toward your fear. I removed my helm, looked back at my companions who were watching me carefully, winked at Ulissa, and stepped onto the trail woven of the translucent blue mist...

It took me no more than three minutes to reach the vault. The cubic space hovering in the air had neither doors nor windows. I reached out and touched the gray wall—the material felt odd to the touch, but somehow similar to plastic. Now, how the hell was I supposed to get inside? I removed my right gauntlet and scratched my head in confusion. There must be a way in! I tried knocking on the wall, but my hand ended up falling right through—exactly to the point where a steel bracer covered my forearm. That explained it! The armor belonged to this world, and I was but a puny bug. Therefore, all I had to do was undress and walk right in.

I gazed at the dark abyss yawning underfoot and let out a heavy sigh. If anything went wrong, the fall would be long, and losing all my equipment would certainly sting. The hell with it—I had no other options anyway! If the trail held my weight, it would hold my stuff. I took off my bag and put it down carefully. Then I removed my armor and clothes, and put it all away in my inventory. I paused for a moment, then tossed my loincloth in as well. Shivering from the cold, I stepped inside the vault.

And found myself in a room, its walls radiating a soft jade luminescence. The glowing trail underneath ran across the center—a single misstep would mean an express ticket to the Urcahnta graveyard. I'd spotted what I was after right away—Loaetia's diadem and the Star of Hittara rested on a shelf by the right wall, amid other things whose purpose I couldn't quite ascertain: a scrap of some animal's hide bearing a strange symbol that looked like a Chinese hieroglyph, inscribed with what looked suspiciously like blood; a ball of twine on a bone spool; a strange phosphorescent fluid the color of violet in a transparent flask; a piece of light metal engraved with tiny lettering; a broken knife with a wooden handle; and a yellowed skull of an unknown animal. I couldn't begin to fathom the purpose of all these things. I picked them up one by one, examining their attributes carefully, but none of them gave me any quests—hell, even the items' names were hidden from me. My intuition was screaming that the vault of the god of tortuous death couldn't possibly contain any random junk. The problem was that my bag had remained outside, and I could only carry one item in each hand in addition to wearing something aroun my neck—this world operated by the game's rules, and, alas, I couldn't just gather it all up in my arms.

There was a perceptible rise in temperature. Damn, it was time to split! I grabbed the Star of Hittara, which was a large ruby on a silver chain—your typical quest item without any stats—and hung it around my neck. My right hand was awarded Loaetia's diadem, and my left a tiara set with a huge emerald and myriad small gems after briefly glancing at the item's stats.

Loaetia's Diadem

Head; leather.

Durability: 15,785/20,000.

Epic item from the goddess Loaetia's set.

Minimum level: 600.

Armor: 600.

+500 to intellect,

+300 to spirit,

+400 to constitution,

+50% to all healing spells,

+5% to critical effect of healing spells.

Weight: 2 lbs.

Part of Loaetia the Blessed's armor set.

Great! Yet another nuclear bomb in the hands of an ape. Level 600—that was incredible! What level was the goddess herself? I suddenly found myself struggling to breathe, as the walls' luminescence switched from green to yellow. Traffic lights, even here, the thought flashed through my mind. Without thinking twice, I snatched the piece of metal with the lettering with my free left hand and... fell into darkness.

A full moon hung in the sky. Rickety shutters croaked in the wind as it swept scraps of paper and various materials across the cobblestones, carrying scents of rot and decay... I was sitting in the center of a small square space, leaning against the cracked pedestal of some statue of which only the feet remained.

I'd come to about five minutes ago, wearing strange armor and wielding a dark blade. My character menu was inactive, so I could see neither my own stats nor that of my equipment. In my bag was a noob flask of water and four crackers; my belt was totally empty and without a single pocket. The zone was called "The Warped Loop," and its level range was 66-67. Well, at least it wasn't 370+...

The city around me was dead. Dilapidated wooden houses gaping with hollowed windows, rusty streetlight poles hunched like old men, holes in the pavement with cobblestones scattered all over. The house across had a wagon parked next to it, the wood decaying seemingly in real time. The square branched out in four directions, the streets teeming with packs of undead: skeletons, zombies, ghouls, vampires and the like.

And how do I fit in? I thought, rising to my feet. There was no point in continuing to sit there; besides, my back was starting to ache. I wasn't going to catch a cold or anything, but neither was I making it out of this jam alive. I knew all this divine questing business was a bad idea. Oh well, no use crying now—at least I have some equipment on me. Let's look around this place, I thought with a shrug, then started toward the wagon remains.

When I made it to within five-six feet of the rotting frame, three huge rats popped out from under it, startling me. Inside the actual wagon lay a mostly devoured, decomposing corpse of a cow. How did the cow end up here? What possessed it to climb into the wagon? Why hadn't it turned into a skeleton yet? These were valid questions, but I really didn't feel like looking for the answers. Besides the cow there was a broad axe, a broken bottle and two rotten and hole-ridden sacks with some kind of dark mass inside.

Frowning from the stench, I walked around the wagon, my shield held in front and my blade at the ready, then walked into the door frame of the nearest two-story house. It was in total ruin. The first floor was littered with overturned dressers and chairs, and shards of clay dishes; leaning against the wall, next to a fireplace filled with bricks, was a bent cast-iron poker. Upon ascending a creaking winding staircase and startling a dozen or so bats that had made a home there, I squashed some nasty millipede with the sole of my boot, and at that moment realized that there was nothing here that may be of interest to me.

The ambiance resembled some B-rated horror flick, the kind they used to film in the last century. Such movies would often show some old cabin deep in the woods, its walls lined with heads of various animals, candlesticks filled with molten wax, and a pentagram drawn in blood across the floor. Oh, and a disfigured children's doll—that was another staple. And in nearly every case, a cellar filled with zombies or the walking dead thirsting for human blood... Or brains... Or some such nonsense.

Disfigured doll—check. The ugly little thing of yellow clay in decaying fabric was found on the second floor, back leaning against the wall. I snorted derisively and shook my head, but decided against checking the cellar—the fiends walking the streets were quite enough for me, thank you very much. One thing that hurt was not having access to the menu—I was stuck with only those skills I'd put on the action bar, and unable to enchant my weapon to boot, which cut my damage output by almost fifteen percent.

Further disconcerting was the fact that I had no idea where I was. Then there was this Nameless creature whose seal had apparently been used to seal the vault of the god of tortious dearth.  What was it with these stupid seals, anyway? The seal of Bel, the seal of the Nameless... I doubted the Nameless was RP-17 himself, since that one had, you know, a name! More likely, it was one of the game's many unfinished projects. I couldn't begin to try and count them all! Some had been abandoned by the devs, others had been blocked by the governing AI itself. Could it be one of those game pockets? Or was it something else? Alas, I wasn't a programmer. But the absolute worst thing was that I couldn't shake the nasty feeling that if I died here, I wasn't going to respawn at any graveyard in Urcahnta. Or anywhere at all, for that matter...

The search of three more identical houses on the same square turned out equally fruitless. Well, when you've got nothing to do, do something, I thought with a shrug. I stood still for a moment, trying to listen to my inner voice. Unfortunately, it was either silent or asleep. Oh well, when you don't know where to go, go north!

The first pack comprised two skeletons, one of them a mage, and two ghouls that looked like a pair of orangutans. Truly, the game's illustrators didn't want for imagination. I remembered the joke about a student who got an F in art class for drawing an alien because his teacher claimed aliens didn't look like that. Since no one had ever seen a ghoul in real life, you might as well take a large ape, draw it like a rotting corpse, add some fangs and claws, and voila—a perfectly fine ghoul. And for anyone too stupid to realize what they're looking at, there was the legend right above the mob's head.

My combat tactic hadn't changed: I bound the two ghouls and a skeleton with the one-handed sword to the ground with Earth Shackles, and cast Silence on the mage. Dodging the bonehead's staff as he rushed me, I struck back with Ice Blade. I landed two more blows before the skeleton could follow up—one down. Then I retreated inside the nearest house to create a choke point for the enemy. The first to appear in the doorframe was one of the two orangutans. I opened up with Ice Blade, then blocked the mob's sharp-clawed paw. Holding my breath against the stench, I executed a combination of Tongue of Flame and Ice Blade. Another block and two more outgoing attacks. Wheezing out a cloudlet of poison, the walking corpse collapsed to the floor, forcing me back into the house to keep from breathing in the noxious fumes.

What idiot drew these houses?! While the ceiling at the entrance was over six feet high, allowing for execution of chopping attacks, for some reason it was lower deeper in, restricting my arsenal to piercing attacks only. Thankfully, that had no impact on the damage dealt.

Tripping over his fallen comrade, the second ghoul exposed its sore-ridden side, and I wasted no time plunging my blade into it. Freeze procced, and I proceeded to finish off the immobilized foe, ignoring the skeleton's attacks. When the second ghoul dropped, I slipped out of the house, creating a tactical gap. My HP had gone down by about a third—my shoulder ached, but the pain was bearable.

I waited for the skeleton to run up to me, then settled into my usual rotation: Ice Blade, block, Tongue of Flame... Before long the skeleton crumbled down to the ground. Whoa, what the hell? Suddenly there were yellow digits in front of me: 29:58:14, 29:58:13... It was a countdown of some kind that seemed to have been activated by my first attack. What was it about? I looked at my quest log—no changes. Did I need to get somewhere before the time ran out? Was everything going to disappear in thirty hours, and I would end up in Arkon? I doubted it was the latter—that would be too simple. I pondered the matter as I checked the mobs' corpses, but none of them dropped any loot.

That was strange as well, but I'd better keep going. The ticking time weighed on my psyche, pushing me onward. The armor feels just like before. The sword is a bit worse, but the mobs are closer to my level, so they drop even faster than in Ghorazm Ruins. What stings is that I don't have any healing potions, so I need to be extra careful. With those thoughts, I got into attack range of the next pack. Keep 'em coming...

The streets were indistinguishable from one another. The houses fused together into long stretches of wood and stone, broken by squares, fountains and crumbling statues. The city was as endless as the night. As if nailed to the sky, the moon had no intention of leaving the sky, even as it hid behind the occasional cloud. Skeletons, zombies, ghouls... Sometimes I came across patrols; in those instances, I had no choice but wait. Wait and lose time.

I'd lost count of all the undead specimen I dispatched to the world beyond. But if anyone did keep score, surely they would offer me honorary membership in some paladin's guild upon my return to Karn. An offer I would reject without a second thought—all those "warriors of light" were always a bit too fanatical for my liking. I surrendered to the monotony of undead slaughter, happy for the distraction from the ticking time. At first I was even searching the nearby houses, but after about twenty I realized it was useless. There wasn't anything there but broken furniture and trash, rotting corpses and those same unsettling clay dolls. "What a freak show!" I remembered Alyona yelping whenever anyone tried presenting the child with similar handiwork of the local puppeteers—the memory kept a smile on my face for a good ten minutes. I thought for a moment, then snatched up one of the dolls. The androgynous creature looked to be made of porcelain—a favorable distinction from its clay brethren, even if it made the doll look quite a bit more scary. Roughly twenty inches tall, the doll had glass eyes of bright green with black irises, flame-red hair, and an outfit that had kept surprisingly well. Why had I brought the foul thing with me again? I didn't know anymore—to keep myself occupied, maybe?

You have gained a level! Current level: 67.

The promotion happened as I was standing over the remains of one of countless butchered packs, in the middle of an nondescript alley. That's odd, I thought. When I leveled to sixty six, the system log informed me about a restored level. Where are the stat points? And where is the increase to spirit and intellect? I was getting pretty tired of all these puzzles—too tired even to cuss about it out loud. My ruminations were broken by a screeching sound, as the door in a one-story roofless stone house to my right slowly opened, revealing a portal window shimmering blue. Hot damn, finally! I sighed with relief. With a glance at the stopped clock, I wasted no time in leaving this dreadful place.

I was in a large, square room. The platform at the center looked like a chessboard with black and yellow squares. The gray ceiling was cracked, and had even collapsed in several places. The walls were decorated with bas-reliefs in exotic patterns. In each corner of the makeshift chessboard of one hundred squares stood four identical marble figures in cassocks.

There were also chests in the room—I counted one hundred of them. Made of brown wood and sheeted with metal, they all looked absolutely identical. None had keyholes or any kind of handles. I walked around the chessboard but didn't get on it yet, still suspicious of what that might entail. Well, now what? Realizing the futility of my attempts to get at the contents of the chests, I simply sat on top of one. What could possibly be inside? Epic weapons and armor? An explosive that would blow everything to hell? A way out, back into that box above the chasm?

There were one hundred squares on the board, matching the number of chests. Was I supposed to drag them onto the board? Or to arrange them in a specific way? How I detested these mental puzzles! I got up and proceeded to carefully examine the walls, and the figures in the corners of the board, searching for any kind of clue. But it was useless! The figures gave me nothing, and the writing on the walls was nonsensical—just a mishmash of straight and wavy lines. The chests weren't movable either, at least not with my strength coefficient. My gut was still telling me not to get on the board, but it was starting to seem inevitable.

Treading carefully and keeping my shield and weapon at the ready, I crossed the platform from one end to another... Nothing happened. I then zigzagged across all the squares—nothing again. I paused at the edge of the platform, considering my next route, when suddenly my feet were rooted to the floor. A moment of panic, and then... nothing again. But no, orange sparks were now running over the lids of the chests.

Now, where should I begin? I chose the closest one to me, resolved to face whatever came next. I snapped open the lid and... blackness. Again.

Dampness. The smell of fish mixed with that of rotting seaweed. The wall at my back—lined with moss and some kind of fungi—had a large crack running through it, with water flowing from there onto the slabs, streaming down the marble steps, into a wide passageway illuminated by magic lanterns. I was dying of thirst—all the running around the dead city had left its mark. I was wearing swamp-colored armor and wielding a falchion. My inventory contained the standard flask of water, four crackers and the freaky doll from the dead city. The zone's name hadn't changed, but the level range had risen by one. Down at the foot of a long marble stairwell, a pack of four local mobs waited for me.

With upper torsos that were entirely human, from the waist down they turned into massive serpentine tails. The naga. There were three males in chainmail wielding tridents, and a female in the back in a headdress resembling a koloshnik, her lady parts covered with a leather chestguard, and armed with a two-handed staff like any proper mage. Evidently, these were the ruins of some drowned temple. They can wait, I dismissed the welcoming committee with a wave of the hand, and made my way to one of the few dry areas by the wall. For want of a cloak, I stretched out right there on the marble slabs, and fell into a deep sleep.

The blood of the locals was light pink in color—fish was still fish, after all, whether real or virtual. The countdown began right as I engaged the first pack of snake people, while the time to level was reduced by ten minutes—hardly a big deal. I had completed the dead city without rushing in twenty five and a half hours. Sure, I'd started with about a quarter-full XP bar, but I'd also wasted tons of time searching houses, so I wasn't worried at all. The naga proved to be just as dense as the skeletons. Earth Shackles on the melee, Silence on the mage—and this new pack was dispatched with equal ease as their undead counterparts.

My understanding was that one of the chests on the chessboard contained something, and it was my task to get my hands on this "something." The point of the chessboard was still lost on me, though—could there be a connection between the square you stood on and a particular chest? I made a note to test that hypothesis when I got back there, which would be in several hours. At least I don't need to worry about bosses, I thought, then scolded myself for fear of a jinx.

A few times my life hung by a thread. After a few patrols had crawled out of some hole, catching me by surprise, I'd begun erring on the side of caution. Oftentimes I had to wade through waist-high water, when escaping from the snake people wasn't an option—even if I Jumped twenty yards away, the warriors could easily intercept me with a Charge, and stun me for several seconds to boot. But I was still kicking, with more than fifteen hundred butchered beasts in my wake.

Who had conceived this idiotic drowned temple anyway? A place like this could never exist in reality, but then drawing and building were two very different things. Still, it had to have taken more than one artist to design all these walls with their paintings and bas-reliefs, let alone the grottoes, statues and columns. On the other hand, the same could probably be accomplished by a not particularly cutting-edge AI.

You have gained a level! Current level: 68.

The section of the wall bearing the image of a two-headed warty toad slid sideways with a screech, opening the door to the next stage of this senseless journey.

The room with the platform sectioned into squares hadn't changed. The same four dunces in cassocks stood on the edges, the same strange symbols decorated the walls. The only difference was, the chest I had opened the last time around was gone. 99 bottles of beer on the wall! I recalled the old folk song. The trick now was to keep my sanity as I toiled to level 166. Considering my rotten luck with loot drops, I wouldn't find the thing I needed until the very last chest.

I took some time to try and find a connection between the chests in the room and the chessboard, but ultimately gave up—either there was no connection or I was an incredibly dense individual. For want for a better option, I picked a square that "spoke" to me, got on it and paused. Like before, my feet grew stuck to the floor, but this time there was a foul crackling noise, as a black square two spaces away burst in a black blaze and vanished.

As soon as my feet were mine again, I quickly left the platform. Then I took a seat on the edge of the base of one of the statues, in no rush to open the next chest. Overwhelmed with emotions, I unleashed the foulest, most disgusting string of obscenities I could muster; and then another one, this time on the top of my lungs. So this was the point of this goddamned stupid game?! As I'd gathered, each failed attempt with the chests would increase the number of burning squares on the board. I looked at the chessboard with unbridled hatred, though it was back to looking as it was five minutes ago. How much of a douchebag did one have to be to design this crap?! Chill, I told myself, raging ain't going to get you anywhere. There's no alternative, so you might as well keep at it. I chose one of the farther chests and flipped it open. Hello darkness, my old friend...

A full moon shone in a star-studded sky. The wind carried aromas of pine and tar from the direction of the woods. The grass underfoot was soft and dense, like a thick Persian rug. I was sitting by a rock atop a tall hill, gazing down at a deserted village sprawling below. The graveyard at the foot of the hill—way too large for a village so small—was teeming with packs of undead that roved amid the crooked gravestones. A sudden lupine howling from the direction of the woods startled me. Wolves? Here? That would be new. I yawned, instinctively raising a hand in a plate gauntlet to my mouth, also already covered with a closed visor—I was once again wearing a new suit of armor. Oh, screw you all! I stretched out comfortably on the grass, feasting my eyes on the infinite patterns of stars above. I wonder if Ingvar is still waiting for me with the diadem... How long have I been here? It had to have been two full days already. But I suppose gods aren't so pressed for time, so let him wait... And with that thought, I let the world around me grow dark.

You have gained a level! Current level: 69.

The crackle of two squares in the floor bursting into flames, and the familiar blackness after opening another chest...

……………………………………………………..

You have gained a level! Current level: 92.

A quarter of the chessboard collapsed into the void, with one square vanishing right next to my feet.

Sometimes I'd sit there for hours, searching for the resolve to climb up on that chessboard. But, as always, rage would prevail over weakness, and I would reenter the vicious circle designed by some moral degenerate. Castle ruins, ancient cities, dark and dreary woods, wastelands and prairies... Skeletons, zombies, goblins, naga, worgen...

To say that I was tired would be saying nothing at all. Sometimes I would spend hours upon waking just sitting there, watching the mobs roaming to and fro. But common sense would invariably prevail, spurring me ever onward.

You have gained a level! Current level: 127.

More than half the floor disappeared in a black explosion. I watched the blackness around me listlessly—sixty levels and counting... I'd been lucky, I thought as I lowered myself on the reappeared floor sections. And not so lucky, looking at the remaining forty chests. Sometimes I would grab the porcelain doll, sit the ugly thing across from me and talk to it. The doll's name was Dodo. Whether it was a boy or a girl, I didn't know, nor did it matter. I would share with the doll the story of how I had ended up in the game, and that somewhere out there my sister was waiting for me, for I was all she had left in the world. Sometimes the doll would appear to nod back at me, and for a moment it wouldn't seem quite so ugly.

Completing stages had become progressively harder, as the time limit was reduced by ten minutes each time. I moved as if on autopilot: Ice Blade, Tongue of Flame, Shield of the Elements, Jump, Step through Darkness... I almost didn't feel pain anymore, even when my health bar dropped below half. I was sustained by only two feelings: fury and hatred for the scumbag who had devised this torture, and anger at myself for going along with it.

You have gained a level! Current level: 131.

"Just a little bit more, just a little bit," I whispered to myself, leaning back against a marble statue, finishing off the flask with water the taste of rust. The final stage proved to be the most difficult. Caves with spiders... The beasts kept spitting web, slowing down my movement through those narrow subterranean burrows. The cramped spaces made it impossible to execute chopping attacks, and breathing was difficult—I'd managed to level with less than a minute left, and dived into the portal that had materialized in the dirt wall. A few times I'd caught myself pausing, wondering what might happen if I let the time run out? But I'd fought back those thoughts, knowing that I could always test that theory at a later time. Moreover, if I did test it, more likely it wouldn't be of my own volition.

I woke up, and didn't immediately realize where I was. Oh right, the chessboard and the marble moron's figure behind me. Once, after completing yet another stage, I'd lost it a little, unleashing a flurry of attacks on the statues, but my sword had simply glanced off them, leaving no mark. My flask empty of water, I got up on my feet and stared blankly at the bloody chests remaining in the room, all thirty six of them. "Eeny, meeny, miny, moe..." I recalled Alyona's favorite counting rhyme from childhood. Then I walked over and opened the chest on which the rhyme concluded.

A heatwave washed over me, as the familiar room exploded with flickering orange lights! Holding Loaetia's diadem and the porcelain doll in my hands, I leaped out of the vault. A pleasant cool enwrapped my body. Tossing the items in my bag, I hurriedly pulled on my clothes. There came a suspicious crackling at my back, as I equipped my armor with the swiftness of a soldier awoken in the middle of the night by an alarm. Leaving the helm in my bag, I gunned in the direction of the rift, forgetting all about my fear of heights.

Made it! Mere seconds after my feet had the found firm surface, there was an explosion behind me. The stuffy air of the Gray Frontier tasted sweet after my sprint—such was the design when recovering vigor, similar to the real world after sprinting one hundred meters. With my breath stabilizing, I turned around to see that the vault was gone from the sky, along with the translucent trail that led to it.

Sons of bitches! Why the hell am I level 66 again?! Those two months back there nearly cost me my sanity, and it was all for nothing?! By sheer force of will I managed to calm myself. It couldn't have all been a dream. No way! Here's the doll I'd picked up on the second floor of that ramshackle house in the dead city! What's the deal?!

I inhaled deeply, and then again, cooling down. Then I turned around to face Ingvar and his companions. They're still here? Not a lot of time must have passed in Arkon since I'd gone in. But why are they all quiet and looking at me funny? I reached into my bag for the diadem. They can't know what happened to me... Or can they? Maybe it's the striptease I did back on the phantom path? Or the crazy yelp with which I flew out of that blasted vault? Nah, can't be. What, they never saw a naked dude before? Figuring that the answers to my questions could wait, I started toward Ingvar, the pebbles crunching under my plate boots. Upon reaching him, I held out the diadem.

"Here's your wife's headdress," my hoarse voice carried volume that took me by surprise.

"He's a modest one," chortled one of the dwarves, rising from a rock he'd been lounging on. "Here, take a swig. You've earned it."

I accepted the offer—a flat canteen with the capacity of a few quarts—thanked the dwarf with a nod and took a several big gulps. The fluid flew into my belly like a fireball. Seventy proof, no less, I noted to myself, then took a few more swigs and returned the vessel to its owner. After the stagnant, rusty water I'd been drinking, the dwarven tincture tasted heavenly. I allowed myself to savor the moment. The fanciest, priciest spirits I'd ever had paled in comparison. The drink caused a light buzzing in my head, and left a pleasant aftertaste of exotic herbs in my mouth.

"That's twice you've surprised me in one day, cub," Ingvar spoke slowly, looking up from the diadem in his hands, and peering into my eyes. "Not many could do what you did—step into nothingness without hesitation, and then make it back... I sense what you've been through, but it's behind you now..."

Your reputation has increased. Ingvar the Warrior God is friendly to you.

"Your belt is broken," he continued teasingly, squinting with one eye, then unbuckled his belt in one smooth movement. "Here, take this," he handed me his own plate belt.

It all happened so fast that, for a moment, I was afraid that Ingvar's pants would drop right down to his ankles. What's with these idiotic thoughts that keep popping into my head at all these solemn moments? I reproved myself, dismissing the mental image of the warrior god stumbling around with his bare buttocks. Only then, displaying all due care and reverence, I accepted my reward—a striking girdle, its elongated sheets of smooth black metal firmly secured to a chainmail frame. The massive rectangular buckle bore an engraving of an eagle, its wings spread majestically.

You've completed the quest: Returning the Diadem.

You have gained a level! Current level: 67.

You have 3 stat points to allocate.

You have gained a level! Current level: 68.

You have 6 stat points to allocate.

……………………………………………………………

You have gained a level! Current level: 82.

You have 48 stat points to allocate.

You have gained a level! Current level: 83.

You have 1 talent point to allocate.

Class bonus: +1 to intellect; +1 to spirit.

You have 51 stat points to allocate.

You received: Ingvar's Girdle of Valor.

……………………………………………………………………………………….

You have gained a level!

You have gained a level! Current level: 102.

You have 20 talent points to allocate.

Class bonus: +1 to intellect; +1 to spirit.

You have 108 stat points to allocate.

Well, then! Justice was restored, if only partially. I stood there, the dinging accompanying all the leveling music to my ears, examining the epic scalable item, and thinking that the torture might have been worth it, after all... Here it was, my payment for two months of grinding through endless zones in total solitude...

Ingvar's Girdle of Valor

Waist; plate.

Durability: 3689/4000.

Epic scalable. An item from the Ingvar's Valor set.

No minimum level.

Armor: 204.

+102 to strength,

+102 to constitution,

+5.1% to armor class,

+5.1% to physical damage.

Weight: 2 lbs.

From the armor set of Ingvar the Warrior God.

"Thank you," I nodded, raising my eyes at Ingvar. Then, with a heavy sigh, I added, "This is a great honor."

"Of course it is, 'master mage,' he snorted. "Stand still," he reached out and touched my face.

A terrible burning sensation shot across my cheek, as if someone had poked it with scalding metal; yet, my HP bar didn't move.

You have earned a new title, Knight-Lieutenant of the Order of Punishing Steel. Now you can command groups of up to 100 sentient NPCs. You and the warriors under your command receive 5% increase to your physical and magic damage, 5% to armor class and all resistances, and 5% to the effectiveness of healing spells. Experience gained by sentient beings under your command is increased by 5%.

You've earned an achievement, Marked by the Warrior God.

Your reputation has increased. Knights of the Order of Punishing Steel and certain other NPCs relate to you with respect.

There were immediate changes to my surroundings. The names of Ingvar's companions turned from yellow to green, and I could now see their levels. Even more interestingly, on the right side of each of their faces appeared some kind of symbols, likely a warrior tattoo indicating their rank in the Order. Ulissa's cheek bore a broken diagonal line, depicting a lightning bolt, while the orc—the highest in level of them all at 566—had two such bolts. I removed my gauntlet and checked my own cheek curiously—and then it finally hit me...

Holy cow—I had just been knighted! And I could now command a hundred NPCs—how freaking awesome was that?! Sure, no one was lining up to put a hundred NPCs under my command just yet, not without further achievements and reputation. But reputation would come in time; an ability such as this, however... this was something else. I'd never heard of the Order of Punishing Steel before—it would behoove me to read up on it in the wiki, brush up on its history and study its charter.

I equipped the girdle without any problems, as if it were tailor-made for me. Amazing!!! I hadn't a clue as to what the appropriate response would be in this situation, so I simply lowered my head, balled my right fist and pressed it to my heart, thanked Ingvar for the great honor he'd bestowed upon me, and vowed not to betray his trust. My speech came out lame and cheesy, but the warrior god appeared to have liked it.

"Keep growing strong, cub. I can tell you've got potential. As for my gift," he said, watching me carefully insert vials into the girdle's twelve slots, "the full armor set is lost, but you can try looking for it."

"How?! Where?!" I gave the smirking deity a searching look.

You've accessed the quest: Recovering the Armor.

Quest type: epic.

Find Jonathan the commander of the Order of Punishing Steel in Vaedarr and question him about Ingvar's lost armor.

Reward: experience.

If only I knew where Vaedarr was, I sighed, accepting the quest. What if... I was about to open my mouth and ask the burning question, but Ingvar forestalled me.

"You would need to journey to Vaedarr on your own," he shook his head, as if reading my mind. "Ulissa will escort you back to the portal. Farewell!" With a slap on the back, Ingvar disappeared in the blue pool of the open portal.

"Welcome to the Order, brother," the huge orc bared his teeth in a smile that looked more like a scowl. Then he smacked me on the shoulder and vanished after the commanding deity.

After being tossed around like a volleyball between the warriors congratulating me, eventually only the fair-hared warrior maiden and I remained on the chasm's edge.

"Shall we?" she gave me a expectant look. "My people are waiting for me." Seeing a silent question in my eyes, she clarified, "We were in the middle of dinner. The first time in probably centuries we'd had time to actually sit down and eat in peace, but then you up and summoned us. Bel and Ingvar have some kind of an agreement, so we couldn't just ignore it. I don't know what exactly they've got going on, and I don't really care."

"How long were you waiting for me?" I fished a sandwich from my bag and took a hearty bite. My head was still buzzing, making the dreary scenery actually seem kind of pleasant. And the woman before me—why, she looked like a princess from a fairytale.

"About three hours," she shrugged. "Any way you could wait with your lunch?"

"Try and subsist on a diet of crackers for a few months, then get back to me," I grumbled in response. But then, suddenly I felt the pangs of shame under her reproachful gaze, and put the sandwich back in my bag with a sigh.

A smile flickered across the woman's lips.

"Come, hero. I really am in a hurry."

"What kind of people are waiting for you?" I asked her as we started moving.

"Over on the Darkaan border, we're sealing the final rift from the Netherworld. It's swarming with... all sorts of nasty buggers. We're almost done, though, there's hardly any real action left." Ulissa shifted her sword from the right shoulder to the left, then stopped in her tracks. She looked left and right, as if sensing danger. Seemingly satisfied, she motioned for me to follow. "We'll leave the rest to be mopped up by baronial militias and others like you."

"Others like me?" I was curious what she thought of us players.

"The two-lived," she shrugged. "Some of you merit respect, but the vast majority of you are dregs. You have the gift of resurrection, yet you hide behind militia shields." A scornful grimace distorted her face.

It made sense that Ingvar's companion would be baffled by the players' reluctance to risk their levels, but there was also the matter of the pain sensitivity raised to one hundred percent. People had come to Arkon to play a video game, not engage in masochism. And I understood them quite well in that respect. Had I been given the choice to just play, I would have probably behaved the same way. Unfortunately, that was never an option for me.

Still, at that moment I felt like singing from joy, and it couldn't have been just the booze talking. As tone-deaf as I was, I'd never dared to exhibit my vocal ability even when piss-drunk. This is AWESOME!!! I'm out of that shithole! And I'll never again fall for such a dirty trick! Although... I caressed the buckle of my epic girdle. Who knows...

For a while I just followed Ulissa, glancing around me absently and thinking. The euphoria from the instant jump in levels and phat lewts had passed, leaving me with the realization that, for all intents and purposes, nothing had changed. Well, sure, having an epic scalable and level 102 sure beat not having them, and Leeque would most likely add twenty five levels or so on top of that... But what good was level 130 when my true interests lay in 200+ zones? Ingvar must have been watching all my adventures inside the vault; why else would he knight me and accept me as an officer into his Order of which he's the Champion? The wiki was conspicuously lacking any information on the Order of Punishing Steel—that last bit I only knew from the description of the deity himself. Now if only he'd given me a few warrior skills, that would have been something else! Hey, can't blame a guy for dreaming, right? No one had ever gotten their eyes gouged out for setting their sights too high. All right, let's not get greedy now—this was a pretty big boon. I wonder what kind of symbol appeared on my cheek... Wanting to check out my mug in the upper, polished section of my shield, I pulled it off my back, grabbed it with both hands and... stopped dead in my tracks.

"What now?" Noticing that I'd stopped moving, Ulissa turned toward me with a sigh.

How do you like that! As tall as me, nearly as broad-shouldered and, according to her, a commanding officer herself, the warrior maiden still acted like an ordinary girl.

"This," I turned the shield's surface to her. Looking back on the world from it was the adorable muzzle of a wolf cub—cute ears, puppy dog eyes and all—which I suspected had appeared on my shield after the higher being's farewell slap on the back.

"Be happy, Krian," said the warrior maiden after she was done laughing. "Ingvar had bestowed upon you the gift of a banner. In all the time that I've known him, this does not happen often. He must have seen something in you," she concluded in a serious tone. "Come now, cub-lieutenant, keep those buns moving. You'll admire your beauty some other time."

The shield's stats hadn't changed, but the banner art had appeared in my options, and I could now put on any items, as with any emblems in the game that could be either earned or purchased for money. Oh well, at least it's not a frog, I thought with a smirk, and started after Ulissa. The wolf cub is small, sure, but far more pleasant to look at. Of course, there isn't a hint of ferocity on that adorable muzzle, but what am I supposed to do? If a god decides to emblaze your shield with a hamster, good luck convincing others that it's actually a young tiger.

I still had to figure out what to do with my new rank, and with the Order as a whole. The fact that I'd been given the ability to command a century didn't mean anything in and of itself—the real world was full of officers with formal ranks that had never led a military unit into actual battle. Perhaps one in twenty, if that. And the game was designed to be as close to reality as possible. Still, I had been given the opportunity, and I would do my best to realize it. I picked up the pace.

"We're here, master cub," the young woman turned to me, sheathing her weapon.

Why the heck was she even lugging that thing on her shoulder? I thought. A display of female empowerment or outright feminism? Those Reapings won't spawn for a while longer, and I doubt she was worried about me copping a feel as we walked...

Noticing my silent smirk, the warrior maiden arched her brow.

"Thank you, Ulissa," leaving my thoughts unspoken, I expressed my sincere gratitude. "I would have surely lost my way without you. What is your full name by the way? In case I have some questions and need to—"

"Countess Ulissa de Cevraze," she cut me short. "Presently the knight-commander of the Order of Punishing Steel, of which you are now a lieutenant."

The sound of her voice made me want to stand at attention, but I resisted. This wasn't parade grounds, and she wasn't my commanding officer. Seeing through my struggle, the woman smiled.

"Goodbye, cub. Look for the answers to your questions on your own. I will find you myself, if need be. Oh, and another thing..." said the warrior maiden, pausing before the portal that had opened a moment prior.

"Yes?"

"You should eat more, cause I find your bony ass uninspiring," she winked at me. Then, with a chortle, she was gone behind the smoky screen of the portal.

"Everybody's always got something to say about my diet..." I sighed into the empty air.

Chapter 3

The Ghorazm Ruins welcomed me with grave-like silence, broken only by the occasional drip of water from the ceiling. The dungeon hadn't changed: the floor still held the necromancer's headless body, the walls were still lined with bones, and the air was still permeated with scents of rot and decay. The portal window disappeared five seconds after my arrival to the dungeon. Odd. I might have disrupted something with that powder. Might have been the reason for the error log, I thought. Are there still any undead around, I wonder?

According to the clock, it was the middle of day three. It should be safe to come out of the dungeon—Neyl's squad should have already taken care of the winged bastard that had ambushed me at the entrance. A human being really is a fascinating creature. Half an hour ago I was on the verge of losing my wits, but now I felt chipper and fully rested. Hold on just a minute! I fished my unfinished sandwich out of the inventory. War may be war, but lunch is sacred! After devouring the sandwich, I still felt hungry. My appetite was an impenetrable wall—I'd seen way too much over the last few months to be grossed out by the scattered bones or decomposing flesh in my immediate surroundings. But enough about food! It was time to get out of here, since I had another half an hour of schlepping left to Urcahnta. I was about to start toward the instance exit when I realized what a tool I was! At level 102, I had a boatload of unallocated stat and talent points, and I'd nearly walked right into the midst of undead! Dusting off a layer of virtual dust from one of the tables, I took a seat on the stone tabletop and opened my character menu. Oh, how I'd missed it! Stats first, but that didn't require much thought. I threw 25 points into constitution and 40 into vigor, bringing both to 100, and the remaining 43 points into strength. From now on, I would add exclusively to strength until 150. Talent time! My original plan hadn't changed: I spent 10 points on Morph V, and when presented with twenty different animals to choose from, I went with the hamster.

You've learned the spell: Morph V.

Casting time: 2 seconds.

Mana cost: 5% of total.

Cooldown: 20 seconds.

Turns your opponent into a hamster. The hamster
cannot attack or cast spells. Sustaining damage
will cause the target to assume its original form.

The target's regeneration of hit points, mana and vigor
are increased by 300%. Can only be used against one target
at a time. Can only be used against humanoids and beasts.

Though some gamers might be surprised by my selection, it so happened that I wasn't a big fan of hamsters on account of an episode from my childhood, when a pair of hamsters that had been living with us escaped their cage and left little hamster teeth marks on every damned piece of furniture in the house before eventually being caught by the neighbors' cat. The next ten points went into portals.

You've learned the spell: Portal Creation I.

Casting time: 10 seconds.

Mana cost: 500 points.

Cooldown: 24 hours.

Opens a teleportation portal that only the caster
can use to any previously visited location.

The last point went into riding skill, and I was done. I removed all of my new titles from being displayed before my name, and closed the menu. I saw no purpose in letting random strangers know that I'd been knighted. Mage apprentices had it much easier—at the very least, they drew far less attention to their person. And whoever needed to see it would see it anyway, like with the slaying of Shaartakh. The rings, earring and cloak that required levels 70-80 to equip went into their corresponding slots. Making a mental note to visit a jeweler upon returning to Nittal, I took one last look around.

The final boss of the dungeon was still dead, his headless carcass lying on the floor. It was time to test my new portal-creating ability and return to Urcahnta. My hands began radiating a bluish smoke and spread outward all by themselves, then fell back to my sides. Done! The portal I'd created looked different from those I'd seen before—sky blue in color, the window eddied softly along the edges, red dots flickering. Not that I cared for the portal's color, as long as it actually worked!

I stepped out of the portal right on the border of Urcahnta, some ten yards from the local outpost. It was raining heavily, and the soldiers were all clustered under a spacious canopy. Oh, how I'd missed this! Pulling off my helm, I let the rain wash over my face. It was pure bliss—standing there, knowing that I'd come one step closer to my goal. I didn't give a damn how many steps were left, only that my ultimate goal had become closer! A fork of lightning sundered the sky, followed by a clap of thunder. In this world, Ingvar was also the god of lightning—perhaps it was his way of sending me a text? After two months traveling through dank dungeons and lifeless cities, the fresh air—scented with ozone and wet grass—actually made my head spin. Seeing the surprised looks on the faces of their legionnaires and their captain, I put my arms akimbo and burst out laughing.

"Are you all right, Krian?" I heard the captain's voice when the downpour suddenly ended, having washed away not only dirt but also the stress of my last adventure.

"Quite so. Apologies for not joining you for the gargoyle hunt, I was kept by other business. How is the gargoyle getting on, by the way?"

"Not very well, I'm afraid. I don't think it will be bothering anyone anymore." Satisfied that I was of sound mind and body, the captain's luxuriant mustache now framed a wide grin.

"Excellent!"

Sure, it sucked not being there to help snuff out the winged bastard, but seeing as more than two months had gone by since the moment of my death, I was no longer consumed with hatred for my killer. Plus, one of the realms I'd visited in that maze of alternate realities happened to be full of gargoyles, so I'd had my fill of beating up on their kind. I dumped all the skulls looted in the dungeon, and sighed with relief.

"Five hundred heads!" Neyl exhaled, stunned. "If I weren't seeing this with my own eyes, I never would have believed it! Where did you even find so many undead?!"

"Five hundred thirty six," I corrected him, savoring the looks of utter shock on the soldiers' faces. "And I don't think there'll be any more undead causing trouble. The one who had been raising them is no more."

"That's good news. At least I don't need to order a freight train for all your trophies," Neyl nodded at the formidable heap of bones. "Besides, we're tired. Two months away from your families. Do you have the necromancer's head? Gilim won't let us leave unless it's produced."

"It's in the bag. I'm just going to drop by the local sorcerer real quick before seeing the elder. If the head is all he needs, you'll be back in Nittal before sundown."

"We're going to celebrate today in the local watering hole," Neyl looked at his legionnaires, their faces suddenly cheery. "Be sure to stop by."

With a vow to make an appearance, I headed toward Peotius' house. I didn't get any payment for turning in the skulls, not counting the warm and pleasant feeling in my gut. After turning in the quest to the sorcerer and claiming my reward—the familiar invisibility potions, the best of the options offered—I was at the elder's house less than five minutes after.

I found Gilim in his backyard. Waving his arms frantically like a bird flapping its wings, he was saying something excitedly to a short demon in a silver-embroidered tunic. Upon spotting me, the elder signaled to his interlocutor to wait and started my way.

"Greetings, Master Krian. Is your business urgent?"

"Greetings," I nodded at him. "Nothing urgent, I'd say, just this." I pulled G'Hrash's head out of the bag and held it out to the elder.

"Why, that's..." Gilim took a step closer, examining the skull dangling in my hand.

His companion, in the meantime, jumped back and drew a warding-off sign in the air.

"Lessie! Quick, bring me my jewelry case!" the elder bellowed, then swore loudly and with relief. "So that's... Master mage... Would you care to come inside for a drink?"

I didn't feel like drinking just yet, so I politely declined, and moments later the elder's daughter burst out of the house, panting as she carried a massive case of dark wood. The elder counted off fifty gold coins; then, after putting on a pair of cloth gloves, warily accepted the necromancer's head from me.

You've completed the quest: Trouble in Urcahnta I.

You received 50 gold.

Your reputation has increased. Residents of the Ashtar Dominion relate to you with respect.

Handing in those skulls was worth it, after all, I thought. Though a chunk of the reputation gain may have come from killing Shaartakh. Whatever the case, commanding "respect" in the dominion was a very nice development. A five percent discount in all shops, an improved attitude from guards and other government officials, and access to new, previously unavailable quests. Many players spent months grinding social and tedious daily quests to raise their reputation to respect, whereas it only took me one month, not counting the two months spent in the vault. An outstanding accomplishment, all in all. Of course, the lion's share of the credit belonged to the dead archmage—I had simply lucked out to be in the right place at the right time. Then again, thinking back to my five hundred consecutive deaths, I wouldn't wish such "luck" upon anyone.

"One more thing," I interrupted the demons' inspection of the dead head. "I found a scroll among the necromancer's things. Peotius has it. The sorcerer promised to prepare a spell within a day's time that will cleanse the area of the blight."

"That's great news, master mage. Only I fear too many undead remain in the vicinity. Perhaps you could..."

You've accessed the quest: Eliminating the Remaining Undead around the Ghorazm Ruins.

Quest type: normal.

Kill 100 blighted pigs, 50 blighted wolves, 30 blighted bears, 30 skeletons and 20 zombies.

Reward: 10 gold.

"Listen, Gilim," I said to the elder who was clearly distraught by my refusal. I had no intention of being stuck here another several days for a few measly gold. "Your hunters were being killed by a gargoyle, and Neyl's squad took care of it earlier today. The villagers won't have any trouble cleansing the area of the undead, and you'll save a lot of money by taking that route."

"Are you certain of this information, esteemed mage?" the demon in the black tunic addressed me for the first time, his voice hoarse.

"What reason do I have to lie? You can confirm with Neyl himself."

"Gods forbid I question your integrity!" the shorty waved his arms in protest. "What I meant was, are you certain there's not another gargoyle or some other beast of peril?"

"Absolutely," I assured him, catching his drift. I wasn't going to go into explanations that there could only be one named mob.

"Excellent!" he exclaimed, then turned back to the elder. "Can you turn in the head to the punishers tonight? And buy them a few rounds from all of us?" Gilim caught on right away, and nodded.

"Of course..."

Not wanting to tarry in the elder's yard any longer, I bid them both farewell and headed toward the inn.

"The elder sure is acting strange today," Neyl shook his head, shifting his gaze from the contents of his glass to the two tables overflowing with food, behind which the punishers were celebrating the end of their assignment. "Up until now he'd been demanding receipts for every damned thing, but here he is, throwing a feast."

"He's just grateful for your service," I shrugged, upending another shot into my mouth.

I had agreed to drink a few rounds with the legionnaires, but with a disclaimer that I wouldn't be staying long due to pressing matters in Nittal.

"Sure doesn't seem like him," the captain gave a chuckle. "All hustle and bustle today. Said he was going to present us with the head tonight. Ceremonially, in front of the whole village. Why he needs this, I do not know..."

"Do you really care?" I grunted, getting up from my seat and going around the tables, shaking hands with the soldiers. "I'm off, fellas. Take care!"

"Remember this, Krian. If you decide to become a necromancer after this, come see me—I'll have a mentor to recommend," Neyl smiled at me. Without his helm and holding a glass of murky swill, he looked exactly like my mental image of Gogol's Taras Bulba.

"Definitely," I nodded to him, and exited the inn.

Urcahnta was in a state of commotion—as I walked in the direction of the main road, two groups of hunters slipped by me, headed for the ruins. It seemed as if all the able-bodied village folk had decided to help put down the remaining undead. With motivated workers like that, I expected the area to be cleansed of any fiends in the span of a few hours. And besides, the elder didn't need to know that the punishers' defense fund had been drained by yours truly. I was in high spirits the entire way to Nittal.

I arrived in Nittal close to seven at night. After presenting my badge at the gate, I entered the city and headed for the Temple of All Gods. Leeque had promised to share with me how to get to Karn. I didn't know how he was going to do it, but I wasn't about to put off such a critical matter for even one day. The way there took another forty minutes. When finally I found myself beneath the dome's starry sky, I passed through the temple's rotunda and entered the shrine of the god of deceit.

On the outside, nothing was different from before: the same walls decorated with bas-reliefs and illuminated with magic lanterns, the same marble base of the altar, the same pleasant, indeterminate fragrance... Only the old man sitting in the chair appeared to have undergone some imperceptible change—now he looked like a kindly grandpa who'd grown wise with his years. Give him a beard and a star-spangled mantle, and he'd be the prototypical good wizard from children's fairy tales.

Just like the last time I was here, the shrine was empty. I nodded to Hart's statue, walked up to the altar, and carefully put the Star of Hittara into the charity bowl. There was a melodious ringing, and the amulet in the vessel disappeared, leaving behind a gold ring and a small leather scroll. I was stumped, hesitating to take anything from the charity bowl. I looked up at Hart's statue, as if seeking his permission, and froze... Sitting in the chair was none other than Leeque, looking at me with gladness and amusement in his eyes.

"Go on, you've earned it," he said with a wink, and motioned at the items in the bowl.

I nodded to Leeque, still in a daze, and carefully picked up my just reward.

You've completed the quest: Restoring Justice.

You have gained a level! Current level: 103.

You have 1 talent point to allocate.

Class bonus: +1 to intellect; +1 to spirit.

You have 3 stat points to allocate.

You received Ring of Distorted Reality.

...................................................................

You have gained a level!

You have gained a level!

...................................................................

You have gained a level! Current level: 131.

You have 29 talent points to allocate.

Class bonus: +1 to intellect; +1 to spirit.

You have 87 stat points to allocate.

You have garnered the attention of a higher being. Bel the God of Deceit is friendly to you.

"Thank you," I nodded farewell to Leeque, now frozen in marble, put the items in my bag, and left the shrine. Well, justice has indeed been restored, along with my level 131. The thought brought incredible relief. I should pay a visit to Dara, celebrate my promotion... But at that very moment I heard a familiar voice.

"Hello, Krian," a familiar figure in a gray cassock greeted me, standing by a marble column at the shrine's exit. "I'm a little surprised..." Arsa threw back her hood in a graceful gesture, letting her fair hair cascade down her shoulders. She's beautiful, I noted to myself automatically. Why hadn't I noticed it last time?

Hello, sister," I bowed my head in a greeting. "What is the cause of your surprise?"

"People like you tend to converse with gods outside of temples," a shade of sadness touched her huge green eyes.

"Are you upset by something?"

"Oh, it's nothing," she gave me a searching look. "You are an interesting creature, Krian. I know of no other who has found favor with so many different entities. More and more I grow certain that you will succeed..."

"In what exactly?" I was totally lost.

"In infiltrating Castle Krajde and rescuing my daughter," she spoke those words in a tone so soft and ravishing that for a moment I lost my grip on reality. When I recovered a second later, I realized that I was peering at the marble column. With only the hint of her perfume in the air bearing witness that my mind was still sound.

Do they think I'm Neo or something? Why must everything revolve around me? I was baffled. Perhaps it was because out of thirty million players I was the only one stranded in Demon Grounds, and the local AIs were throwing these mysteries at me out of boredom? Or maybe to help compensate for my, um, unconventional (botched) build? Whatever the case, I really shouldn't complain... Speaking of pleasant surprises, there was the matter of Hart's reward. I opened my bag and took out the lovely gold ring.

Ring of Distorted Reality

Accessory; ring.

Durability: 3987/4520.

Bound item.

?????????????????

Minimum level: 100.

Infinite invisibility (invisibility potions are not limited by time).

?????????????????

?????????????????

Weight: .01 lbs.

A gold ring of unknown craftsmanship.

Infinite invisibility... that should make it easier to stay out of trouble while traveling. As long as I remembered that invisibility wouldn't fly against mobs thirty or more levels higher than me; plus, there were creatures in Arkon capable of detecting players using this buff. The ring also wouldn't make me any more of a rogue—that class had the highest bonuses to invisibility, and the ability to vanish even while in combat. Still, one mustn't look a gift horse in the mouth. And what were all the question marks? Was the ring in need of identification? But the devs had done away with item identification a while ago, having deemed it useless. Oh well, I was going to visit a jeweler anyway while in town, so I'd have him take a look at the ring for me.

And now for the main part, the reason I'd picked up this quest in the first place. I unrolled the scroll carefully... and nearly howled with disappointment. Well, I should have expected something like this! The thin leather bore a short phrase: Ahriman's private library. Travel notes of Saadak Ar-Kilat from his twenty-year journey across the territories of southern barbarians. On the face of it, there had been no deceit—Hart had fulfilled his end of the bargain. As for actually getting into the overlord's private library, that was on me, and I suspected it wasn't going to be easy. Oh well, I shrugged. I'll wrap up my business in this dominion and set out to Iskhart. Once on location, I'll worry about getting a library card...

Chapter 4

Every human on earth should at some point in their life visit the famous Grand Bazaar in Istanbul. With its spectacular blend of din, color and an indescribable cocktail of fragrant spices, the bazaar is a staple of every eastern country. I still remembered my first visit to Turkey, and the pity in the eyes of the cabbie driving me to the city center. It was only later, when the tour, which had been scheduled for only several hours, ended up lasting till the bazaar closed—and eviscerating my wallet in the process—that I realized what that look had meant. Needless to say, the market in Nittal was smaller than its real-world counterpart in Istanbul, and was also situated under the open sky. In every other respect, however, as long as you swapped out demons for Turks, I probably couldn't tell one from the other.

My spirits were high. Because Master Krayon hadn't yet finished my armor, I'd talked him into upgrading it to my current level, albeit at a cost of another five hundred gold. My alchemist acquaintance had sold me level 100+ potions of healing and stamina, fifty of each, and had accepted an order for one hundred elixirs of possibilities, which added 100 to all stats for four hours. And the four unused medium elixirs I had decided to save for a rainy day in my private vault.

The rest of that evening I spent thinking about Arsa, trying to figure out who she really was, and mulling over her last words. Gerid, with whom I'd been celebrating my return, had little of substance to add to crack this mystery. But we didn't let that ruin our night, and had ourselves a grand old time. By the time I stumbled up to my room in the wee hours of the morning, I barely had the strength to make it to the bed before passing out, let alone to remove my armor.

Good thing I hadn't tried allocating my talent points last night, I thought to myself, looking over the wares laid out on stalls and stands. I had come to this place for a specific purpose, and didn't want any distractions—it would be all too easy otherwise to spend days here, if not weeks. It was only natural to want to taste every exotic fruit and confectionary, test the workings of every little trinket, admire the myriad patterns of gigantic ornamental rugs, and learn which animal fur they were made from. Later, there'll be time for all that later, I kept repeating the words to myself like a mantra every time my eyes fell on yet another wonder. All I need now is a sword, some rings and a lizard! Curiosity will have to wait—the market won't be going anywhere soon. I allowed myself just one stop—the tobacco shop. After trying some twenty different kinds of tobacco, I purchased six pounds' worth of the ones I liked best. Then I asked the shopkeeper the way to the weaponsmiths, and was on my way.

Leaving behind the intoxicating smells of fish and spices from the countless rows of food stands, I walked past four clothiers, rounded a corner occupied by a textiles merchant, and finally arrived at my destination. It took me about an hour to check out the wares in all the weapons' shops. Every weapon imaginable was in stock: from small daggers to massive two-handed swords, from leather slingshots to long composite bows. All that was missing were rare quality swords in the 100-130 level range. After some deliberation, I purchased the one sword I'd found that was more or less suitable, which also looked quite similar to mine. With a length of roughly thirty two inches, it had a straight, double-edged blade with a textured hilt for an easy grip, and a straight matte pommel.

Straight Militia Sword

Sword: one-handed.

Durability: 500/500.

Unusual.

Minimum level: 120.

Damage: 200-240.

+120 strength.

+1% to critical hit chance with a physical attack.

Weight: 7 lbs.

The shopkeeper's initial asking price was two hundred gold. In the end, we agreed on eighty. The truth was that a sword like this would fetch no more than twenty five gold at an auction house. Unusual quality items generally cost fifty or so times less than rare ones, to say nothing of epic gear. At least that was how it used to be. I had not a clue as to what was happening up in Karn, but it would make sense to see falling prices for items below level 150. The influx of money from the real world had been stopped, and professions now afforded reasonable opportunity to make money. Mineral deposits started with iron in level 60-70 zones, and were exceedingly rare at such low ranges. And if you wanted to mine mithril, that meant an excursion to Kraet Peaks, on the border with dwarves and drow. The zones up there were level 150 and above, while a single mithril deposit typically yielded no more than ten-twenty grams. If memory served me right, after mithril came adamantine, and the metal components from the epic items in the level 400 range stored in my vault were forged from titanium. Titanium is a pipe dream for the vast majority of players, so let's be realistic and work with what's available. With a sigh, I put the sword away and headed off in search of a jeweler.

"How can I be of service to the young mage?" croaked a short, scrawny old man, thinning hair carefully combed over his bald spot. The stall he stood behind went up to his chest.

I'd popped in here unexpectedly, drawn in by the unusual sign at the entrance, depicting five Olympic rings—an obvious gag on the part of a bored designer. The old man was hardly the epitome of Olympic glory, and the wiry level 200 fella to his right—with a bored look in his eyes and colorful tattoos on his forearms—looked more like a sailor than a guard, even if his short sword looked nothing like a cutlass.

"Greetings," I nodded to the elderly demon. "I need you to take a look at an interesting ring and give me your assessment of it. In return, I will purchase three rings and an earring from you, if you have what I'm looking for."

"Let's get the shopping out of the way, then," croaked the wily old man, motioning me toward the stall.

I needed about five minutes to pick out three unusual quality rings. The assortment wasn't very large, though the old man did have a rare quality ring in stock. Only when he requested eight hundred gold for it, I didn't even bother haggling. I bought three different rings: each adding 130 to either constitution, vigor or agility. I ignored the charms section completely as I had no intention of parting with the courier's badge. Out of all the earrings in stock, the only one that looked more or less decent was a small silver tear that increased agility by 120. All in all, my shopping spree ended up costing me exactly three hundred fifty gold.

"A glass of wine?" asked the suddenly gleeful demon as I was paying.

"Thank you, master, but I'm in a rush. Please have a look at the ring I mentioned."

"Already did," the old jeweler smiled. "Rather an unusual product. Even now, with an unidentified class and hidden parameters, it remains quite valuable. I've already seen one such ring on another occasion, so I know a little bit about it."

"How can you identify its class and stats?"

"Alas, the stats cannot be identified," the master spread his arms. "There is a maximum of four more that may still manifest, but there's no way of knowing how many until it actually happens. It's possible that all four may end up being empty, and the ring won't be any different than it is now. However, even if two out of the four stats come through," he spoke softly as he looked up at me, "I cannot even begin to fathom its true value."

"And when will these hidden stats be unlocked?" I asked, realizing that the ring may surprise me yet.

"Young people, always in a rush," sighed the old jeweler. "Just be happy that you have it, young man. And let things take their due course..."

That makes sense, actually. As I level up, the ring's stats should manifest, assuming there's something there in the first place. It wouldn't be unlike Hart to slip me something totally useless, like increased vulnerability to light magic. Resigned, I thanked the shopkeeper and walked out. It was time to get me a ride.

Upon reaching the northern part of the market, at first I couldn't even fathom where to start. A low fence enclosed this section, behind which stretched rows of wagons and carts of the most varied and bizarre constructions. I even spied a few golden carriages with huge wheels—the game's equivalent of a BMW, evidently. Behind the carts stood horses, varying greatly in size and color. The carts formed narrow alleys through which demons of every age, appearance and rank—from plain-clothed peasants to uniformed officers—moved about with purpose, elbowing for room. The merchants, in contrast, wore mostly wearing red tunics, gawking lazily at the passers-by from their carts and hitching posts. The customers—red-skinned demons which looked just like gypsies with their curly black hair—dashed to and fro, shouting something while peering horses in the teeth and, for reasons I couldn't begin to understand, lifting their feet and tails. Only the far left corner of the enclosed section enjoyed relative calm, where I glimpsed a few dozen lizards tied to poles by the fence. For some reason the local "gypsies" were giving a wide birth to this nook. No surprise there—I can't see too many people itching to check those dinosaurs under their tails, I grunted, making my way through the boisterous crowd.

The grave disillusionment set in the moment I reached the tether, as only then was it made clear why, out of the entire caravan, only Lirrak had had a lizard as his mount. The minimum level to ride these mounts was 220, which might as well have been twice that much as far as I was concerned. Terribly disappointed by such a turn of events, I took my time finishing my pipe, then read up on horses in the chronicles, and eventually purchased a gray mare with a black mane and tail for eight hundred gold. I'd settled on her for her calm demeanor since, as any city slicker, I was naturally wary of any animal larger than a cockroach. Even as a kid I'd passed on the opportunity to have a dog, not wanting the responsibility to care for another living creature. And this here was a horse!

The mount could only be released twelve hours after being summoned, and in the event of death it would lose all experience gained for that level, and couldn't be summoned again for twenty four hours—such was the game's new math. Up until the last patch, if a player didn't release their mount before logging out, it had to be put in a stable, which obviously cost money. Otherwise, the mount was considered dead and would lose all the progress it had accumulated for that level. Of course, there were plenty of people who remained logged in for more than twelve hours at a time; still, having a personal mount was generally considered a pain in the butt, and costly to boot—comparable to maintaining a car in the real world.

Only after leaving the market through the northern gates was I finally able to breathe easy. Oh, how I hated these crazy crowds in commercial centers! And I bet any representative of the male sex residing in a city with a population over one million would readily agree with me, having experienced the sheer torture of wasting an entire Saturday at a shopping mall with the wife and kids. Though a gamer might treat it as a quest of sorts—raising one's reputation with the family—with the reward being either a glass of bubbly over dinner and some hanky-panky, or a six-pack with your friends down in the garage.

"Well, let's get acquainted?" I turned to my acquisition, which I'd been leading by the bridle. A pair of huge brown eyes were looking back at me from behind a tangled forelock. The mare looked at me with sadness and wariness, as if asking, "What the hell do you want from me?" With a sigh, I carefully held out an apple in the palm of my hand, which I'd purchased from the same merchant, along with the harness. The mare gave my hand a sidelong look, then carefully took the treat. Hmm, I scratched my chin musingly, watching the horse munching on the apple. I should give you a name... I opened the options menu and changed the mount's name from Steppe Dun Mare to simply Lucy.

Lucy

Horse. Transport.

Unusual. Level 120.

Requirements: level 120, Riding skill.

Armor: 500.

Strength: 10.

Stamina: 500 (regenerates 100/hour).

Constitution: 500. HP: 5,000.

120 stats available.

Walk: 1-2 mph (does not consume stamina).

Trot: 6-9 mph (consumes 1 stamina per minute).

Gallop: 22-28 mph (consumes 10 stamina per minute).

Special abilities: Second Wind. The horse does not
consume stamina for 10 minutes. Available once a day.

Well, nobody said horses were simple. I scratched my head in thought, then threw all the available points into stamina. The mare had enough constitution, and it made no sense to boost strength since I had no intention of strapping armor on her. She was hardly a warhorse, but stamina would help her cover more ground at a high pace. A firm push of the muzzle disrupted my ruminations. Apparently, Lucy had enjoyed the treat and was now demanding more. The suspicion in her eyes had turned to guile. We'll get along just fine, I snorted, feeding another apple to my new mount.

On my way to The Learned Troll I remembered that it would be nice to pick up a cloak for myself, so I popped into a small shop and did just that. The unusual quality cloak was level 120 and added 120 agility. After a brief bout of haggling, I headed back out, and made it to the fenced-off courtyard of the inn by eight in the evening. Don't forget to ask Gerid about that white cylindrical monstrosity above the third story of his building, I thought to myself as I tossed a silver coin to a kid running up to me, and handed over Lucy's reins. Glowing with excitement, the boy assured me that my mare would be treated like horse royalty in the stable. Watching him lead Lucy away, I realized that, yet again, I probably overpaid. Oh, the hell with it, I sniffed, pushing open the front door. Too late to try and change my nature, and would I really want to?

Standing behind the counter was Gerid's assistant, and I had to come to terms with the fact that the mystery of the phallic symbol on the hotel's roof would remain unsolved for another day. Of course, I could ask this fella as well, but for some reason I wanted to get the answer from the innkeeper himself. I wasn't hungry, not after joining my mount in feasting on the bounty of apples purchased from that smug street vendor. (And why wouldn't he be smug after selling all his wares to me in a single transaction?) So I headed up to my room and turned on the computer. It was still easier to deal with talent and stat points on a monitor screen—old habits die hard, I suppose.

The tobacco I'd randomly selected was apple flavored, and the room soon filled up with aromatic smoke. Taking a sip of the local analog to cider, I threw all 87 stat points into strength, bringing it to 201.

And now for talents... I took a deep drag, exhaled and started thinking about my priorities. Three points into strengthening physical attacks was a given, but what next? Should I use up ten connecting points towards Stone Disc and raise it to level two? Or forget that and just raise Earth Shackles to level three? My deliberations weren't long—the disc, despite its fairly small damage, would definitely get some use, and shackles would suffice at level two for a while longer. So, I threw ten points into connecting talents and two into Stone Disc, then ten more into connecting and one into level two Earth Shackles. Jump and Step through Darkness would need to wait—I should be able to upgrade them to level two next time around.

You've learned the spell: Tongue of Flame VIII.

Instant cast.

Energy cost: 42 points.

Cooldown: 2 seconds.

You attack the enemy with a blade burning with the power of fire, dealing 210% damage on top of the weapon's base damage and ignoring 8% physical defense.

You've learned the spell: Ice Blade VIII.

Instant cast.

Energy cost: 42 points.

Cooldown: 2 seconds.

You attack the enemy with a blade of ice, dealing 210% damage on top of the weapon's base damage, slowing the target by 30% for 10 seconds with an additional 8% chance to freeze the target for 8 seconds.

You've learned the spell: Earth Shackles II.

Instant cast.

Duration: 10 seconds.

Mana cost: 300 points.

Cooldown: 30 seconds.

You create an area of powerful terrestrial magnetism four yards in diameter within 40 yards of yourself. All creatures caught in or entering the area are shackled by the element of earth for the duration of the spell.

You've learned the spell: Stone Disc II.

Instant cast.

Effective range: 50 yards.

Mana cost: 110 points.

Cooldown: 2 seconds.

Deals 320-400 earth magic damage to the enemy.

Finishing off the cider, I fell back in my chair. Should I try looking up info on a certain intriguing servant of the Temple of All Gods? Oh, damn, almost forgot! In an instant I leaped toward the mirror, removing my helm on the go.

My black hair had gotten visibly longer, my pupils had become vertical, and my irises were now yellow. If you fastened horns to my head, the only thing differentiating me from any other demon would be my skin color. My facial features had changes as well, having become sharper and more rugged; my right cheekbone bore two vertical lines roughly one and a half inches wide, resembling some animal's claw marks—my lieutenant's stripes. As I'd gathered, these markings were only visible to members of the Order of Punishing Steel, unless I wanted others to see them. Then again, removing the title awarded me for slaying an elder demon hadn't been enough to hide this achievement from certain NPCs.

Now I know the true meaning of "don't judge a book by its cover," I comforted myself with a sigh, then walked back to turn off the computer.

"Put your hands up! Not like that! To the side! Don't be such a..." Krayon had been torturing me for a good ten minutes—forcing me to sit, turn and swing the dummy sword he'd given me in place of a real one.

"Master, everything is wonderful, I assure you..." my half-hearted resistance was smashed to pieces by the demon's inexorable demeanor. I suspected deep down he was enjoying the show—and I felt like a clown doing those idiotic movements, which only distantly resembled military exercises.

"Young man, as long as the armor bears my brand, I don't want some bearded know-it-all up there," Krayon stuck his finger toward the ceiling, "thinking I'm a damned amateur. But all right," he finally took mercy on me. "I suppose you're ready to wear it."

To say that the armor was magnificent was to say nothing at all. Burnished gray steel engraved with an intricate golden pattern, the suit fit me like a glove. The helm was closed, featuring a small low comb and a double visor; the gorget, comprising four linked shifting plates, joined seamlessly with the cuirass, which likewise flawlessly integrated breastplate and backplate via cleverly hidden rivets. The pauldrons sat firmly on the cuirass, each a union of seven plates. The fauld featured two broad plates along the sides and durable chainmail with strips of metal fastened to the front and back—to ease travel on horseback. The vambraces fully covered the wrists, joining at the elbows with couters comprising four shifting plates, and multicomponent finger-shaped gauntlets with conical bracers connected to the other end.

Standing out somewhat from the general getup was Ingvar's black belt, on the buckle of which (without any involvement from me, I might add) the eagle emblem had somehow been replaced with an inquisitive big-eared wolf muzzle. Yesterday Krayon had taken his sweet time admiring the divine gift with due reverence, rapid blinking and astonished whispers. Finally, after griping under his breath about blissful imbeciles lucking out into wearing epic black steel, he demanded an extra hundred gold for remaking the armor, justifying the markup with a claim that it was unseemly for someone like me to haggle.

The set forged by the master was called the "Plate Set of Strength," and each item in the set had an armor class of 227 while adding 100 to strength and 70 to constitution. The set bonus for wearing four pieces simultaneously—100 to stamina and 20 to all resistances—was a pleasant surprise as well.

"Well?" the master gave a self-satisfied chuckle at my genuine delight.

"No words," I said with total sincerity, my eyes glued to the polished chunk of metal that functioned as a mirror in the smithy. "And if any bearded know-it-all up there," I stuck a finger of my plate gauntlet upward, copying the master's gesture, "tries to denigrate this wonder, I'm going to make sure he chokes on his words."

"May it serve you well," said the master, clearly pleased with my vow. "Now get out of here—I've got other business to attend to. And don't forget your shield!"

Chapter 5

The sun was setting—slowly, gracefully. The soft golden light of its last rays trickled down the citadel's white walls, bouncing off the sentries' armor and spearheads, filling the city's neat little houses with comfort and warmth. Somewhere in the distance I could hear the guard commander barking orders, supervising a shift change of legionnaires, and horses whinnying from the stables to the right of the hulking citadel. Residents of Nittal were streaming leisurely into the city's myriad taverns in hopes of escaping, if only for a few hours, the daily grind and the stifling heat over a mug of fragrant dark beer and stirring conversation. A cool breeze wafted in from the direction of the river, unseen behind rows of structures, heralding eventide.

The city had barely changed at all in the past month, and only the increased number of street patrols in the evening implied that something was afoot in the dominion. The day before yesterday Gerid had shared with me the latest news and rumors, which suggested that it would take two-to-three more months to decide if the current regime would remain in power in Ashtar. I hardly cared about the local politics, since my reputation in the dominion wouldn't change no matter who ruled the roost, so I listened to the news mainly out of respect for the innkeeper.

The breeze swirled back along the shore, subduing the stalks of coastal grass. I was sitting on a familiar bench outside the library building, wondering whether to head to the old archives now or wait till tomorrow. Completing a level 85 dungeon in my new getup with an upgraded enchanted sword and a shield that blocked 70% of incoming damage would be no harder than a pleasure walk through the city. I opened my character window to marvel at my stats yet again.

Krian, level 131

Race: human [demon]

Archmage Altus' Apprentice

Shaartakh's Slayer

Knight-Lieutenant of the Order of Punishing Steel

Marked by Ingvar the Warrior God

First in Ghorazm Ruins

Agility: 380

7.9% chance to hit critically with physical attacks: 5% base, 1.9% agility bonus, 1% equipment bonus.

38% damage reduction from falling.

Strength: 1152

18.07% boost to armor: 11.52% strength bonus, 6.55% equipment bonus.

236% boost to physical damage: 230% strength bonus, 6.55% equipment bonus.

5079 lbs carrying capacity.

Constitution: 1081

10,810 hit points.

Vigor: 230

2300 energy points.

Spirit: 121

6.21% mana and energy regeneration in combat: 5% base + 1.21% spirit bonus.

6.21% mana and energy regeneration out of combat: 5% base + 1.21% spirit bonus.

1.21% HP regeneration out of combat: 0% base + 1.21% spirit bonus.

Intellect: 121

5.6% chance to hit critically with spells: 5% base + .6% intellect bonus.

60.5% to spell power.

1210 mana points.

Armor: 2771 (73.4% physical damage absorption)

Abilities and skills:

Tongue of Flame VIII—action bar

Ice Blade VIII—action bar

Jump I—action bar

Step through Darkness I—action bar

Stone Disc II—action bar

Morph V—action bar

Silence V—action bar

Earth Shackles II—action bar

Shield of the Elements V [active]

Portal Creation I

Personal Weapon Enchanting with the Power of the Elements V

Passive skills and achievements:

+5% to any magic action [Archmage Altus' Apprentice]

+5% to physical and magic damage (party/clan bonus) [Shaartakh's Slayer]

+1% to physical and magic damage (party/clan bonus) [First in Ghorazm Ruins]

+5% to physical and magic damage, +5% to armor class and all resistances, +5% to healing spells, +5% to experienced gained (party bonus) [Knight-Lieutenant of the Order of Punishing Steel]

Bonus to damage with swords: +2%

Bonus to heavy armor: +2%

Toughness: 44%

Magic Resistances:

Water magic: 20% (45% with Shield of the Elements)

Air magic: 20% (45% with Shield of the Elements)

Earth magic: 20% (45% with Shield of the Elements)

Fire magic: 20% (45% with Shield of the Elements)

Mental magic: 95%

Dark magic: 75%

Nature magic: 20%

Light magic: 75%

Reputation with higher beings:

Setara—friendly

Ingvar—friendly

Bel—friendly

Reputation with other races:

Humans—hostile

Elves—hostile

Dark elves—hostile

Orcs—hostile

Dwarves—hostile

Drow—hostile

Demons—unfriendly (Ashtar Dominion—respected)

Weapon damage: 344.6-413.6

Stone Disc II—595.8-744.7 earth magic damage

Tongue of Flame VIII—3525.2-4231.1 physical damage

Ice Blade VIII—3525.2-4231.1 physical damage

Those last numbers were the most satisfying. Physical damage output was calculated by a single algorithm: weapon damage plus passive skills, plus active ability, and finally a percentage of the primary stat added to the sum total. After getting to level 100, my action bar had grown by one slot, so I now had nine. After some deliberation, I'd decided to keep it free for the time being.

Where could I find out if the citadel's gates close for the night? I thought, watching the sentries patrol the area. I'd rather not spend the night in a dungeon, or out here on this bench. I couldn't make a portal from inside the citadel—the spell's icon had become grayed out the moment I'd walked through the main gates. But then, with my new offensive capabilities, I would probably be done with the dungeon in a few hours, tops. And that should be enough. I just couldn't wait till tomorrow to find out what awaited me in the Cursed Princedom.

The heavy door closed with a dull bang, sealing me from the outside world. I was in a familiar dusky space that I'd observed a month ago through somebody else's eyes. The only thing missing was the station of the old gatekeeper who had perished in the corridor of the first floor. There were no signs of his desk anywhere. The place looked like a scene from a horror movie: the walls were burnt and peeling, and the floor was strewn with pieces of charred plaster. The huge mirror that once hung above the entrance had partially melted into the stone. Shards of congealed glass were scattered across the floor, pinned down by the blackened frame. The remains of what once was a staircase were piled up on the floor, alongside other rubble, and coated in layers of dust. Guarding the flight leading downward, and looking absolutely revolting, were five canines in the 80-85 level range.

In their past lives these dogs were probably mastiffs, but these days they looked more like wolves roaming around Ghorazm Ruins. Hides covered in sores and rot, with ribs popping out, and hypertrophied jaws beneath eyes that glowed a menacing blue—a scary sight for some, to be sure, but I'd seen too many of their kind to be intimidated.

The glass in a vial with the elixir of possibilities cracked, and all my stats jumped by one hundred each. Let's roll. Four dogs rasped helplessly, rooted by Earth Shackles; seconds later, a Stone Disc smashed into one of the four, knocking off 650 HP. I met the onrushing fifth dog with Ice Blade, then stepped aside to let the corpse, its skull cleaved in half, skid right on past me, ripping out the sword stuck in the beast's ribcage in a jerking motion. One down.

Three more discs flew at the wounded canine, the first breaking its front legs with a sickening crack, the second smashing into its side with a thump, tearing flesh and leaving a gaping wound, and the third striking at the same exact spot. With a hollow sigh, the fiend collapsed on the stone floor. As shackles faded, the three remaining dogs charged at me. Then one stopped midway, threw up its head and howled at the ceiling, chilling the blood in my veins.

The chat log lit up with a message about the debuff, which didn't take thanks to my mental resistance. Taking a step back into the deep doorway, a single shot at the beast's scowling mug made the score three-zero. The blade slid out of the corpse easily after Tongue of Flame, but the fourth dog still managed to take advantage and bite into my hip, taking off 350 HP. I took the bastard's head off with Ice Blade, and met the last remaining dog with my shield forward and another Tongue of Flame. The whole pack took less than half a minute to wipe out, and no pain whatsoever. I looted all the canine corpses, picking up giblets that were alchemical reagents: two spleens, one heart and two gallbladders. Frowning from the stench, I put all this nastiness away in a glass container I'd prepared beforehand, and stashed it into my inventory. Sure, I could have simply tossed it all inside, and it wouldn't have contaminated the other items, but then I'd have to get it out of there eventually the same way. After wiping the soiled gauntlet with a wool rag, I began a careful descent, holding on to the dust-laden handrails. The entrance to the lower floor was guarded by an identical pack of dogs that I promptly dispatched in a virtually identical fashion. Then I passed beneath a soot-covered arch into a familiar corridor.

The signs of destruction were even more pronounced here. Burn holes abounded on either side of the walls, the darkness ahead swallowing up the meager illumination of wall-mounted magic lanterns. The doorways gaped—the wooden doors had been fully devoured by the fire. The cracked ceiling pressed heavily on the psyche, inducing claustrophobia even in those who would never otherwise be susceptible to it. In fact, from the moment I'd entered the ruined wing I couldn't shake the feeling that I'd ended up in some post-apocalyptic game, and that waiting for me in the darkness of the corridor weren't mixed packs of skeletons or blighted dogs, but camouflaged figures in hazmat suits and gas masks.

I fought back the sudden urge to rush the nearest pack and start swinging. What the hell is going on with me? Yes, I should handle level 80-85 packs without any issues, but there's no point in taking needless risks—the price is too high, and I have no intention of paying it. Ahead were two skeletons, a warrior and a mage, surrounded by three dogs. I kept to the same tactic: Shackles on the warrior and the dogs, Silence on the mage, then Stone Disc at the warrior. His two-hander hurt more than the dogs' bites. Dodging the mage's two-handed staff, I countered with Ice Blade, and followed with three discs at the warrior as the mage's bones clattered to the stone floor.

The entrance to the corridor was narrow, yet high enough to swing a sword. I stepped back, putting up my shield. The dogs, now free, stumbled over each other trying to get to me, growling fiercely. Their attacks triggered the familiar message about the debuff. Shielding myself, I countered with three consecutive strikes that ended the fight. Wrinkling my nose in disgust, I bent over the corpses. Three broth bones for stock, two pieces of wool, a medium potion of healing and eighty seven copper. Not too rich, but clearing this instance once a month, every time it resets, would net around thirty gold after selling all this crap. And thirty gold in the real world is almost three thousand bucks these days, I thought with a sigh. Would that I could still return to the real world...

I kept moving down the corridor cautiously, then peeked into the first open door on my right, seeing iron shelving on the walls, metal crates scattered all around, and three skeletons in the corner. The hell with them? I probably wouldn't aggro mobs in rooms if I stick to the corridor. I won't get any XP for killing them anyway... I chased away the thought at once. The devs were known to play such tricks on players: give in to laziness and skip some mobs, and later in the dungeon, usually at the worst possible moment, something would trigger them all to come running and pile up on you. The clock showed twenty minutes past nine—it seemed I might be here longer than I'd thought. I zeroed in on my next target and started casting Earth Shackles...

Four mounting-shaped holes and a chunk of molten metal deformed from an explosion twenty yards away—this was all that was left of the silvery block that once hanged on this wall. It had taken me about twenty minutes to get here, after clearing out all the rooms along the way. I stood there in silence, gazing at this, the last line of Nittal's defense that nobody but me even knew existed. The sounds of battle from that vision washed over me once more, transporting me eighty three years into the past. Once more my eyes beheld the grim-faced warrior, spinning like a whirlwind of lethal steel, stopping the gruesome fiends from overtaking the defenseless city, and the ever-grouchy old gatekeeper shuffling along the stone slabs to his aid.

When I came to, I was breathing heavily and holding onto the wall. This time it all ended quickly—the vision merely flashed before my eyes. A sip from the flask had a soothing effect, bringing me back to my senses. As I looked around, my eyes fell on a chunk of blackened metal sticking out of a pile of rubble. I walked up and carefully liberated the find from under the rocks...

The magical explosion and resulting fire had failed to completely destroy the enchanted armor—a molten chunk of cuirass melded with the remains of a left pauldron was all that remained of Cymon the punisher. Neither his bones nor the other components of his armor were anywhere to be found. It was a wonder anything had survived at all. Well, that's one less mystery to unravel, I thought with lament, eyeing the deformed piece of mithril.

I wasn't going to leave the punisher's remains here. Many NPCs had long ceased to be mindless puppets to me, and if anyone deserved a proper burial, it was this tifling before me.

I bent down, intending to hide the armor remains into my bag...

You've accessed the quest: Cymon's Family Arms.

Quest type: unique.

Deliver what's left of Cymon the punisher's ancestral swords to his son.

Reward: experience, variable.

My hands were holding the fragments of twin swords—the very ones that the tifling had driven into the Agent of Death's eye-sockets right before the explosion. Straight guards, round pommels. A decent chunk of the bone hilt had remained in one fragment, while the blades had been trimmed to four inches at the most. It could have been the monster's venom, or perhaps the explosion. The moment I accepted the quest and put the sword fragments away in my bag, the leftovers of the punisher's armor crumbled to gray dust...

Another unique quest—these were often given to players who were first to complete a dungeon. And that was in addition to double the experience, the achievement for being first, and guaranteed phat lewts from the final boss. That made it clear why of those who made their living in the game, the most popular class by far was ranger, thanks to his superior movement and adaptation to virtually any terrain. Information about undiscovered dungeons fetched such exorbitant prices that the seller could turn around and buy beachfront property and a decent ride, and be set for life by smartly investing the rest of the proceeds. A rogue had his advantages as well, but nothing compared to the ranger's pathfinding and cross-country capabilities.

I should be happy. Being the only player in Demon Grounds, I was like a kid in a candy store with all these unexplored dungeons. Only I wasn't happy, not one bit. I wanted human contact. I wanted to talk to someone about something real, unrelated to fantasy. About cars, or books. About what had happened to all of us. I wanted to see my sister and my friend, and I didn't give a damn about these bloody dungeons! Maybe later, after I'd have made it out of here, I would come to regret not sticking my nose into every nook and crazy, sweeping everything clean like a Korean farmer, but that would be later. But for now... I inspected the corridor—only four packs remained from here till the floor's boss, a two-headed chimera. For now, I just have to keep going.

Master Varkas, a level 85 lich, was standing on the sand of the testing hall, surrounded by an entourage of four undead assistants. They stood in the same exact spot where once gaped the black portal window from which the Agent of Death had appeared in this realm. There was no portal this time, naturally, nor any pools of foul green-brown slime. Out of all the rooms in the research center, the testing hall had somehow suffered the least ruin. The only signs indicating that a magic blaze had wreaked havoc here at some point were the blackened walls and gaping doorways, the wooden doors having been burned to a crisp. The stone desks and benches didn't even have a layer of soot. Sitting up in the stands, I was having a smoke while studying the scribblings on the tabletop. Yet again they were proving to me that junior research fellow wasn't a job as much as a way of thinking.

Having resolved to check the archives only after clearing the entire dungeon, I'd made only one short stop at a small lab to complete Kyle Dar Ylsan's quest. The distilling tank—two closed copper pans linked by three tubes, each of a different color—was now tucked away in my bag, and if not for the faint glow it radiated, like virtually all of the game's quest items, I would probably still be rummaging through heaps of random junk looking for it. Really, what kind of idiot would think to call this contraption a "tank"?

The bosses of the first and second floors—a lizard-bird hybrid and a ten-foot ape—had taken me less than half a minute each. The packs on the way to them hadn't been particularly varied, and hadn't given me any trouble. My hopes of scoring some mithril hadn't come to fruition either. There doorways to the vault with the main accumulator were totally empty—evidently, the mages scouring this place after the tragedy had taken them out. I just didn't see how such massive doors could have vanished without a trace from the magical explosion... Or could they? Little had remained of the second floor as well—actually, I had a hard time understanding how anything at all had survived down here after a blast of that magnitude. How was it that the corridors had been left intact? And where had those dogs, skeletons and other weird creatures come from? Perhaps these walls were coated with some magic resistant substance, ushering the flames down corridors like in tubes? Enough guessing, let this rest on the developers' conscience—I had a bunch of bony bastards to fry. I beat my pipe against the tabletop to knock out the tobacco leftovers, then put the pipe away, got up and drank a potion of invisibility.

Master Varkas had 90,000 HP. The mantle offered scant protection—twenty five hits or so should suffice. The mages at his side had 7,000 HP, so they needed to go down first. I didn't fear much with my maximum resistance against dark magic, but they could still have surprises up those sleeves. The liches were standing in a square formation with the master in the center, so it didn't matter which one I pulled first.

Invisibility allowed me to get right up to the mobs. Let's roll! As an Ice Blade knocked half the HP off one of the mages, I felt the familiar flavor of rage rising inside me. A Tongue of Flame, and the mage's bones crackled down to the floor before their owner knew what hit him. After a Silence on Varkas (Shut your trap, scumbag!), I interrupted another skeleton's cast with an Ice Blade, but then the other two let loose two Clots of Darkness my way, taking off 600 HP. After finishing off the second skeleton, I ducked under the master's sweeping staff and rammed my shoulder into his chest, pushing him into of the two remaining mages. The master and his assistant were knocked seven-eight feet back—a testament to how uneven this fight was. Another Clot of Darkness smashed into my side—damn! Side-stepping toward the other henchman, I twisted my torso and executed a Tongue of Flame in a downward arc. The skeleton tried to parry with his bone staff, but my blade sliced through his weapon like a hot knife through butter, then on through his skull with glowing blue eye-sockets, finally lodging deep in the ribcage—a crit! Rushing over to the last remaining skeleton, I passed by Varkas as he was trying to get up off the sand, and knocked him back down with a forceful heel to the chest. The next Ice Blade procced Freeze, and my follow-up swing knocked the last remaining skeleton's noggin right off.

My feet became entwined by dark tentacles growing right out of the sand, the chat log flashing a message about being rooted and sustaining a small amount of periodic damage. With the Silence worn off, Varkas teleported to the edge of the arena and froze, arms stuck out in front, seemingly harnessing power for some nasty surprise. Think again! With a growl, I dispelled the root with Jump, appearing right on top of him. The attempt to interrupt his cast didn't work—bosses always had a maxed out focus skill, and interrupting them required a special attack which I didn't have. A Tongue of Flame struck Varkas for 4,000 HP, in return for which I got a Spear of Darkness to the chest. Pfft! 600 HP, is that all you got? I thought, knocking him down again with a kick to the chest. Taking full advantage of our level difference, I worked the knocked-down dark mage over with my blade, alternating special attacks and landing back-to-back crits for 15,000 damage. His health bar down to half, Varkas teleported to the center of the hall, and threw up his arms, threads of dark gray flowing from his staff to the sand. As they touched down, the earth opened up, revealing rotting extremities of the undead rising up from the ground. With my Jump coming off cooldown, I didn't feel like waiting for the zombies to climb out of the earth. Porting right to the boss, I hacked away at him, ignoring everything else. Another Freeze proc interrupted Varkas' cast of Summon Undead. A number of undead had already crawled out from underground and were laying into me with their decomposing paws, but I paid them no mind, focusing all damage on the boss. A sharp pain shot through my upper back; downing a healing potion automatically, I realized there was no target left to attack.

Attention! You've earned a unique achievement, First in Ruined Palace Wing. You and your allies have been granted a permanent 1% increase to your physical and magic damage.

Apparently, even a level 85 final boss could be a pain in the butt. Kicking away the head of a zombie who'd croaked right after its master, I bent over the pile of bones obscured by a ragged dark robe. Damn! It pays to be a dark mage nowadays, I snorted. Twenty five gold and three rare plate pieces: helm, pauldrons and boots! Why the hell wasn't this stuff dropping for me before, when I could have actually used it? Oh well, with the current penalties for dying, having spare lower-level equipment couldn't hurt. To sum up, completing the dungeon netted me over fifty gold and three rares. Unusual quality items and all the other junk needed to be sold, along with the trash still remaining from Ghorazm Ruins. With nothing else for me to do here, it was time to move on to the archives. Giving the testing hall one final lookover, I started toward the exit.

As the key turned in the ancient lock with a grating screech, I yanked the door and scrunched up my face from the stench of decay. Master Prant had been gravely mistaken when claiming that the archives were well protected—whatever the fire had spared could have easily been destroyed by dampness and rodents. But as I stepped inside, I realized that things probably weren't as bad as they seemed.

The interior of the archives was almost the carbon copy of the place where I'd talked to the old Chinese-looking demon. The difference was the condition—this space was much more rundown. Patches of mold covered the dark brown wood of the shelving; some had collapsed and were now obstructing already narrow passageways. And the smell! The revolting smell of rats! I didn't actually see the rodents, but signs of their activity were in clear sight—almost nothing remained of the books and scrolls that had either fallen from the upper shelves or lined the still-standing lower ones. The rustling sounds to my left suggested that the local residents were presently devouring something in that direction, but I had absolutely no desire to observe this process. The mini-map displayed the exact spot of the books needed for my quest, and it was in the opposite direction of the rats' feast. As for what I personally needed, it was all the way down the hall.

When I'd first come to see the archivist, I hadn't even thought to ask where to seek the information I needed. This wasn't all that unusual for me—in my past life I had the amusing habit of forgetting to take my purchases after paying for them at the register, but this case was compounded by the vision that had swept over me in the middle of the conversation. You try thinking clearly after butchering all sorts of abominations for ten minutes straight, then dying in a blaze of fire. Anyway, I'd had to visit the old man again later to clarify what exactly I needed to find.

Putting the heavy manuscripts away into my inventory, I was cursing Master Kuan and his disciples for handwriting these monstrosities, and the smart-ass devs for good measure. Why would a book have such unwieldy dimensions? How would anyone actually read it? Not that it mattered much to me—three hundred and fifty pounds was a lot in the real world, but here in the game I wasn't going to hurt my back or anything. The quest books had preserved just fine—given their position on the upper shelves, some seven feet off the floor, the rats hadn't gotten to "reading" them just yet. Or maybe it was that they cared about the history of Ashtar Dominion no more than I had...

The rack I needed was standing by the far wall. Or used to stand, rather... Tossing aside the largest, mold-covered chunk of wood, I examined what was left of the contents stored in the fifteen-foot-tall rack. There were about twenty parchment scrolls in all, scattered amid the rat feast leftover. Oh, how I hated rats! They had devoured everything they could find, though the scrolls on the floor looked perfectly untouched. Perhaps the parchment's flavor hadn't agreed with the rodents' palate, having been treated with some kind of chemical solution or imbued with magic. Or maybe the clever bastards had simply saved the scrolls for a rainy day.

Suddenly I heard a croaking sound and froze, listening. The sound seemed to be coming from behind the wall. The rodents rustling in the archives were a distraction, but listening closely you could still make out somebody's shallow breathing. Upon examining the wall, I noticed a long crack, its edge showing from behind one of the still-standing bookstands. What could it be? Gerid had mentioned something about a prison adjoining a ruined western wing. There must be a cell behind the wall, with some poor bastard trapped inside, I thought with a shrug, then returned to my own affairs. Hey, I never claimed to be Robin Hood, especially when I was plenty busy myself.

So, what did we have here? I carefully picked up sixteen surviving scrolls off the dirty floor, stepped aside to one of the bookstands and, leaning back against it, began looking through my findings. All the scrolls were roughly four inches in diameter and twenty inches in length, comprising one to ten sheets of thin parchment paper. The first six were covered with strange tables; the seventh described an animal called "Nyorkei, a serpentine creature up that reaches eighteen feet in length and nearly seven hundred pounds in weight. The Nyorkei slithers along surfaces like a snake, using eight pairs of short legs to propel its torso..." I pictured the freak to myself, then put the scroll into my bag in case I later decided to enter its contents into the chronicles. I finally got lucky with the fourteenth scroll, which contained just one sheet of parchment. But that one sheet constituted a fairly detailed map of the Free Princedom of Krajde.

As Prant had said, the princedom comprised two provinces, though the second one, Gilthor, could be deemed a province only in a very loose sense of the word. Roughly one third of the size of Antarra, the princedom's main province, Gilthor was situated to the southwest, surrounded on all sides by Aerimean Mountains. The Krajde Citadel—the object of my quest—was located in the south of Antarra, which, in turn, split into nine territories of roughly equal size. In all, the main province boasted two small towns and seven castles. Running across Antarra to the south was the Ithele River, springing from deep in barbarian lands and flowing into the great Lake Indis in the west. The princedom bordered Ashtar and Rualt dominions to the north, and barbarian territories to the east.

But there was only the map, and not one word about the curse or the events that had taken place in the princedom two hundred and eighty years ago. I drew a heavy sigh. The journey into this ruined wing hadn't brought any clarity, but at least I now had a map. I folded the scroll and was about to transfer the data onto my world map when the world suddenly shifted from under my feet...

The sun was inching toward the horizon, distant and hazy. Its crimson rays, though waning, illuminated the rolling plains, covered with sickly vegetation, abutting the captured citadel. Lending a rosy glow to the ruined gate tower, the rays infiltrated the courtyard like enemy troops through the breached stone walls. The dust had already settled, and the wind was sweeping westward the leftover smoke of the wooden structures that had been razed in the assault. Some of the punishers were inspecting the captured stronghold—businesslike, without needless fuss; others were pitching camp outside the main gates while mounted getare troops patrolled the territory within visibility range.

A dark-haired tifling stood on the lip of a pyramidal donjon inside the captured fortress. Clad in a suit of black plate with golden engravings, he watched the sunset with a grim expression, hands folded over his chest. The menacing features of his face were punctuated with a strong chin beneath a hawkish nose, but most of all by his eyes—the yellow eyes of a man accustomed to deciding who lived and who died. His figure was cloaked by the unseen aura of might; even the wind seemed reluctant to touch the flaps of his long vinous cloak. The demon was unperturbed by the hundreds of disfigured corpses filling up the donjon's upper platform, nor by the smells of blood and death hanging in the air.

"The citadel is empty, my lord," said a short thin tifling as he approached. He wore a black robe, its open hood revealing the sharp, predatory lines of his face. "We've looked everywhere. The light ones managed to slip away somehow, though I don't sense any traces of a portal. But then..." he turned to the cubic altar, set in the center of a colossal hexagram, marked at the edges by broken bodies in bloodied gray robes. With a sigh, he continued, "It will be a while before anything specific could be sensed here. Perhaps Saad Khor could offer an explanation?"

"You say the light one left on his own, because..." uttered the lord, his posture unchanged. His voice sounded flat, almost distant, but this voice never failed to still the blood in the veins of the uninitiated. Thankfully, Prince Sajtore—the head of the searching party and one of the most eminent figures in Balliose, Alcmehn's foremost dominion—was anything but uninitiated.

"Yes, my lord. If he's in possession of the crafted artifact, that would explain a great deal. And all signs point to the fact that the disavowed had succeeded in completing the ritual."

"You think the humans came for the artifact?"

"Doubtful," the tifling motioned at the carcass of the citadel's master lying on the castle floor. "That bastard was infamous in equal measure for licking the boots of his superiors and butchering his own people like cattle. When the dispossessed rose up and locked themselves up in Xantarra, a town at the mouth of Ithele, one of the Twice Cursed taught the locals to open portals to Karn. Vill and Syrat took great care to keep their ward safe from exposure—this is why we've only just now found out about it... I am sorry, and willing to accept any punishment for this oversight," the prince concluded with resignation.

"You think that the humans rebelled?" said Ahriman, his voice booming like thunder, ignoring the searcher's last sentence.

"One of the castle's vaults is filled with bones," said the head of one of Alcmehn's most powerful magistrates in a dry, indifferent tone. "Thousands of sentients: humans, demons, elves, dwarves... Yes, I think that the humans had somehow managed to ascertain the time and place of the next raid, and had arrived here several hours before us."

"What of the princedom?" turning away from the setting sun, the overlord finally looked at his subordinate.

"The princedom is in ruins," said Sajtore. "Only four castles have been left more or less intact. We've cleared the central city that this one had destroyed," the prince nodded toward the former free lord's carcass, half-buried by the rubble. "The getare rode ahead, buffed by our mages, and obliterated four more castles where similar things had been happening as to this place, and that could be ported to from the Gray Frontier."

"How many survivors?"

"Nearly all the local survivors are currently safe behind the walls of aforementioned Xantarra, and in three of Gilthor's settlements. Their numbers are few—no more than one in ten had survived. Would you like them eliminated?"

"No need," Ahriman shook his head. "Expect all sorts of things to crawl out of the woodwork the moment we leave. The Pale of Oblivion will keep out the cursed gods, but it won't stop all the small stuff. Let the locals handle it. I'd rather not have a chunk of the Gray Frontier over my shoulder. Nor should this citadel be razed to the ground—the ritual was conducted here," the overlord inhaled loudly, then exhaled as if to calm himself. Then he turned to the cubic altar. "I regret that the light ones beat us here, and that Erisjat was able to slip away. I'd make his death last an eternity..."

"Erisjat's soul didn't go into the Flame," Sajtore shrugged.

"What?!" the overlord's hand gripped the searcher's shoulder as he drew the prince to him and peered into his eyes.

"Master Laenor says that Erisjat's soul was consumed by some artifact." The huge yellow eyes were like quicksand, sucking him in, crushing his will. It had taken all of the prince's inner strength to keep his voice from trembling.

"One good news, at least," Ahriman removed his hand from his officer's shoulder, and turned toward a new arrival.

A fifteen-foot-tall monster in matte black armor was walking up the staircase, approaching them. His eyes were slanted and bloodshot, his face almost triangular, like a bird of prey's. The demon's step was heavy on the corpses strewn all around; even the stone slabs seemed to sag under his weight.

"Speak!" Ahriman commanded flatly when Prince Saad Khor had stopped and bowed his head before the overlord.

"He passed into the Flame, taking with him Krass, Nir and Ssaridakh," the giant bellowed, his voice like a peal of thunder. "Here's what I found amid his things."

The golden chalice seemed like a thimble on his massive gnarled palm. The overlord took the object in silence, shook his head, and handed it to the searcher.

"Aye," Sajtore nodded. "It is an accumulator. Most likely, the artifact was used by the light one."

"How is it possible that seven of my finest warriors couldn't kill a human mage without taking losses?" Ahriman's voice sounded weary and distant, as though the overlord were somewhere far away.

"It's my fault," the general hung his head lower still. "We didn't expect the human to be so strong. He'd had time to prepare for battle, and we'd planned on taking him alive at first..." the giant concluded with a heavy sigh.

"It all checks out," the searcher noted sourly. "The artifact was destroyed, allowing the mage to oppose the Throne Attendants. I'm sorry, my lord, but—"

"Sajtore," the overlord interrupted. "See that the Pale is erected—you and the necromancers have twenty four hours. And you," Ahriman shifted his heavy gaze on the general. "Pull your troops out of the princedom by morning. Dismissed."

Once alone on the donjon, Ahriman peered intently at the chalice nestled in his palm, still resonating with traces of a great spell.

"I'm sorry, too," he said, crumpling the metal as if it were paper, his voice—and his eyes—betraying a deep-seated vestige of anguish...

I blinked, allowing the familiar contours of shelves and bookstands to manifest into view. I was on my butt, leaning against one of them—evidently, this time the vision had forced me off my feet. My head was spinning, and my mouth was a desert. Fishing out a flask of water, I took several big swigs. That helped.

No more than five-six feet away sat a large rat—and another few dozen behind it—watching me intently with black beady eyes. The rodents must've gotten sick of their paper diet, and were hungry for flesh. Good thing I had armor on, otherwise they might have already started feasting on me. Forget it, I ain't your pantry to raid, with a flash of the middle finger, I unleashed a Stone Disc that smashed into their midst and ripped apart the bodies of six hapless rodents, spattering blood and guts all over the place.

"You wanted flesh, have at it," I quipped after the scattering survivors.

Grimacing from the headache, I rose from the floor and tried to bring my thoughts in order. Was that the local alpha dog I'd just seen? Well, the guy instilled respect, no doubt, after seeing fifteen-foot-tall behemoths groveling before him! What sort of combat form does he have? No, better I didn't know that—sometimes the less you know, the better you sleep. What else? It appeared that there were still some locals in the princedom that Erisjat hadn't gotten to after selling out to the dark gods. Also, according to the overlord, the Twice Cursed weren't in control in Krajde anymore, though the princedom was riddled with undead that had risen after the massacre orchestrated by the treacherous bastard.

But most interesting of all was the artifact—that black little ring that seemed to have started all this hullaballoo in the first place. It was the ring that Ahriman had been after! Oh, he might have planned to push back the dark gods from his borders, but his main goal had really been the crafted artifact. What was this bloody ring that had compelled one to sell out to cursed gods and butcher thousands of sentients, and another to march several legions and raze castles to the ground without a second thought? Finally, the overlord's reaction to the artifact's destruction seemed odd to me, as if there had been something personal there.

But really, what was that ring? One to rule them all a la Tolkien? I snorted. Put it on, and you're master of everything and everyone! Now, I wasn't so greedy—I'd settle for my own personal Nazgûl. But if I did get that ring, I wouldn't pull a Frodo and schlep hell knows where for no good reason. I'd just keep the ring, and the hell with my do-gooder award. But don't get me started on Tolkien—that whole backstory with the rings always felt fishy to me. Nine rings to humans, seven to dwarves, three to elves—sure, I'm with you so far. But why the hell did Sauron of all people get to keep the ring that controlled the rest? It reminded me of a parable: drinking chamomile tea will transform a tiger into a house pet—all of you have to do is make the animal drink it... Case in point, what in the world would compel all those leaders to put on the rings in the first place? And how were the leaders chosen in the first place? Did they get together once a year like the UN to shoot the breeze about the state of the world? Or was Sauron personally touring every kingdom, advertising his wares? Don't get me wrong, I had nothing against the grandmaster of fantasy—if not for him, I might be chasing after little green men in the Cygnus constellation or mowing down Aquilonians in Cimmeria... But enough of that, it was time to split this joint.

It was half past three in the afternoon. I'll need to spend the night on a bench by the pond, but better there than in this rathole, I thought with a sigh, then checked the portal spell, just in case. Active! It was possible to leave the dungeon! I was about to use the spell when I clearly heard a door slam behind the wall, from the same direction where I'd heard shallow breathing earlier. Now, curiosity is no grave sin, but it can be fraught with grave consequences. I approached the hole in the wall warily, and listened—this wasn't the real world, after all, and curiosity could pay real dividends.

"Why not just kill him now? Why wait?" the voice behind the wall was hoarse, as if its owner had a bad cold. "Because mistress said so?"

"His death should be long and painful," the other person's voice sounded like a crow cawing. "When Holgrim gets his head, there shouldn't be any doubt left as to where exactly his second son had died, and how long it had lasted. And someone else will see to it that the irbis come out for Vallan."

"Well, Zeran, you know better. But then, what are we waiting for? If he ended up being such a tough guy, we should come back later..."

"Yes, come," the door creaking again. "And about that bitch Janam, I think it's time to put an end to her. I don't like those intrigues she's been spinning with Ar-Iraz..."

You've accessed the quest: Damsel in Distress.

Quest type: unique.

Personally deliver a warning to Lady Janam, second wife of Astarot, the lord of Ashtar Dominion, about the threat to her life.

Reward: experience, variable.

You've accessed the quest: Betrayal!

Quest type: unique.

Use any means necessary to deliver the news of betrayal to Astarot, the lord of Ashtar Dominion.

Reward: experience, unknown.

Attention! If you succeed in notifying the lord before the death of Alsar, the son of the Snow Leopards clan's elder, you will earn a greater reward. 21:06... 21:05... 21:04...

Whoa! How was that for a leisurely hike to the library? I swore under my breath—what the hell was I supposed to do now?

Assuming Janam could wait until morning, the guy behind the wall was on schedule to buy the farm in a little over twenty minutes. But now what—should I go banging on Lord Astarot's bedroom door? There was a decent chance Janam would be there too, so I could kill two birds with one stone! I pictured the dominion's chief demon in his bedroom doorway, pissed and disheveled, and quickly dismissed the idea. What if I took the information to dar Annat? He had offered his help, after all. I pictured the security agent in the lord's bedroom doorway, and... Aww, damn it—there was no way either of us would make it to that door in twenty minutes! Feeling helpless, I rammed my fist into the wall.

Hart's mercy! Why am I such a dummy? With a Step through Darkness, I was standing in a small room with a low ceiling. The fireplace was a black maw, framed by gray walls with chipped plaster. Laid out in vivid disarray on a wooden table in the corner were torture devices, slightly resembling magnified dental instruments.

In the middle of the room, a young blonde-haired level 204 tifling was bound with straps to a device that looked suspiciously like a rack. The demon was unconscious, his head firmly clamped, a ray of ashen light falling on it from behind. The light was coming from a crystal hoisted on a stand next to the rack, siphoning the last slivers of life from its victim. Grimacing from the odor of his unwashed body, I kicked over the stand and brought down my boot heel hard on the transparent torture device—my own recent experience with these had made me particularly sensitive, eliciting a savage rage at the mere sight of them. No longer constrained, the tifling's body slid down the wooden surface onto the filthy floor tiles.

"Man, they sure did a number on you," I uttered under my breath.

The youth's eyes were half-open, his breathing hoarse and irregular, saliva trickling from the corner of mouth. Leaning over him, I poured a potion of healing into the demon's gullet, bringing his life from one to sixty percent.

Hey, dude!" I shook the tifling by the shoulder. "Wake up!"

Alsar doubled over, convulsing, and retched. This went on for five minutes or so, whereupon the kid pushed off the floor, leaned back against the wall, and raised his anguished green eyes at me.

"Sir?" He wheezed, closing his eyes again. "It's useless... the poison... no point... finish it, brother..."

I noticed that the debuff from the ray had started to consume the young demon's hit points at a faster rate. Evidently, the curse was designed to keep the victim healed and alive in the process. It was a twisted spell, called the Execration of Creiss.

"Don't sweat it," with a chuckle, I poured into his mouth a potion of greater healing that I'd always kept in my belt. It stung a little to spend an epic vial on him, but I consoled myself with the knowledge that I had four more like it. A willow-green mist shrouded the tifling's body momentarily; the kid took several quick breaths and opened his eyes.

"I am in your debt, sir," he said in a normal voice.

It wasn't until then that I noticed a pair of tiny black triangles on his right cheek. Was he from the Order as well? That would explain him calling me "sir."

Your reputation has increased. Alsar, a centurion of the Snow Leopards' clan, is friendly to you.

Your reputation has increased. The Snow Leopards relate to you with respect.

"You'll make it up to me," I smiled. "Can you walk?"

The youth appeared to have fully recovered. He looked to be in his mid to high twenties, wearing a ragged shirt and trousers, and no shoes. His hair was tangled and clumpy, and his face gaunt, but I could see by his green-almond eyes that he was OK.

"Sure," Alsar nodded, springing to his feet. "But I believe someone's coming this way," he added, listening intently.

"Hurry up and get out of here, then, or we'll both be strapped to this thing."

Having already opened a scarlet portal window, the tifling gave me a curious look.

"What about you?"

"I'll leave the same way I came. Go on..."

"Farewell, brother. And thank you," he nodded, then vanished in the portal window.

"You take care, too," I muttered under my breath. Eyeing the room one last time, I Stepped through the wall.

Change of terms for the quest: Treason!

You've accessed the quest: Treason!

Quest type: unique.

Use any means necessary to deliver the news of betrayal to Astarot, the lord of Ashtar Dominion. Also tell him about what happened in the west wing of the prison.

Reward: experience, unknown.

This is nuts! I thought as I ran for the exit. Nobody seemed to be chasing me—as a rule, NPCs weren't able to pass through instances, but as the saying goes, better safe than sorry. At least now I didn't need to disturb the lord's sleep in the middle of the night.

I thought and decided not to leave the dungeon via a portal, since it would most likely take me outside the gates, which were closed for the night. And it wasn't within my powers—at least not yet—to create a portal right to the inn's courtyard. And I'd rather spend the night on the bench by the pond than outside the city gates. Besides, come morning I would need to speak with the archivist, and after that, go see dar Annat.

Chapter 6

By the time morning had lifted the veil of darkness from the city, and the river's breeze had swept away the last of the night's drowsiness, I was already standing in front of the local equivalent of the CIA headquarters, and wondering one simple question: why was it that organizations like this one always worked out of such ugly and rundown buildings?

Before this, I'd popped into the library and handed the quest in to Master Prant, along with the complete collection of essays on the history of the dominion. The old man grew giddy at the mere sight of his precious manuscripts. No sooner had he counted off my reward in gold that he lost all touch with reality. Not wanting to disturb his bliss, I quietly left the library building.

So here I was, shaking my head at the four-story building that looked like a layer cake. I walked up to the legionnaire standing guard at the entrance, and asked him to take me to dar Annat. I was lucky—the tifling was at his post, and I barely had to wait at all.

Like the actual magistrate building, the security agent's office conformed to the stereotype perfectly: large rectangular window, high ceiling, massive writing desk of light-colored wood, and six chairs arranged along the wall. Perhaps the only missing element was a framed portrait of Lord Astarot looking down from the wall.

"Light one?" the tifling looked up from his writings when I walked into the office, arching a curious brow. "Is something the matter?"

"Hello to you, too," I nodded to him, then took a seat on one of the chairs without waiting for an invitation. "Yes, something is definitely the matter. Otherwise I wouldn't need to visit such a serious establishment this early in the day."

"What is it this time? More guards chasing you?"

"Much worse," I gave a theatrically heavy sigh, wondering where to start, as well as what to share with the agent and what to omit.

"Some specifics, would you? I'm a little busy here," I was a bit surprised to see a flicker of irritation on his long melancholic face.

"Well, if you're busy, I can come back another time," I shrugged, and made belief I was about to get up and leave.

"Enough with the clowning around," he put down his quill and unfinished sheet of paper with a sigh, folded his arms on the desk and looked at me the way one might at a pestering child. "So, what have you got?"

"I've got nothing," I replied, injecting a dash of sarcasm into my tone. "But you've got treason on your hands."

"What are you talking about?" the tifling frowned.

"About a devious scheme to kill Alsar, the son of the Snow Leopards' elder, and have his head delivered his old man..."

I proceeded to describe to the tifling a slimmed-down version of my nocturnal adventures. After I'd finished, a silence hung in the air for a while, which the tifling eventually broke, though his impassive face made it impossible to gauge his reaction.

"Do you know who this Zeran is? Do you have any idea who you're accusing here?" dar Annat inquired in a supremely calm tone.

Damn, this guy could be a pro poker player!

"Whoa!" I made a placating gesture, then spoke slowly, articulating every word. "I am not accusing anyone of anything. I merely told you what happened—it's your job to decide what to do with that information. As for me, I assure you that I want nothing at all to do with your politics. I've done enough for this dominion as it is, I'd say."

"Yes, of course," Annat replied, this time in a weary tone, and massaged his temples. "Wait here five minutes, let me make some arrangements."

Putting away the unfinished sheet of paper into a drawer, the tifling got up and quickly left the office.

I ended up waiting not five, and not even ten minutes. I must have memorized every crack on the front side of his desk by the time Annat returned, imperturbable as ever, and accompanied by an elderly tifling in plain traveling gear. The new arrival nodded a greeting, taking a seat on one of the available chairs, and shot me a curious look from under those bushy eyebrows. Ah, there's the cavalry, I let out a mental groan.

"Krian," dar Annat sat back in his seat, and took out a fresh sheet of paper. "Please repeat your story for master..." he looked at the elderly demon questioningly.

"Oh, no need for your spy games, Annat," said the old man in a deep, pleasant voice, then shifted his eyes back to me. "Dar, as you've no doubt surmised, I am Prince Ritter, the head of this magistrate. And seeing as you've just accused one of my deputies of treason, I would like to hear out what exactly happened to you last night. In detail, if you would."

"I didn't accuse anyone. I simply said that one of the speakers behind the wall was called Zeran—"

"Dar"—that was how he'd addressed me! Was it my knighthood that endowed me with such a title?

"Oh, quit it," the prince interrupted my musings. "Accused or not, what difference does it make? But I will ask you not to rush, and try not to omit a single detail."

It took another hour to recount the whole story from scratch, and answer all the questions. The only thing I omitted were the threats to the lord's wife. That was a different quest entirely, and I planned on delivering the warning personally. Towards the end of the interview, another tifling peeked into the office and called the prince out into the hallway. Upon returning a few minutes later, Ritter asked only a few more questions, and the ordeal was over.

"I will report to the lord about you, Krian. I expect he'll wish to speak with you personally," the prince seemed distracted now. "You're staying at the Candle, yes? A messenger will come for you when the lord is ready to receive you."

You've completed the quest: Treason!

You've accessed the quest: Audience with the Lord.

Go see Astarot, the lord of Ashtar Dominion, as soon as you are summoned.

Reward: experience, unknown.

To sum up, I'd had to waste an hour and a half simply to hand in a quest! I consoled myself with the fact that my XP bar had moved quite nicely. There were just a few more matters to take care of, and I could finally go see the elusive Lady Janam.

"Thank you, dar," the prince nodded to me. "We have no further questions for you. If you have nothing else to say, we won't keep you any longer."

"I do have something else," I sighed. "A personal matter to discuss with dar Annat, but I suppose it'd be good for you to hear it too, prince."

"A personal matter? For me?" the tifling echoed in surprise.

"Yes, Kert, for you," I drew another sigh, walked over to the desk and laid out the two sword fragments. "Your father Cymon... He perished in the west wing... Alongside his friend and another courageous old man. The three of them died to keep Death from sweeping through this city..."

A silence gripped the air, so absolute you could hear water dripping in the clepsydra, counting off the seconds as they vanished into nothingness. All color had fled from Kert dar Annat's face, and Prince Ritter, who had once awarded the agent's father his punisher's badge—had dropped all pretenses of levity. In my vision I'd glimpsed Cymon's face only once—as a hazy reflection in the glass of a non-functioning visor. I realized now that the son looked a hell of a lot like his father. Cymon had named his son after his friend, the same friend with whose help he would eventually stop the Agent of Death from entering Nittal, paying for it with their lives. The local nobles had two names, and I hadn't known the family name of the punisher who had died eighty three years ago before coming up on his remains.

Still slack-jawed and pale as death, the dar rose slowly from his seat and touched the blade fragments.

"I... We... Mother and I suspected that they died together, but..." he muttered under his breath, then suddenly exclaimed, voice quivering with excitement. "Yes, these are his swords... Yes!" Gripping the hilts with his palms, he looked up and met my eyes. "Will you tell me about how he died?!"

"I too would like to hear how his father and my punisher had passed into the Flame," said the prince, gazing off to the side. "We looked everywhere then, but didn't find any signs of him..."

"Of course," I nodded.

When I was done with the story, the silence that followed lasted a good five minutes, but was eventually broken by the prince.

"Thank you, Krian. We will notify the families of the deceased about what really happened," he sighed. "And the lord will finally have a true account of that tragic event."

Your reputation has increased. Kert dar Annat is friendly to you.

"By the way, Annat," Master Ritter looked my way. "I heard that our new acquaintance had a bit of a race with the city guard a month ago. And that the story of his escape merits particular interest. Consider teaching him the next degree of that trick—I think he's earned it." The prince rose from his chair. "Thank you for sharing that story... Dar, I must take my leave—thanks to you we've got a bit of trouble brewing. Farewell."

Annat and I also rose and said our goodbyes. It pays to be polite, all the more so with the movers and shakers of the world.

"Some things are hard to put into words," Kert spoke contemplatively. "My mother told me that my father had disappeared the day the research center caught fire. All those years we assumed that he had died in that fire, together with his friend Kert, but assuming is one thing, and knowing for a fact is quite another. Thank you, Krian," the dar came up to me and pressed his palm against my forehead, just like Kort had done once before. "Don't move..." A tsunami of shivers washed over my body.

You've completed the quest: Cymon's Family Arms.

You have gained a level! Current level: 132.

You've learned a unique skill: Step through Darkness II.

You have 1 talent point to allocate.

Class bonus: +1 to intellect; +1 to spirit.

You have 3 stat points to allocate.

You've learned the spell: Step through Darkness II.

Instant cast.

Mana cost: 125 points.

Cooldown: 25 seconds.

You vanish from view and teleport to a set point within a 25 yard radius. Stepping through darkness removes all stun and movement-impairing effects.

Awesome! A talent point saved was always welcome, and the timing couldn't be better, since I'd planned on improving precisely Step through Darkness upon leveling.

"Thank you, Kert," I smiled at the tifling. "I should go. Still need to see the lord's wife before the day is done."

"You still haven't given her the letter?" the tifling frowned.

"When could I? I just got back from Urcahnta two days ago."

"Hmm. You see, that letter... I can't tell you too much, but you should really be careful."

"Something about the rebellion?" I shrugged. "My job is to deliver the envelope, that's all. You don't shoot the messenger." I shook the tifling's hand goodbye and headed for the exit.

Attention! You have once more garnered the attention of a higher being. The Goddess of Justice Setara is friendly to you.

The duration of Setara's Shield has been increased from 10 to 20 seconds.

The unexpected message was the proverbial cherry on top, boosting my already raised spirits. Oh, Setara, how we miss you back there, under the real sun, I thought with a measure of sadness, walking in the direction of the palace complex.

The foyer was draped with silk, patterns of red and yellow flowers intertwining in the most intricate variations. Lounging on a small leather sofa with curved metallic feet, I gazed at my reflection in the full-length mirror while waiting for Lady Janam to grant me audience. I'd been led here by one of the gray tunics, and subsequently handed off to a level 120 long-nosed dandy who reeked of either perfume or incense. The fellow then demanded in a near-falsetto to hand over the letter to him, and, upon being rebuffed, bid me to sit here and wait. That damned parrot probably didn't even tell the lord's wife about a courier waiting here for her, I sat there, stewing as I examined my not-at-all-human-anymore eyes. At least I'd managed to drop by Raey's father and hand in that quest, cause it seemed I'd be waiting here forever. Plus thirty to all resistances—that was no joke. Now all of my resistances were maxed out, with the sole exception of nature at fifty percent. Thankfully, I had yet to run into a druid in this plane, so I didn't sweat it.

My patience had run out after two hours of waiting. I got up, turned the curved copper handle, and stepped into a giant reception room with velvet-draped walls. Just as I'd thought, the parrot that had met me at the door was lounging by a large arched window, having a leisurely chat with one of the maids.

"Where do you think you're going?" two level 200 legionnaires crossed their pikes before me, while their captain got up and started my way from across the room.

"Personal delivery for Lady Janam!" I shot back, quick on my feet. Why the hell had I been waiting for two hours? Ooh, I wouldn't mind running into that big-nosed douchebag in a dark alley!

The other thing I saw was that the lord's second wife was a level 380 highborn succubus, and had truly earned her title "the Beautiful." Her long, sapphire-black hair cascaded down her shoulders, framing a perfectly oval face with deep almond eyes and picture-perfect scarlet lips. Wearing a flowing beige gown and elegant light-colored heels, she looked no older than twenty five.

"Let him through," she said in a low, throaty voice, putting aside some book. She rose from her reading sofa in a fluid motion, and floated over to me. "Let me see," she stretched out her graceful, well-groomed hand.

I nodded, admitting to myself that her delicate woman's hand could, at a whim, wring my neck as if I were a helpless baby chick. I handed over the scroll with the red seal. Upon seeing the seal, she raised those huge eyes at me and asked, her tone cautious.

"Where's Ilsheet? Why did the prince send you? Who are you?"

"Nobody sent me," I said, trying not to stare at the outline of her nipples through the thin fabric of her dress. "I found the remains of a courier who had been carrying this letter, and decided to deliver it myself." Her eyes transformed just then, and I felt a slight headache, followed by a wave of fatigue... Which was immediately supplanted by righteous fury. Barbie is trying to dig inside my head! A strange feeling reflected in Janam's eyes as she recoiled, then knitted her brows. I suppressed the rage boiling up inside me by sheer force of will, and tried to lend my mug all the innocence I could muster.

"What are you doing in our lands, light one? Who sent you?"

With a sigh, I proceeded to tell her the standard account of my appearance, just as I'd done to dar Annat upon my arrival to Nittal. In the end, Janam's agitation visibly subsided; she unrolled the scroll, and an attendant came up to me and counted off my reward of five gold coins.

You've completed the quest: Special Delivery.

"My lady, I also need to inform you that your life is in danger," I said, hoping to tick off my other quest sooner rather than later.

As I spoke, I marveled at the stoicism displayed by the legionnaires. Even with my mental resistance it was a constant struggle to be near such a powerful succubus. Or was it the consequence of prolonged abstinence?

"What kind of danger?" the young woman raised her eyes at me.

My oh my, that smell! I vowed to myself to go see Dara right after this, feeling like a spunk-filed fifteen-year-old boy who'd stumbled upon a nude beach and was seeing the female form for the first time in his life. I recounted in details everything I'd overheard while inside the old archive building.

"And what were you doing in the archives in the first place?"

"I need to get back... up there. And I have cause to believe that the path back lies through the Cursed Princedom of Krajde. I was looking for a map of it in the library."

"Does anyone else know of this danger to me?"

"No. I thought it was best you be the first to know."

"Good," Janam wiggled her delicate jewel-encrusted tail. Hesitation flickered in her eyes, quickly followed by resolution. Having reached some kind of a decision, she nodded to me. "Thank you for warning me of danger." Then she turned back to her guards and, with metal in her tone, commanded: "Arrest him!"

You've completed the quest: Damsel in Distress.

The captain of the guard, clearly a hardened army man, wasted no time hitting me with a five-minute-long Hunter's Mark, blocking my only escape route. Without it I might have still been able to Step through Darkness behind the wall and pop an invisibility potion. My chances were still low—all the guards here were sixty-seventy levels above me, rendering my invisibility all but useless. In short, I considered and dismissed the option of escaping within the span of a second. Besides, why would I run? I had done absolutely nothing wrong, and risking twenty percent of my heard-earned levels was out of the question. Janam raised her thin brow, seemingly expecting me to try and pull something, but I kept my cool. After holding her stare for several seconds, I shrugged and, with a chuckle, shifted my eyes appraisingly to her chest. I wanted to get a rise out of her.

"You've got some nerve, light one," she shook her head as her guards escorted me toward the exit. "Take some time to think while I consider what to do with you."

Assholes, I spat on the floor when the heavy metal door rattled shut behind me, then looked around. The room I'd been confined to was small, no more than a hundred square feet in all, with a plank bed on the floor and bare brick walls. What is her game? Why make this spectacle? I asked myself yet again, then shrugged and took a seat on the crude wooden bed. I was unbound, nothing had been confiscated from me, though, in theory at least, that shouldn't be possible in the game anyway. I might even be able to escape at any time now that Hunter's Mark had worn off. The prison's magic blocked any portal-related spells, but my Step through Darkness was something else entirely.

Naturally, I didn't argue or kick up an indignant fuss over my detention—I had too much pride. So I just sat there, wondering what it all might mean, and what that skanky succubus was up to...

No doubt, Janam was somehow mixed up with that Zeran character and his accomplice—my assuring her that nobody else knew of the death threats had obviously been the reason for my confinement. But I still couldn't wrap my head around needing to arrest me. If they wanted me dead, I'd already be waiting to resurrect at my bind spot. And no way a succubus of her level was doing anything without a plan. Women who climbed this high in life just didn't make rash, haphazard decisions. All those trash novels about princesses running away with their lowborn boyfriends were nothing more than the authors' childish fantasies. Yes, I was inclined to rule out the possibility that Janam was some irascible fool who didn't appreciate me staring at her tits. Better to wait and see how this thing would play out—I could still try the escape option if things went south. Resolved not to dwell on the situation any longer, I opened the menu and threw three stat points into constitution, and my only talent point into Jump. No reason to flash my Step through Darkness just yet—let this unique talent be an ace up my sleeve.

You've learned the spell: Jump II.

Instant cast.

Mana cost: 75 points.

Cooldown: 25 seconds.

You teleport to a set point within a 25 yard radius. Requires line of sight. The jump removes all stun and movement-impairing effects.

Desperate for a distraction, I opened the map of Krajde and began studying it. The distance between the border with Jarus Province and the citadel I needed spanned roughly one hundred and fifty miles to the south as the crow flies, though that route would require traversing fifteen high-level zones, namely 150s through 200s. Along the way I'd need to skirt Castle Kjier, razed by Ahriman's troops, and Suonu, the town destroyed by Erisjat. And what's waiting for me at the actual citadel? I sighed and leaned back against the stone wall. It was only in cartoons that a hero could find some grand abandoned castle and claim it for himself. None of that was going to fly here. In a game where castles and lands could be stormed, raided and captured, any such structure simply had to have a garrison. And considering that Castle Krajde stood at a junction of four level 200 zones, and that the citadel was the foremost bastion in the princedom, which would be the equivalent of at least a county in Karn, the citadel had to hold no fewer than five hundred level 200-250 NPCs. I just hoped a good portion of them were demons with whom I could hopefully find a common language and persuade them to let me evacuate a hundred enemy knights and mages. But what if they were undead or other hostiles? Hart! Why did everything have to be so complicated!

For a game, the Realm of Arkon had a sophisticated and unique demesne system. A baron commanded a militia roughly two hundred strong, and had about a thousand subjects. Every sentient character under his protection and governance yielded a small amount of experience, which the baron could keep for himself or share with his vassals. A count, in turn, received a certain amount of experience from his vassal barons, and shared it with his prince, who, in turn, kicked back some of his XP to the king. The system was brilliant in its simplicity. Every ruler had streams of XP coming up from below. Plus, as far as I remembered, subjects of a successful ruler received more experience, so everyone was happy.

The point being, I couldn't simply show up and capture the baron's castle. Firstly, I'd need to deal with a two-to-three-hundred-strong militia, with soldier levels 150 and higher! And even if I somehow succeeded, how would the count react? Considering the fact that counts had several thousand troops that were both higher in level and better equipped than the militias of lower-classed barons. Any captured castle would likely be attacked in the span of days by all the sentients in the vicinity unhappy with such a turn of events, followed shortly after by heavy cavalry.

Imagine that your clan gathers the resources and resolve to capture and maintain control of a particular barony. You invade its territory, lay siege to the castle, kill the baron and take out his militia. That sets off the timer. A few hours to a few days later (the system generates the exact time), all the discontented residents of the barony pull up to the castle, their numbers usually in the thousands. And though they're not as well-armed as the militia destroyed by your clan, at least half of these resistance fighters tend to be hunters, and together they can prove quite the nuisance for the conquerors.

But let's say, with a little luck you manage to weather the storm and suppress the insurgency. You're about to throw a grand victory party when suddenly you find several thousand knights clad in plate and mithril outside the castle, brought there by the local count who's displeased with your actions. And considering the fact that in the four years since the game's release no player had surpassed level 234, whereas the count commanded several thousand knights in that level range, the outcome of such a scenario was, shall we say, very predictable.

Granted, there was a time when the game's elite clans might have been able to tackle such a challenge, but the changes made by RP-17 in the latest patch had postponed this possibility indefinitely. Besides, generally speaking, there weren't too many people eager to take on the authorities for fear of landing on the kingdom's watch list. For those hapless bastards, they would either have to pay off the right people or lay low in the boondocks somewhere, as the road to the central provinces would be all but closed for them. All of the above was true of humans, though I suspected the situation was similar with the other races.

In order to capture even the weakest, most backwater barony, you would first need to secure the support of the local population and the higher authorities, and only then attack the desired castle.

To be sure, in the four years since the game's release plenty of castles had been captured, but the goal had nearly always been either to pillage or destroy. As for assaults with the intent to keep, there had been only several successful attempts, and in each case the preparations had lasted for more than a year. Even the most numerous and powerful clans avoided messing with the local authorities, but preferred to take the legal route by buying up bordering land, which, thankfully, was in large supply. I could only guess as to the expenses of purchasing and developing those territories. Indeed, there was a reason in-game gold cost the same as its real-world counterpart.

The walls in the cell were warm, and eventually I began to doze off. Hope I won't get any bed bugs... I gave the wooden cot a dubious look, but quickly dismissed my worries and stretched out on it. Oh, Altus, I promised you to make everyone here my bitch, I thought as I succumbed to asleep. Why must I always be such a loudmouth...

Several hours later, in one of the palace rooms...

"Prince Elyid's secret envoy was killed three hours ago. Thus, both Kyaris and Altenna will come out for us," Master Ritter took a sip of water from his glass, then put it back on the coffee table. "Vallan is in for a surprise. It's a pity Zeran had to flee," sighed the prince. "He made such an effective pawn."

"You're in too deep, Diam. All these games of yours had nearly resulted in a problem for me, namely several thousand irbis," frowned a tall, fair-haired tifling. "Are you losing your edge?"

"We were trying to lay low," shrugged the master of searchers. "Who could predict that that enamored fool would turn up in Nittal and allow himself to get nabbed by Zeran like a total amateur?"

"What about his accomplice—have you identified him?" the lord shot a skeptical look at the water-filled glass cupped by his old friend, frowned, reached for a crystal carafe on the coffee table, and filled his own glass with dark wine.

"That's much more complicated. We don't even have his name," the prince shook his head. "All we know is that he'd arrived from Rualt, and that he's vanished along with Zeran after Holgrim's son's rescue."

"And I assume that you didn't search for your deputy to keep Vallan in the dark about the fact that his agent has been under your heel this whole time," the lord grinned, then upended the contents of his glass. "Don't give me that look! This is good wine, and it's too late to teach me etiquette," he grunted in response to the reproach in the master's eyes.

"What would be the point in nabbing him? He's probably all the way in Zorn by now, and highly unlikely to do any real harm. I'm worried about something else..."

"Janam?" Astarot frowned. "I think she's long figured out that you know about her schemes with Zeran, that scumbag." The lord rose from his seat, walked over to the burning fireplace in contemplation, and gave a subtle motion of the hand. "Is she still writing letters to her cousin?"

"Yes, though she knows full well that her attendant notifies me of their contents," Ritter nodded. "I'm racking my brain but still can't figure out her end game. I thought she was on our side, but turns out she knew about the imprisoned son of the Snow Leopards' elder, and was against his murder. Unfortunately, I had only just now found out about it." The master turned his eyes to the fireplace—following the lord's hand movement, the blaze had transformed into a trio of twisting salamanders that collectively bore a striking resemblance to the present object of conversation. "Her correspondence with Ar-Iraz is innocuous, and I cannot forbid her from communicating with her cousin," Ritter sighed. "But my gut is screaming that something is amiss. One might theorize that she's trying to charm the prince, but it's really a stretch. First of all, I doubt it's even possible; second, I can't see anything she might gain from it..."

"She's a tough broad to crack, no doubt," Astarot rubbed his massive chin. "If not for her and her brother's rights, they'd have been strung up next to Ziad a long time ago," he uttered softly, clasping his hands behind him while observing the fantastical dance in the fireplace with a dour expression. "You were saying that the southern province is teeming with Rualt agents?"

"Aye," the master fell back in his chair, looking off to the side meditatively. "If I hadn't held the Ryeed peace treaty in my own hands, I would be sure Rualt was planning an invasion. But violating the treaty is out of the question! Even if Lord Yllial were to get away with it by some miracle, Ar-Iraz would defend the border to the last drop of blood. Rualt is the worst option for him by far. He would sooner come out for Vallan in the upcoming battle."

"It might still make sense to put her down, eh? Or at least lock her up somewhere? Last time around her shenanigans resulted in a change of command in the second legion. Who's to say what the next surprise will be? And why is it that my entire internal security service is apparently powerless against that scheming bitch?"

"She's a quarter elder succubus, and she knows full well that you cannot touch her. Especially now. That's exactly why she's had all my agents wrapped around her tail. Sometimes I wonder if she's just doing it for entertainment," the master's face took on an estranged look, freezing still for nearly half a minute. "Well, no surprise there," he chuckled upon exiting his stupor. "The ball comes to the player, as they say."

"What, again?" Astarot snapped.

"Three hours ago, my lord, your second wife arrested the light one who had rid us of the aforementioned headache."

"Did the report mention why?"

"Surely she doesn't think us idiots," Ritter said with a note of doubt in his voice. "Then she's aware that you will summon her for a chat. Of course, you can try and suss out something at night, but chances of success are low," the master shrugged. "I'd venture to say the light one hadn't told me everything, and she needs him as proof of her loyalty. By arresting him, she's keeping him close at hand—a card she can play at will."

"Do you propose leaning on Janam in hopes she'll confess her relationship with Zeran? Your words imply that's what she's waiting for."

"Well, yes. Zeran is no more, but we might be able to learn something else. There may have been other options before, but none have remained. Let's pretend we're complete idiots," the master grinned.

"Pretend?" Astarot roared with laughter, pouring himself more wine from the carafe. "Besides, I've been meaning to take a look at this Krian character." He turned toward the door, and barked, "Sart!"

"Yes, master," the secretary's face, beaming with genuine enthusiasm, appeared in the doorway in less than a second.

"Bring Lady Janam to me! At once!"

"Yes, master," the secretary nodded, and vanished behind the door.

Janam appeared some thirty minutes later, looking as flawless as ever. Wearing a modest coffee-colored dress to match her eyes, a high-collared blouse and a light turtle-shaped hairpin, she glided into the room, nodded courteously to Ritter, and directed the attention of her gigantic almond eyes to her lord husband.

"You have sent for me, my lord?" she said with a graceful bow of the head.

"Yes," Astarot's yellow eyes darted lightning. "And you sure took your sweet time!" he almost roared.

"My lord is upset with me?" Janam lowered her eyes to the floor, the model of meekness.

"Don't give me that innocent act! What is your connection to the rebels?"

"If you're talking about Satrap Zeran," Janam said with a tremble in her voice. "I've long suspected him of being in cahoots with Prince Vallan. I thought that, should he decide that I likewise sympathize with the rebel prince, I would have enough time to notify you of his plans." Janam shifted from foot to foot uncomfortably, and folded her arms over her chest. "But the traitor realized that I am fully devoted to my lord husband," a note of woe sounded in the woman's voice.

"I bet," the lord snorted, shooting a glance at the master, who was watching the exchange intently. "And what happened next?"

"May I sit, my lord?" the woman asked gingerly.

"Go ahead," Astarot shrugged. "Sart! Wine for Lady Janam!" he roared, then lowered himself into a chair across from the master. "Why didn't you come to me with this? Or to Master Ritter?" the lord glared at his spouse after his secretary had placed before her a glass of light sparkling wine.

"I didn't want to distract my lord husband from important affairs of the state," she picked up her glass off the coffee table in one graceful motion, savored the wine, then raised her eyes at her spouse. "The dominion is in flux, and I've decided to make use of my modest resources to get to the bottom of it myself."

"My lady, could you talk about the nature of your relationship with Satrap Zeran?" asked the master, who had been silent up until now.

"Certainly, prince," the woman shifted her shoulders, as if feeling chilly. "My life appears to be in danger, after all. The courier who had delivered my brother's letter earlier today informed me that the rebels are plotting to kill me." She turned her loving gaze to her husband. "And yet, my lord, even after all this, you still doubt my loyalty?"

"Where is this courier now?" the lord grunted, studying the contents of his glass.

"I had him arrested," she shrugged. "What if he's one of them? Besides, I didn't like the way he was leering at me."

"Since when are you flustered by men checking you out? This is a new development," the conversation seemed to amuse Astarot, though his eyes hadn't lost an ounce of their severity.

"The light one looked at me just as others do, yes. But he resisted me like no other, and he's generally strange. Very strange."

"So here comes the one guy in Hart knows how many centuries who doesn't immediately start drooling over you, and you throw him behind bars? Why, I should reward him!"

"I am loyal to you, my lord," with a fluid flick of the head, she threw back her mane of raven-black hair, and shot her husband a defiant look. "I don't understand why you keep—"

"Oh, quit it," the lord threw up his arms, stopping her. "We are bound by our vows, and believe me, there are times when I regret it." He rose from his chair. "You're free to go, Janam. Release the light one at once and bring him to me. Tomorrow you'll tell Master Ritter all about your intrigues with Zeran..." Astarot turned his heavy gaze on Janam, who froze just as she was getting ready to stand. "Just go..." he concluded wearily.

"Why don't you question her again at night, one on one?" the master asked, grinning, after the woman had left the office.

"I don't have the same resistance as you or that light one," the lord returned the grin, then looked back to the blaze in the fireplace, and added in a much softer tone. "Or maybe it's because I genuinely love that wench."

I was awoken by the clanging of the latch being opened. Damn it, they won't even let me sleep, hiding a yawn with a hand over my mouth, I squinted at the captain of the guard on the doorstep.

"Get moving, mage," the legionnaire cast Hunter's Mark on me, unsurprisingly, and jerked his head toward the exit.

"Is the mark really necessary?" I groused, squeezing past him. Can't even be bothered to move aside, asshole.

"You bet it's necessary," the captain stroked his mustache. "I know you jumpers! Just saving myself the hassle of tracking you down afterwards."

"Would you at least tell me where we're going?" I asked, but the answer never came.

We spent the next twenty minutes meandering along corridors, past paintings, statues and gigantic vases. My head kept spinning this way and that, marveling at all this splendor and listening to the grumbling of my escort; whenever we'd reach a junction, he would prod me in the right direction. I'd realized early on that I was being taken to the big boss man, so it didn't surprise me when the mustachioed captain walked me into an enormous antechamber with rows of brown chairs alongside the walls and an oversized statue that looked like Venus de Milo—except, in contrast to the original, this one had arms. I'd even say the sculptor overdid it with the arms, seeing as the statue had four of them.

A scrawny-looking level 317 tifling sized me down skeptically.

"Go on it, the lord is waiting," he gestured toward the massive gilded doors. Then he looked at the captain and gave a wave of the hand. "Dismissed!"

The colossal door opened with ease, and I found myself in a room draped in jade velvet, a merrily crackling fireplace, and decorative statues amid wall-mounted paintings and weapons. Just like the Hermitage, the thought popped into my head. So powerful was the impression that the duo of tiflings sitting in armchairs were the last thing in the room that I noticed. And yet, these very tiflings were at the helm of this whole dominion. I'd already met Prince Ritter. As for the lord—a towering tifling with piercing yellow eyes—he was clearly a fire mage, as evidenced by his gold-embroidered mantle.

"Don't just stand there, light one! Have a seat, there's much I'd like to hear from you," said Astarot, his eyes boring through me.

He looked to be about forty. With crude facial features, as if hewn from stone, a straight nose and a thin lip line, amplified by a whopping level 580, the lord made for an impressive, imposing sight.

Ritter simply raised his glass, filled with a clear liquid (was he drinking water??), and gave me an encouraging wink. As the lord watched me, his eyes narrowed, I walked over to one of the armchairs, picked up the offered wine, and took a sip. A silence ensued, broken only by the crackling of wood in the fireplace. The firelight, reflected in the huge mirror hanging across from the fireplace, scattered specks of light throughout the room. The specks dashed, darted and danced, bounced off the walls and washed over the demons' faces.

Astarot was the first to speak. As if forgetting my existence, he looked at the master and said in a pensive tone.

"Don't you find it odd that ever since this light one turned up in the dominion a month ago, there's always something happening to him or around him?"

Taking a sip from his glass of water, the master put it back on the black hand-carved coffee table, and interlaced his fingers.

"I take solace in the fact that everything that's been happening to this young man has been beneficial to the dominion."

"No doubt," Astarot shook his head. "The slaying of an elder demon that we haven't been able to even track down for Hart knows how many years—that alone merits a sizable reward. Here, light one," the lord laid a weighty leather pouch onto the coffee table. "Take this, so that you may know my gratitude."

You've completed the quest: Audience with the Lord.

You received 3,000 gold.

"Thank you," I nodded, taking the money. "The reward is indeed very valuable. May I ask you a question?"

"Ask away," the lord nodded.

"Well, you see, your wife arrested me, and I can't figure out why," I complained. "I'd rather not have to go back to that cell on account of certain pressing matters of my own. To be sure, I appreciate her hospitality, but I'd been living out of a hotel just fine."

"I've already rid you of her hospitality, Krian. There's been a small misunderstanding—the lady has no further issues with you," he smirked. "Women can be strange creatures sometimes. Now, why don't you tell me about those pressing matters of yours?"

"I was thinking of heading out to Iskhart."

"I am aware that you wish to return to Karn. Is this excursion a part of that greater plan?"

"Yes," I nodded. "I need to get into the overlord's private library. It contains a document I need."

"And you're not flustered by the fact that it's private? I'll tell you something else—even I cannot get into that library."

"So what do I do?"

"Beats me," Astarot shrugged. "Then again, it was widely considered that Shaartakh could not be found, yet you found him." The lord rose from his chair, indicating the end to the audience. "Come see the prince when you're ready. He will send you out to Iskhart."

"Thank you," I nodded in gratitude. I had not been looking forward to spending ten days in a caravan or a week on horseback.

"Oh, one more thing!" the lord's shout stopped me in the doorway.

I turned around, my face expressing a mute question.

"Stay away from my wife," Astarot uttered grimly. I was too shocked to respond with anything but a nod. The other thing I didn't like was the way the master looked at me with those pensive eyes. It was the way one might look at a gravely ill. Or at a dead man...

Truth be told, I was beginning to grow sick and tired of it all. Always running somewhere, doing something! And just as things were looking up, I'd been smacked back down to earth with Ahriman's "private" library that not even the dominion's lord had access to. My aunt's phone hadn't been answering for a few weeks now, and I hadn't been trying to contact anyone else—what would be the point? To ask about life in the real world? I had a pretty good idea what was happening, and hearing pity in people's voice? Pass!

It would seem that I was doing all right. In just three months I reached level 132, became a knight, and was presently holding three hundred thousand bucks in my purse! Cheney, you scumbag! My face must have reflected my inner turmoil too well, so that a demoness in a flowery dress who had been walking my way hurried to cross the street. Even demons are scared of me now, I thought woefully, and continued on to the inn.

There was something about the lord's parting words that had been gnawing at me. Not for a second did I think that he saw me as a rival. His words carried an entirely different meaning. Oh, and that farewell look from Master Ritter... There was something fishy going on with that Lady Janam. Kert had warned me to be careful, but no—I had to play the hero and deliver that damned letter anyway. Perhaps my brain had been warped from roaming in circles in total solitude for two months, or maybe rubbing elbows with higher beings had stripped me of common-sense caution. But Astarot's spouse had quickly put me back in my place. I considered dropping by The Forest Violet to unwind, but quickly scratched the idea. Better to drown my troubles in the bottle with Gerid...

Oh, would you quit whining already! A wave of fury washed away my melancholy, and I instantly felt better. Everything was going to be just fine. Once in Iskhart, if I hit a wall trying to get into Ahriman's library, I would start grinding. All the local instances were yet to be explored—tallying up all the loot and bonuses I would net for being the first to complete them, I'd be damn near indestructible by the time I made it out. It wouldn't be prudent to poke my nose in Krajde before at least level 170, so there was still plenty to do before the Cursed Princedom came calling. And it started with Iskhart!

"Master, your horse is all right!" the ginger-headed demon boy came running as I walked into the inn courtyard, clearly fishing for a tip.

Hart! I completely forgot about Lucy. What a lousy pet owner I'd make! I pressed a gold coin into the kid's palm and ruffled his hair.

"Where is she?"

"Second stall from the right..." the kid muttered back, his voice flat with joyous shock. "Come, I'll show you!"

Judging by Lucy's look, my concerns had been unfounded. The mare didn't look at all miserable. Evidently, they really did look after her well: the forelock and the mane were groomed, and her trough was full of feed. Feeling relieved and grateful, I tossed the kid another gold coin—an early Christmas present, so to speak.

The moment I appeared in her stall, the horse whinnied reproachfully, shifted from foot to foot, and shoved her muzzle into my chest. I smiled, patting Lucy on the neck, and proceeded to feed her a dozen apples, one after the after. High on sugar, the animal put her chin on my shoulder and shut her eyes blissfully. Her euphoria was contagious. Just a few minutes ago I wallowed in woe and self-pity, but now... The mare pressed up against me as I caressed her softly, promising to introduce her to my sister as soon as we made it out...

"Master Krian? Master Gerid bid me to tell you that someone is waiting for you in there," the boy said, breaking our idyll.

"Be patient, girl. We'll be out of here tomorrow," I whispered to my trusty mount, and followed the ginger kid out of the stable.

My brightened moon soured instantly when I saw who had been waiting for me in the dining hall. I waited for Gerid to fill my mug with dark beer, then walked over to the corner table, and took a seat across from the demon.

"What does your mistress want with me now?" I asked the big-nosed secretary; by the looks of him, the fellow clearly felt out of his element. The modest atmosphere of a simple inn seemed an impossible burden, and he kept dabbing his nose with a white handkerchief embroidered with blue stitches.

"I don't know how you can even drink that..." he shook his head, then continued without waiting for me to answer. "My mistress regrets what happened and asks that you go see her at once. She has an urgent task for you."

"Look, Svent," I read out the name of the demon. "I don't feel like spending another night on your wooden cot. It's not that I don't value your mistress' attention, but—"

"Do you want to return to Karn, or no?" the demon gave me a look full of compassion.

"What?!" I coughed violently as the beer went down the wrong pipe. "What did you say..."

"My mistress said to tell you that if you complete her task, she will help you get back to the world above." His head cocked, the demon was clearly relishing the effect his words had made.

"Let's go," I chugged the rest of the beer, and got up from the table.

What did I have to think about? Had I any other choices? Sure, I had two: try to break into Ahriman's private library, or head straight for the Cursed Princedom's central citadel! Sure, there was also the lord's warning, and... And nothing! My sister and Max were in Karn—the hell with Astarot and his warnings!

"Svent, give the dar some wine, and leave us," Janam smiled gently when I took my seat in the indicated armchair. She had settled on a sofa across from me. Big nose and I had traveled to the palace complex in a carriage that had been waiting for us. This late in the evening there were hardly any crowds in the streets, and the coachman had delivered us in ten minutes flat. This time there was no waiting—we'd gone straight into the blue reception room, where the lovely tiflingess had been waiting for me, dressed for the occasion in a silk, sleeveless house dress.

"I hope you're not still upset at me about the incident earlier today? It's just that you really frightened me, and..." the succubus' tone dripped with remorse.

"Fear not, my lady, I took advantage of your hospitality and had a great nap," I smiled back at her. Oh, of course you regret it. I'm sure.

"You see, Krian, I remembered that you wanted to get to Karn, and I think I can help you do that. Perhaps that will be my atonement for wronging you."

Hart, was she beautiful! With a woman like that by your side, life could never be too sour. Even now, in a plain house dress, the succubus looked just like a fairytale princess! After a struggle, I willed the temptation away.

"What do I have to do?" I asked, my voice quivering with tension.

"Drink your wine, dar," she smiled again, motioning at a glass atop a small marble side table. "You were telling me earlier that you intend to visit the Krajde Princedom?"

"Yes, that is my plan," I replied, taking a sip from the offered glass.

"There's a small mountain province in the princedom called Gilthor. Up there in Aerimean Mountains is a temple forgotten by the gods." She sipped some wine from the glass, her expression contemplative, then continued. "Nobody remembers anymore which deity is supposed to be worshipped there, and it doesn't matter anyway. Your task would be to get inside the temple and extract something from me. A trifle, really—a single jewelry case of truesilver."

"My lady is overestimating my modest abilities. At this time I wouldn't even be able to traverse the princedom on my own, let alone extract a jewelry case from some temple."

"Fear not. You will be met at the border and led to the right place," Janam purred. "All you need to do is recover the case, and hand it over to one of your escorts. Due to certain circumstances, he is unable to retrieve it himself. But he will arrange it with the temple guards to grant you access."

Yes, of course—few NPCs were capable of entering a dungeon. I'd memorized the map of the Cursed Princedom pretty well, and there was indeed a site like that in Gilthor. Derelict Temple, they called it, a raid instance for levels 180+. Janam was going to assign me a companion who would arrange it with the temple guards to let us through—two people in a dungeon that required no less than fifty high-level characters?! Great...

"Will my escort open a portal to Karn for me after I give him the case?"

"No," the succubus' voice didn't hide her sorrow. "He will merely indicate for you the place where you could pick up one of the two fragments of the portal scroll."

"One of the two fragments?" I leaned forward, peering intently at Janam.

"Yes, didn't you know? When departing this plane, the gods of light sundered the key to the seal in two. Only by reconnecting the two fragments can you build a portal to the surface. With my help, you will be able to retrieve one of the fragments."

"But I... All right! I agree!"

"Then take this," she handed me a sealed scroll.

You've accessed the quest: Fragment One of the Celestial Seal.

Quest type: epic, chain.

You've accessed the quest: Fragment One of the Celestial Seal I.

Quest type: epic, chain.

Locate Master X'Tahr on the border of Ashtar Dominion, and deliver to him a message from Janam the Beautiful, second wife of Astarot, the lord of Ashtar Dominion.

Reward: experience, information about the first fragment of the portal scroll leading to Karn.

"I doubt you'll be able to find the master quickly on your own," she shook her head. "But I have another proposition for you. If you could drop by Laketa and deliver my reply to Prince Ar-Iraz, he will assign someone to escort you to the border. I included this request in my letter." The succubus handed me another sealed scroll, scented with sweet perfume.

You've accessed the quest: Special Delivery.

Quest type: normal.

Hand-deliver the letter of Janam the Beautiful, second wife of Astarot, the lord of Ashtar Dominion, personally to Ar-Iraz, the prince of Jarus Province.

Reward: experience.

Attention! The time for completing this quest is limited: 87:59:59... 87:59:58...

Another quest. Give a finger, she takes the whole hand, I sighed. At least there's a concrete lead.

"Unfortunately, you're going to need to make it to Laketa on your own," Janam continued. "With the dominion in unrest, there's a ban on selling scrolls." She rose from the sofa gracefully. "And now you must excuse me, Krian. My lord husband doesn't like waiting."

I was walking back to the inn on foot, as no one had bothered ordering me a carriage. I can build a portal to Lamorna, and from there it's only two days' travel to where I'm headed. I thought with shame that I hadn't yet found the time to visit Kort and Treis. Otherwise, considering Lucy's modest stats, I'd have many bumpy days and nights in a saddle to look forward to.

I tried to not think about the upcoming quest, which practically reeked of trouble. Perhaps not as badly as the infamous quest from the god of thieves, but still. The very name of the master who would expect me at the border triggered brooding thoughts, but such was life in the game—the harder the quest, the greater the reward. I decided not to delay my departure to Lamorna—my gear was in tip-top shape, I'd stocked up on potions and elixirs, and even apples for Lucy. I'll get to the inn, say my goodbyes to Gerid, take the mare and set out. The early bird gets the worm. I smiled at the moon shining down from the night sky.

Chapter 7

At first glance, Laketa was the carbon copy of Nittal, only one tenth its size: the same radical street layout, the same citadel at the center. I'd arrived here well ahead of schedule since the city was in Jarus Province and thus outside the restricted teleportation zone. All I had to do was ask Alsuil, and he had swiftly built for me a portal to the province's central city.

I'd spent the first day among friends indulging in idle revelry, meaning we drank pretty much nonstop. My lieutenant's stripes were a cause for celebration, and I'd asked the innkeeper to gather everyone who had joined us for the karriga hunt. The total lack of TVs and newspapers lent a kind of village festival vibe to the celebration, and there came a point when the inn couldn't fit any more people. I decided not to fight the expansion and treat everyone, especially since the total bill for the booze came out to a mere fifty gold. The legionnaires listened intently to the latest news and abbreviated account of my adventures, and after learning of my next destination, started stirring up legends about the Cursed Princedom, shouting over one another. According to their stories, you couldn't take a step in Krajde without running into some monster or other. Flesh-eating trees, packs of hellhounds, mad gods hunting mortals, and so forth. For me, the evening culminated with the appearance of Mirana. Youthful and gorgeous, the succubus gave me a friendly nod, pecked Alsuil on the cheek, taking a seat next to him, and cast down her eyes coyly. Catching my look of surprise, the mage simply shrugged and smiled blissfully. That smile of his made me appreciate this moment—just sitting there, sharing drinks with people I cared about, even if those people were actually demons.

As the feast was drawing to a close, Kort asked that I show him my lance, which totally stumped me. It turned out that a lance was an indispensable attribute of every cavalryman, or "getare" as they were called in Demon Grounds.

The lance was a one-handed weapon that amplified the physical damage dealt by a mounted soldier's primary weapon based on the attacker's speed. The Realm of Arkon featured its own brand of physics, and the speed of your mount had a direct impact on the damage dealt of your executed skill, doubling it every 5 mph. For example, if my Ice Blade dealt 4,000 damage, accelerating Lucy to 15 mph would knock 32,000 HP off my target, not accounting for armor class, naturally. And whenever the battle turned to a scuffle, the lance—with its slow speed and large size—disappeared, replaced by your regular melee weapon. Still, underestimating the ramming force of plate-wearing cavalry wielding such a weapon would be beyond foolish. Thus, the next morning I was the proud owner of a ten-foot pike with a four-sided tip and a counterweight at the base. The local smith had only ordinary lances in stock, so that mine had only the standard boost of +130 to strength. The purchase had set me back one hundred gold, meaning my budget hadn't suffered too hard. But I had come to regret not raising my mare's strength by 100—this would have been enough to wear light cavalry armor, which, in turn, would add 120 to stamina. Oh well, lesson learned.

I departed the friendly village the following morning, overfed and overladen with food for the road. Just like the last time, Treis—whose bump had gotten visibly more round—had totally ignored all my objections.

The succubus' letter was the golden ticket to Ar-Iraz's chambers, getting me there in under thirty minutes. The local security agents had examined the scroll for anything objectionable, and, having determined its authenticity, had escorted me into a room adjacent to the prince's office.

"Name, title, purpose of visit!" barked the clerk behind the reception desk. Though he was barely up to my chin in height, that voice had to be the envy of every drill sergeant.

"Krian, courier, letter from Lady Janam!" I yelled out like a proper private, barely holding back laughter. "Urgent message for the prince, private and confidential!"

"Pipe down," frowned the knight of quill and inkwell. "Have a seat and wait, the prince is busy." His face grew distant for a moment, then he frowned again and added. "Master Claye will be right out."

With a grin, I picked the chair closest to the office, lowered myself into it and stretched out my legs blissfully. I wasn't tired at all in the physical sense—the fatigue was more psychological. A few hours ago Lucy and I had come out of the portal outside the city gates, and I immediately set my bind point at the adjacent gray boulder. After going through the standard control procedure and getting my tag, I dropped off my mount at the nearest inn and set out for the citadel on foot.

After twenty or so minutes of admiring the paintings lining the wall, the door to the prince's office opened, and an elderly demon in an umber mantle came out.

"Go on it," he griped with poorly concealed frustration in his voice, and proceeded to march toward the exit.

The prince was sitting at his desk, inspecting some kind drawing laid out on a dagger sheath before him. He was a tall, fair-haired and blue-eyed tifling—the prototypical "blond beast" described by Friedrich Nietzsche. He wore a dark blue waistcoat and knee-high riding boots. The office decor was rather Spartan: weapons on the walls overhanging plain, unpretentious furniture. The only real statement piece was a magnificent figurine of some yellow mineral on the prince's desk, depicting a gorgeous woman with arms spread in some kind of dance. You didn't need to be Sherlock Holmes to identify the original model.

"Let me see it," the prince's deep, rich voice broke through my stupor." I walked up to him, nodded a greeting, and placed the scented scroll into his outstretched palm. "Have a seat," Ar-Iraz motioned at one of the chairs by the wall. He then passed his hand over the scroll, breaking the seal, and immersed himself into its contents.

You've completed the quest: Special Delivery.

Stiff and morose at the first, the prince's expression softened as he kept reading. Anyone who had seen the transformation in the face of a grumpy old man buying a toy for his darling granddaughter would recognize the same in the prince. It was actually surprising—a demon of his stature should be able to control his emotions much better than that. And this dude, despite his hard demeanor, was all but jumping from joy. I vowed to myself that, no matter the reward, I wasn't accepting any follow-up errands to deliver back to Nittal a pearl necklace or any such nonsense—I had enough on my plate without all their lovey-dovey bullcrap! Thankfully, once done with the letter, the prince dispelled my fears by putting his sullen ruler's face back on.

"Did you actually see Ilsheet's death?"

"If you're talking about your courier, he was brought down by a pack of huge dogs," I said. "Not much remained after they were done with him. But if you want his courier's badge, I can—"

"Keep it, you'll have use for it yet," Ar-Iraz's frown deepened. "Do you have any idea where Lady Janam has asked to escort you?"

"To the border of the Cursed Princedom?" I shrugged my shoulders.

"Irstad, the ancient burial ground on the border. A squad of ten getare will take you there, but none will enter. And another thing, Krian..." the prince seemed tormented by some inner conflict. "You appear to have gotten yourself ear-deep in some kind of mess. I would advise against diving even deeper."

"What's at that burial ground? And what is it, anyway?"

"An enormous gravesite that bodes nothing good for any sentient creature. We have tried to clear it on several occasions, but the more powerful undead just retreat into Krajde, where, to my sorrow, we cannot pass. All we could do was eliminate the lesser fiends, which simply respawn in a matter of days."

"I see," I shook my head. "Thank you for the warning, prince. But I cannot refuse this quest, I just can't. There is too much at stake."

"I understand, brother," Ar-Iraz gave a heavy sigh. "Here, take this," he took three vials out of a wall shelf and handed them to me.

Brother? I was such an idiot! Only now did I notice the same two stripes on the prince's cheek. It appeared that the Order of Punishing Steel allowed its members to lead normal lives, without reporting their every move to superior officers. Yet again I lamented having no access to the order's charter. And I couldn't just ask the prince about it—he wouldn't understand.

"Thank you, brother," I thank him, trying to maintain the solemnity of the moment, and put the vials away into my inventory.

"I would gladly share a glass of wine with you, but I'm leaving right away to inspect my legion. My squad will wait for you at the southern gate tomorrow morning. They will take you to Irstad's western tower as per Janam's demand. Be sure to drop by on the way back," he offered his hand for a handshake. "I hope to be more available then." Closing the office door behind me, I shot one final glance at the prince. He was holding the figurine of the succubus, gazing at it with loving eyes. I wonder if it's real love or some kind of trick with mental magic, the kind Janam tried with me? I thought on the way back to the inn.

In point of fact, there was more to mental magic than first met the eye. There was even a time when the devs considered pulling it from the game. Imagine, for instance, what an expert in mental magic could do to a woman in the span of a single minute? That was why, in the end, harsh restrictions were introduced to it.

Seduction was one tenth as effective against players as NPCs. Damage-dealing skills functioned the same way as with other schools of magic, but the abilities aimed at subjugating and controlling other players were severely limited. The controlled player could not be made to remove their clothes, open their mouth or speak. And when the effect wore off, they received an immunity to all player-cast control spells for twenty four hours. Finally, the base duration of a control spell by a same-level player was a mere ten seconds.

Certain NPCs were designed to subjugate for much longer than that. For the rest, the chance of subjugation was calculated in percentage by the following formula: (L1/L2 x [100 - R2])/5, where L1 was the caster's level, L2 the target's level, and R2 the target's resistance to mental magic. In the event of failure, the chance to succeed fell by half for every subsequent attempt. The duration of a control spell was calculated by an analogous formula: L1/L2 x base duration, with the exception of players below level 30 who were immune to being subjugated by other players altogether. How did I know all this? These were all very hot topics at one point, compelling the devs to lay out all the mathematics in the press. Any attempt at subjugation was deemed an attack and punished by the guards accordingly. Any complaints filed by players alleging any kind of inappropriate behavior during subjugation were investigated by the administration as a matter of priority.

The upshot was that Lord Astarot's wife, even accounting for our huge level disparity, had not even a measly three percent chance of subjugating me. If she had succeeded, however, I would be her dutiful puppet for quite a while, and she could have made me say and do anything she pleased. After all, the above limitations didn't extend to NPCs, and the duration of their control spells could be hundreds of times longer than that of another player.

All signs pointed to the prince falling head over heels for his cousin! Of course, I could hardly blame him. She was a spectacular woman, even if she was a real bitch. Men dreamt of a woman like that, though for 99.99% of us she remained just that—a pipe dream. I chased the mental image of the succubus out of my head, and took out one of the three vessels given to me by the prince.

Essence of Light

Rare item. Elixir.

Duration: 4 hours.

Effect: 50% boost to physical and magic damage to undead.

Break to use.

Cool! Elixirs like this weren't generally available for purchase—you needed either a high-level alchemist friend or the auction house. Regular vendors sold similar potions with only ten percent extra damage. I should drop by an alchemist before leaving. These babies might prove real handy on the upcoming journey.

The mounted squad tasked by the prince with escorting my precious carcass was waiting for me outside the southern gate the following morning. The getare commander was a level 240 tifling named Adurant. Towering about a foot and a half over me, the giant was clad head to toe in heavy plate, his left cheek bearing a small triangle—another member of the brotherhood. Evidently, Ar-Iraz had decided that a brother would be more fitting for the job, and I certainly didn't mind. He can also tell me about the Order, I thought with a grunt.

Lolling on the grass next to their grazing lizards, the getare were shooting funny looks at my warhorse. Next to their massive chainmail-covered reptiles, Lucy looked like a lithe gymnast surrounded by heavyweight champions of Greco-Roman wrestling.

"Ready?" The tifling waited for my affirmative nod, then easily mounted his dinosaur. "In your saddles!" he barked to his squad, then pressed his heels into the lizard's sides, guiding it toward the southern road.

We reached our destination in the afternoon of day three. The road had been clear throughout, and nobody had attacked us. According to my calculations, we must have traveled at least one hundred fifty miles. Good thing this isn't real life, I thought when we'd stopped for the night at some roadside inn. Indeed, in real life I would've been unable to move a finger from exhaustion, but here I was perfectly fine. The ride atop Lucy was pretty smooth—not like a car or anything, but I hadn't felt too much discomfort.

After feeding Lucy some apples, of which I had about forty five pounds remaining, I handed her over to the stable boy. Then I went into the dining hall and took a seat next to the captain; all this time he hadn't tried talking to me once, only shooting me the occasional contemplative glance. I struck up a conversation, but, alas, wasn't able to learn anything new about the Order. Like most legionnaires, Adurant had entered into the service of the warrior god early in his youth, with the ceremony taking place in some temple up north. Roughly twenty years ago, following a battle with some creatures he referred to as "rilcate" that only he and one other squadmate had survived, they watched a beautiful blonde Valkyrie emerge out of a bolt of lightning. (As he described the Valkyrie, I couldn't help noting strong similarities with this one countess I knew.) Upon their return, the prince honored the young warrior by inducting him into the Order and giving him command over his own squad of getare—the elite units of the prince's legion.

Irstad came into view when the road brought us atop a flat hill covered in yellowed grass. Behind the sloping stone enclosure sprawled a truly enormous cemetery, and extremely old by the look of it. If the map was accurate, the cemetery spanned two zones, with one section in the Ashtar Dominion, and the other in the Cursed Princedom. Rows of slanted gravestones stretched as far as the eye could see amid bizarrely twisted trees, crumbling crypts, and eerie statues of granite and marble. Looking out on this vista, I realized that it actually didn't impress me much—in the two months spent roaming the vault I'd seen way too many similar places, and always at night to boot. In the daylight, the sight of the deserted cemetery evoked not fear but rather melancholy.

The map was leading me to the ruins of a square tower of gray stone, situated inside the cemetery roughly thirty yards past and to the right of the crumbling brick gates. Scaring off a ghastly-looking flock of birds perched atop the crooked fence, the flying abominations took to the air with indignant screams resembling that of seagulls. The squad came to a stop and dismounted as per their commander's order.

"We are here, dar," removing his helm, Adurant gazed at the local denizens promenading amid the gravestones.

"Thank you," I nodded my gratitude. "Good luck to you and your squad."

"Dar," holding the reins of his lizard, the tifling turned toward me. "The prince bid me to play it by ear once we arrived. If you're in need of our help, we are willing to stay and—"

"No, Adurant," I shook my head, and hopped off my mare as she shifted in place. "I'll take it from here. Thank you."

"As you say," the captain said glumly, casting another glance at the burial ground. "If you need to cross Irstad and come out the other side in Krajde, stick to the main road. It twists and winds, but it's the safest route."

"I will," I assured him. "Farewell, Adurant." And, with a wave goodbye, I set out in the direction of the gates, leading Lucy by her bridle.

"Good luck, sir," I heard the captain's voice from behind.

Why build a tower at the entrance to a cemetery? I presumed that only the zone's artist knew the answer. Perhaps it had been a funeral home at one time? Presently, however, little more than a story remained of the ancient structure. The still-standing sections of wall were covered with vines and moss; stone debris littered the soft grass, carpeting the ground. Behind the ruins grew tall bushes of lilac, exuding a delicate aroma.

Now, where am I supposed to look for this X'Tahr fellow? I thought, rounding the tower and taking in my surroundings. There was nothing inside the building save for putrid planks covered in yellowy mold.

Rectangular in shape, engraved with bas-reliefs and decorated with statues depicting flying gray creatures, the sepulcher was the only large structure in the tower's vicinity. Its gray granite still retained its nobility, despite being badly eroded by time and the elements. The nearest packs of zombies and skeletons were visible some two hundred yards from the entrance—far enough for me not to worry about drawing their attention. Their levels ranged in the early 160s, which matched the 160-180 range for this zone—certainly way above my paygrade, but I didn't intend on having any physical altercations.

The door to the sepulcher—a heavy, unadorned granite slab on rusty hinges—was half opened, with pieces of rusty chains and a enormous corroded lock that had once blocked the way rotting on the ground to the side. The sign right of the door announced that I was looking at a crypt of the Relig Clan. Something glinted along the stone floor at the entrance, and I jumped back at once. Some lessons are hard to forget, and that flying monkey from before had taught me not to pounce on shiny objects in an unknown setting like a brainless magpie. The hell with this thing! The map is clear that the quest should be turned in either in the tower or close to it. I'll just go there and wait—let some other idiot deal with the damned crypt! I spat on the ground and, with a wary glance at the headless sculpture of a female humanoid with wings rising over the sepulcher's entrance, headed back toward the tower.

I returned to Lucy, her reins thrown over some lilac branches in the vein of every Thomas Mayne Reid adventure novel I'd read a kid, giving her a chance to take off in case of danger. She met me with an alarmed look of her huge brown eyes, and a gentle neigh. When I patted her on the withers, she gave me the usual poke in the shoulder with her muzzle, demanding a treat. Oh, you're a girl, no doubt about it, I whispered, feeding her apples. Girls always eat a lot when they're nervous.

The sun had already set, and dusk had descended on Irstad, slowly cloaking the cemetery structures. I was sitting on a felled trunk of a tree that once stood alongside the ruined tower, having a smoke and dwelling on what to do next. In the real world, any normal person who found himself at a cemetery at night would feel ill at ease. We all fear the unknown, and many of us still carry with us the scary stories about ghosts or the living dead; tucked away though they may be in the back of our consciousness, those memories serve as an excellent catalyst for fear. Shining lights, ominous figures in white, mysterious strangers—there's no limit to what our otherwise intelligent species has come up with just to scare our own. Thankfully, by now I was fully devoid of irrational fear. There they were, the living dead, roaming amid the graves just a tad ahead. I had seen their kind before, had fought and killed too many of them to fear them still. I only regretted not being able to ask the undead where to find X'Tahr, or at least who he was. Some kind of necromancer, I presumed—no one else would be caught dead (pardon the pun) in a place like this.

A young woman... Deep in thought, I'd completely missed her appearance. Clad in black leather armor, her footsteps perfectly soundless on the soft cemetery soil, the flaps of her long black cloak stirring in the breeze. Long raven-black hair, pale skin, unnaturally red lips—it was clear now why I'd had to wait till sundown for her to show up. Sunlight was extremely dangerous to vampires, considerably lowering their stats. These creatures therefore only crawled out of their lairs at night, or in very crappy weather. At level 200, the vampire chick floating my way exceeded the zone's level by twenty. Her attitude to me was unfriendly, ostensibly thanks to the courier's badge given me by the provident prince. The vampire's name was Yaina—70,000 HP, twin blades hanging from her waist, her features sharp but not entirely unpleasant.

Knocking the tobacco from my pipe in one motion, I jumped to my feet and put a hand on the hilt of my sword, eyeing the uninvited guest warily.

"Food..." the vampire declared in a raspy voice, baring her fangs in scowl. "Didn't your mother teach you to avoid cemeteries at night?"

The way she was ogling me, it was probably how a cat might regard a cornered mouse.

"I say it's none of your business what my mother taught me," I replied, matching her tone. Sparks of anger flashed in Yaina's eyes.

"Are you really so brave?" floating around me, she slipped her hand around my waist, purring into my ear. "And what, pray tell, is food doing on our territory?"

How I loathed creatures like her—smug bastards overconfident in their abilities. The loathing could be traced back to an incident in my youth, when a bunch of hoods tried to rob me of my walkman right there on the street. Fully aware of my slim-to-none chances, I smashed the player against the ground rather than give it up, and rushed the scumbags, fuming over the loss of my father's present. Only the first punch I threw landed—but what else could I do against three cocky bullies? I caught a real bad beating back then, and now this self-satisfied bitch was behaving just like they had been. It took all of my willpower to suppress the storm raging inside me. I have business here! I snapped at myself, trying to keep calm.

Vampire literature frequently goes through periods of resurgence when it's all the rage. Which kind of makes sense, what with the romantic image of a mysterious stranger in the night, their inhuman beauty, Gothic style, and kiss promising immortality. Protagonists left and right fall in love with vampires, sleep with them, even have kids with them. And the authors don't seem to care one bit that a vampire is nothing but a walking, bloodsucking corpse with a body temperate much lower than any human. I never read these books, which are typically written for women, by women. And I would recommend authors of such masterpieces to put down their favorite, ahem, "toy"—better yet, let it cool in the freezer for a while—and try themselves some real vampire love. I bet there'd be far fewer fans of the vampire fad as a result.

Yaina oozed rot and death, and I wouldn't sleep with her for even a bucketful of my grandma's pancakes in a year of famine. Hart be praised, necrophilia just wasn't one of my kinks.

"I'm looking for Master X'Tahr," I spat back in the bloodsucker's face, twisting out of her embrace and taking an extra step back for good measure. "Either take me to him or take a hike."

"What did you say, pup?" the woman hissed, closing in on me in a single motion and trying to grab me by the throat. "Trying" being the operative word.

I Jumped back, my shield raised, my sword sliding out of my sheath with a swoosh.

"You want to play, bitch? Come at me!" I gave an inviting hand gesture, my mouth curling into a scornful grin. I wasn't afraid of her level 200 and 70k HP! With Shaartakh's Venom and an Essence of Light up my sleeve, I'd need only a few hits to take her out.

Your reputation has decreased. Yaina, a fighter of the Asyrat Clan, relates to you with hatred.

"You think that trinket around your neck will save you, light one?" Those twin blades flashed in the vampire's hands. Having assumed a crouching combat stance, Yaina was moving toward me, slowly and inexorably. "I'm going to rip you to shreds..."

"How about you kiss my ass instead?" I mocked her, gazing at those scowling two inch fangs. "Actually, I take that back. Not with those ugly-ass teeth."

The vampire's eyes flared a mad hatred. She rushed at me, quick as lightning, and... Froze midway, as if paralyzed by some higher power.

"Leave us," uttered a voice, its owner materializing out of thin air fifteen feet away. An ancient vampire, balding, in a long black mantle that cascaded all the way to the ground.

"But..." Yaina tried to object, but piped down at once under his cool gaze. She spun around and, gracing me with one last glance full of bestial fury, strode away in the direction of the sepulcher, her chin held high.

Master X'Tahr turned out to be a level 410 vampire boss. Two hundred million HP! I struggled to imagine the raid group it would take to vanquish this withered asshole.

"You're insolent for a lightning lord's lapdog," X'Tahr sized me up casually, shaking his head. "Insolence ought to be fortified by strength, which means you're also foolish," he surmised, looking at me with the dullest expression. The monster's voice sounded like sand falling on glass. Standing before me was a six-foot-tall corpse with a hooked nose, baby-smooth face, and the colorless eyes of a fish. The vampire wielded a black carved staff, its tip shaped like a bat with ruby-red eyes.

"Where do see you a lapdog, bloodsucker? You must be blind if you can't tell a dog from a wolf." The fury inside me wasn't close to subsiding. I didn't give a damn about his level—he could kill me at any moment, but only after accepting the quest from me. Not even gods could break that rule.

"Check yourself, human," the ancient vampire's colorless eyes flashed a promise of my imminent death. "What brings you to my estate?"

"Here, for you," I handed him the scroll received from the succubus. My, what interesting contacts were kept by Lord Astarot's second wife!

Accepting the scroll from my hands, the vampire broke the seal and started reading. I felt relief for having released the getare, since they would've had no chance against him. You'd need a raid of at least one hundred skilled, high-level, well-equipped players to challenge the monster. I tried to imagine what surprises may lie for killing such an NPC. Were I to lead the raid, I'd place half the ranged dps up on the tower... Then again, I was no freaking raid leader!

When the scroll turned to dust in X'tahr's hands and crumbled to the ground, the vampire raised his fish-like eyes at me. I tensed up inside.

You've completed the quest: Fragment One of the Celestial Seal I.

This moment would decide my fate: was I going to live, or return express to Laketa? Were this asshat to decide for one reason or another that retrieving the jewelry case that Janam wanted was beyond my means, my death was all but certain, and likely to be rather unpleasant.

"You have the mark of the Nameless on you, human." If this vampire existed in real life, he would be winning poker championships left and right—his crusty face didn't betray an ounce of emotion. "Where did you get it? You have been to the Primordial Paths?"

"I don't know what you mean," I sighed with relief. My return ticket to Laketa appeared to have been postponed.

"Very well, light one. I will walk with you to the Derelict Temple, but you had better stop trying Asyrat's patience."

"It wasn't I who started it. If you muzzle your goons and keep them from harassing others, then maybe—"

"Don't try my patience either, human. You will not come to harm, so just be quiet. We leave in an hour, and we'll be traveling nights. Wait here."

You've accessed the quest: Fragment One of the Celestial Seal II».

Quest type: epic, chain.

Recover a truesilver jewelry case from the Derelict Temple, and hand it in to Master X'Tahr, the patriarch of the Asyrat Clan.

Reward: experience, information about the location of the first key fragment to the Celestial Seal.

Our party reached the Cursed Princedom border in the middle of the night. Two squads of level 200+ vampires had been sweeping up the packs of undead encountered along the way with the ease and swiftness of a bowling ball smashing into pins at high speed. Feeling like an extra in some unreal production, I kept to the center as we rode, and wondered about the contents of the sought-after jewelry case. I couldn't even begin to imagine the gold equivalent that might possess a vampire of his level and stature to get off his ass and hit the road. Then again, I doubted that he never left his lair—after all, both he and his clan needed to feed on a regular basis. Likewise strange was the fact that he didn't simply open a portal to the dungeon. I could only guess as to the reason, or why he didn't bother to invite me to the raid.

The vampires glided over the earth, the flaps of their cloaks fluttering behind like tattered wings. Lucy remained in a kind of horrified stupor—it had taken me quite an effort to force her to move. Are there psyche wards for mounts in Arkon? Because my mare is well underway to developing a severe case of PTSD.

But one thing worried me above all else—what was going to happen after I learned the coveted information about the key? A rollback to level 105 was well within the realm of possibilities—I very much doubted that the patriarch was going to just forget my insults. Oh well, we'll cross that bridge when we get there, I decided just as the road dipped into a deep ditch, its bottom bare save for a few sickly saplings. This marked the dominion's border. It's too late to go back anyway.

Krajde Princedom, Southern Irstad, zone level 150-160.

The moment I crossed into the new zone, there was a triumphant music in my ears, and the system log literally blew up with information.

Attention all clans and players in Demon Grounds! The continental event known as The Cursed Princedom has started!

Objective: capture and maintain control of the Krajde Citadel, the main stronghold of the undead invaders.

Reward: control of the Krajde Princedom.

Duration: 2 months.

Conditions

For the duration of the event, the princedom's two provinces, Antarra and Gilthor, are subject to the rule of permanent death. Resurrection in the princedom will be prohibited. Upon death, players will be given the choice of resurrecting at any previously visited bind point, their gravestone will be moved there, and they will be unable to reenter the princedom before the event is completed. Capturing cities or castles before seizing control of the Krajde Citadel is prohibited. Portal use is permissible only within the princedom. For the duration of the event, all experience earned by the players will be increased by 20%.

On behalf of the Realm of Arkon's administration, best of luck to all the players and clans!

Daaaaaamn! I was floored. My crossing the border into the princedom had triggered a continental event? But that didn't make any sense! More likely, it was my having a quest for the first fragment of the key that had triggered it. The event had to have been designed to set off before the unlocking of the higher plane—this also explained the relatively low level of the neighboring zones. The Azure Dragons or some other clan of their caliber would probably need no more than a month to clear the whole princedom of the undead, especially if allied with other clans. After breezing through level 190-200 zones, they would capture the citadel itself and defend it against an army of level 150-200 NPCs. And if any of the local demons survived the invasion, they wouldn't attack their own stronghold anyway. Just the opposite, the operation would earn their respect and admiration.

It followed that the event was designed exclusively for the demon race. Moreover, it shouldn't be triggered until the average level of players in the zone was high enough to take part in it. And since I was here alone, making the average player level 132, theoretically that should be enough to complete the quest for the key, as well as clear the princedom. A well-run ten thousand strong clan alliance of players in low 130s should dislodge a not-so-organized army of NPCs from the citadel. How many would there be? No more than a few thousand.

I shook my head at the cleverness of it all. To link a hidden quest revolving around the events two hundred and eighty years in the past to a continental event, tying up all loose ends... Bravo! The demon clans would recapture the princedom, the other dominions wouldn't attack them on account of Ahriman's curse, and there would be a one-year immunity against any offensive from above.

Over the following year of farming the "pocket" dungeons, the clan alliance in control of the princedom would match the level and influence of the players that would arrive from above. And a few years thereafter, Archmage Altus' quest would be triggered that would necessitate a recapture of the citadel. What a brilliant design on the part of the guys at corporate! Truly, there was a reason the Realm of Arkon was the number one game in the world.

The only snag was, there was no clan alliance! Just a solitary dude riding into all kinds of trouble in the midst of two vampire squads and their patriarch. And the archmage's quest had been completed as well, and entirely by accident. If not for the latest patch, Altus would be waiting for his justice several more years. Oh well, the continental event would have to wait. The army of mages and knights had been sleeping for nearly three centuries now—they could sleep a few more years. Priority number one remained getting to the temple, and I'd play it by ear from there. Should I survive, it made sense to stick around the princedom for two months to take full advantage of the twenty percent boost to experience. I was confident that, somehow, I'd able to handle packs of ordinary level 150 mobs.

Ah, but ignorance is bliss! The very first packs we encountered in the zone comprised no less than ten skeletons each. For the vampires, that mattered not one bit—the clan simply reshuffled their marching order. Whereas before they kept to groups of three, now they rode as five. The pace of our travel hadn't suffered at all.

Chapter 8

For our first day camp, the Asyrat clan picked a well-preserved marble crypt. I couldn't begin to guess why—marble could've been deemed luxury by the bloodsuckers for all I knew.

Having released Lucy, I waded through the thorny undergrowth in the predawn darkness, then followed the vampires into the abandoned abode of death. Though the vampires had cleared the two packs closest to the crypt, I wasn't going to remain out here all by my lonesome.

The stench inside was devastating. Guided by the light of a magic lantern carried by one of the vampires, I started my way down the slimy steps, but then the patriarch appeared before me, stopping me with a gesture.

"Wait here. You shouldn't follow us further," his lifeless voice rustled. Then he turned and followed his people to the lower floors.

Don't need to ask me twice, I thought with a shrug. From below there came sounds of bones hitting the floor—the vampires were clearing the space of its rightful tenants. The noise died down after a few minutes.

Looking around the room, I saw a number of marble slabs that must have been used to hold up sarcophagi. Presently, there was nothing on those slabs besides mounds of whitish dust and stone nameplates untouched by time. The sight was a relieving one—I didn't need to worry about any nasty surprises crawling out of the coffins. Breaking into the closed crypt from above was equally unlikely.

Trying to breathe with my mouth, I swiped the trash off one of the slabs. Then, leaning back against an old cracked wall, I set to contemplating my uneasy lot. Lately I'd been feeling like a calf, fumbling in the darkness while my fate was being decided by everyone else but me. For someone who was used to carving his own path, the feeling was unsettling, maddening even. The dominion's lord himself had warned me not to have any dealings with his wife, but did I listen? Of course not! Lords and princes were no authority for me! And look at me now—stuck in a bloody mausoleum with a bunch of bloodsuckers, wondering what was going to happen next.

On the other hand, had I been given a viable alternative? Head to Iskhart? To do what? Surprise Ahriman and force him to give up the keys to his private library? The notion was too ludicrous to even be funny. Inform on Janam to Master Ritter? I didn't particularly care about their internal politics, but doing so would foil my only quest to get the first half of the key. Rescue the knights and mages of the Order of the Red Flame? Sure, it might have been possible, after leveling to 170 or so, to sneak to the sealed vault door in the citadel by using my invisibility potions. But then what? A dead end. Even assuming that the trapped troops were badass enough to take out the fortress' entire garrison, and that they would even be willing to fight. Even then, a century of level 300 NPCs didn't stand a chance against several thousand level 200 ones. Capturing a castle was far more complicated than a standard raid where you would clear the mobs out in order as you moved through the instance. The castle garrison followed an entirely different script. Besides, leveling to 170 would have taken forever! My sister wasn't the type to sit on her hands—the more time went by, the higher the chance she would get herself into some kind of trouble. The thought was too hard, too scary to even consider. As if there weren't enough sick bastards on the higher plane? That recording Ivan had shown me more than answered that question. No! I had done everything right. And if I was deluding myself saying that, time would tell soon enough.

When the next night fell, our squad set out again. After rounding Castle Kjier, razed by Ahriman's army, we came out to the border of Xantarra roughly three hours before dawn. According to the searcher, this was where, two hundred and eighty years ago, the princedom's surviving demons had rebuffed Lord Erisjat's forces that had sold out to the Twice Cursed Gods.

With Irstad behind us, I noticed that the road leading southwest had considerably fewer undead on it. Sometimes we would even come across perfectly ordinary animals. And yet, my spirits were low. The ambiance in all the zones we'd been traversing was downright rotten, as if designed to depress even the most upbeat traveler. Thoughts of doom and gloom descended whenever we passed by villages devoid of life, fields overgrown with shrubbery and weeds, lonely frames of once-functioning windmills, graveyards with swarms of undead behind crumbling fences. It all looked so wild, so unnatural in the moonlight caressing the rolling hills and gently sloping barrows.

A champing sound distracted me from my contemplations, and the next moment I was tumbling to the ground. My feet flew out of the stirrups automatically; the moon flashed before my eyes once, then again, and I landed off to the side, squarely on my hip. I spent the next several seconds spitting up dust and trying to recover my bearings.

Lucy had died instantly, her head pierced right through by an arrow. I leaped back to my feet, swearing profusely, whipped out my sword... and froze, struggling to believe what I was seeing. A bunch of soldiers in heavy black plate riding wild boars were mopping up my vampire retinue. Sprouting arrows like a porcupine, the patriarch, having had his invisibility broken and having turned into a fearsome abomination that only distantly resembled a giant bat with a dozen shadow-woven tentacles, was on the defensive against a mounted soldier swinging a massive two-hander as if it were a reed. Four others were attacking the patriarch from the sides, and, judging by the speed at which his health bar was shrinking, my quest for the first half of the key to the Celestial Seal was coming to an end in only several minutes.

Join the fight? That would be idiotic! The attackers' levels were hidden, but after seeing them wipe out a whole squad of level 200 vampires, I probably wouldn't last more than a few seconds. The attackers' attitude toward me was unfriendly, and I'd rather not push it to hatred.

I tried reading the commander's name, but between the blazing trails of blades swooshing and X'Tahr's tentacles darting to and fro, it was downright impossible. Not a word was being uttered as the battle went on—all you heard was the clanging of metal and the sickening crunch of blades cleaving through flesh and bone. I stood there over my horse's corpse, observing the massacre, my thoughts grim. Too bad about Lucy. At least she won't lose any XP since we never got her any, I thought as I watched my hopes of getting the first half of the key getting irrevocably dashed.

Change of terms for the quest: Fragment One of the Celestial Seal II.

Quest type: epic, chain.

Recover a truesilver jewelry case from the Derelict Temple, and hand it in to Master Vyardiz in Sarykas, the capital of Rualt Dominion.

Reward: experience, information about the first fragment of the portal scroll leading to Karn; variable.

Attention! To complete this quest you will need at least fifty allies.

There was still hope! Only where was I going to find allies? And what did they mean by "variable"? And who the hell were these "benefactors"?! I looked up to see the leader of the vampire-extermination squad approaching. Leading his black-as-night razorback by the reins, he took care to walk around the vampire corpses littering the ground. I was finally able to read his name, and when the knight clapped one of his warriors on the shoulder and pulled off his helm, the name finally made sense. It was a woman! A sinister, deformed face; slanted bloodshot eyes; pointy elvish ears; ash-gray hair cascading over the shoulders. It was a face I remembered well from one of my visions. What was up with me and all these encounters with higher beings...

"Who are you? What was your business with the Enemy?" her already terrifying eyes flashed with cold fury.

"I'm merely trying to find a way back to the upper plane, Kirana. But thanks to you and your cohorts, my journey has just become a lot longer," I replied wearily, casting an irritated glance at my horse's corpse.

"How do you know my name, two-lived? It's been so long, even I've forgotten the last time anyone called me by it," her face twisted in a scowl, anguish and doubt flickering in her eyes.

"I know a great deal," with a sigh, I fished out the quest item from my bag. "I saw you battle Bagert. Here, I think this belongs to you."

"How did you..." In an instant the goddess snatched the truesilver mirror from me, gripping it with both hands, and gazed into it.

There was a blinding flash of light, followed by a peal of thunder as the earth moved under my feet. I felt a breath of forest freshness on my face, augmented by the scent of wild grass and ripe strawberries.

"Really now..." I blurted out after my eyes adjusted to my new surroundings.

In the morning dusk, the forest meadow looked like a magical slice of spring. The leafage of the surrounding trees had grown lush, and a thick coat of grass now carpeted most of the road like an inviting featherbed. The corpses of the vampires and their patriarch were gone. I stood there in a daze, following the flight of giant butterflies that seemed curiously out of place this early in the day. The silence was absolute. The heads of a dozen and a half dark elves were turned my way. Some had already removed their helms, their eyes brimming with nearly palpable joy. The legend above the goddess' head had changed, and so had her appearance. She now looked exactly the same as she had on that day long ago, leaning over the lifeless body of a heroic dwarf. The gleaming plate had been replaced by green ranger's garb. The goddess herself shrunk by at least two feet, with tiny sparks of light running the length of her waist-long, raven-black hair. Kirana was looking at me differently too—with a kind of avid curiosity, as if at an exotic and most peculiar creature.

Attention! You have garnered the attention of a higher being. Kirana, the goddess of the dark elves, is friendly to you.

Your reputation has increased. The dark elves relate to you with respect.

"Where did you find my mirror, dreamer?" her voice was soft like the murmur of a forest creek.

"Shaartakh," I forced out of myself, feeling like a character in an anime film from my childhood. "I looted it from his remains. You must have dropped it during your fight with Bagert."

"The monster took a part of me along with the mirror," her green eyes flared for an instant.

I knew then that had Shaartakh been found by this young woman with her jet-black hair and frail stature, especially when standing next to her boar, the elder demon's demise would have been far less pleasant. "How did you get here? Who are you? And why do you want to go back?"

"If only I knew how I got here," I shrugged. "And I want to go back because I've got a sister up there—Tauriel, a dark elf like you. Don't ask how a human can have a dark elf for a sister, I wouldn't be able to explain anyway."

"You're not human, but you were one once," Kirana frowned. "I see that you're telling the truth. And, to my sorrow, there is nothing I can do to help you," she said remorsefully, but then her gaze fell upon the horse carcass at my feet, which hadn't disappeared for some reason along with the vampires. "Did we kill your mount?"

"Afraid so," I nodded. "But at least you didn't kill me—that would have been a lot worse."

"Here, take this. He should help you on your journey, dreamer," the woman stepped up to me, and handed over the reins of her black boar.

You've completed the quest: Isyliel's Mirror.

You have gained a level! Current level: 133.

You have 1 talent point to allocate.

Class bonus: +1 to intellect; +1 to spirit.

You have 3 stat points to allocate.

You received: Kirana's Razorback.

.....................................................................

You have gained a level!

You have gained a level!

You have gained a level! Current level: 145.

You have 13 talent points to allocate.

Class bonus: +1 to intellect; +1 to spirit.

You have 39 stat points to allocate.

"Farewell, dreamer, and thank you..."

"Kirana, wait! I... I realize that I may be asking a lot, but..."

"What else do you want?" the goddess asked coolly.

"Could I... send a message to my sister? She's—"

"No," Kirana cut me short. "No, you cannot. Farewell..." I thought I picked up notes of sadness in the goddess' voice. The woman spun on her heels and started toward her troops. "Let's go!" she shouted, and in the blink of an eye the entire squad vanished into thin air...

The day was breaking over the Cursed Princedom, as the first rays of sunlight touched the treetops, percolating through the crowns, splattering the ground and branches. I was alone again. Oh, the solitude...

"Do you at least eat fruit?" I took an apple out of my inventory and offered it to the black beast.

The animal bored me with his yellow eyes for a while, but then, with a loud sigh, leaned forward and accepted the treat. "You're a big boy!" I patted his rough, sable-black side. The boar's withers were at my eye level. Directly underneath was the huge muzzle covered with old scars, and two pairs of tusks protruding upward like broad twelve-inch knives. He smelled of pine, must and rotting leaves—a less-than-pleasant cocktail of aromas, to be sure, but the stench would have been downright unbearable were this happening in real life.

"What do I call you?" I scratched my head. "Piglet seems... unbecoming. Porky? Nah. You need an ominous name... I've got it! I'll call you Gloom! Yes, the name suits you."

Gloom

Razorback. Transport.

Epic. Level 145.

No minimum level. Riding skill.

Attack: 2736-3582. Cooldown: 2 seconds.

Armor: 3625.

All resistances: 75%.

Strength: 725.

Stamina: 725 (regenerates 100/hour).

Constitution: 4350 (43,500 HP).

Walk: 1-2 mph (does not consume stamina).

Trot: 6-9 mph (consumes 1 stamina per minute).

Gallop: 18-24 mph (consumes 20 stamina per minute).

Special abilities:

Fortification 0/3,

Charge 0/3,

Frenzy 0/3,

Attention! XP distribution is 50%/50%.

You have 2 ability points to allocate (1 point = 50 animal's levels).

Fortification 0/3.

Cooldown: 5 minutes.

Increases the rider's armor class by 20% and maximum resistances by 5% for 2 minutes.

Charge 0/3.

Cooldown: 5 minutes.

The razorback accelerates up to 35 mph for 5 seconds, dealing 5 times more damage to the target.

Frenzy 0/3.

Cooldown: 5 minutes.

The razorback attacks with double the speed, also hitting enemies near the target for 85% damage. Duration: 30 seconds.

"Good lord!" I literally jumped for joy. This piggy turned out to be a better present than a Ferrari. "Gloom, buddy," I scratched the razorback's behind the ear as he chewed. "Your hide may be black, but you're worth your weight in gold!" 43,500 HP was badass! Battle mounts had to have plenty of hit points, otherwise they were useless. All things considered, my new razorback should outclass almost any lizard or warhorse. Though his damage output was somewhat lacking—almost certainly less than a lizard's—the boar was more of a tank than a dps. I wasn't crazy about the prospect of splitting XP with my mount down the middle, but our leveling speed should more than make up for that handicap.

Now, what about your abilities? I climbed up on the razorback and activated Fortification. The armor class indeed jumped by 20% to 3325, but the impact on damage absorption was less impressive: from 73.4% to 82.3%. Diminishing returns, baby—the higher the armor class to begin with, the lower the absorption coefficient for any further increases. Fine, Charge it is.

You've learned a mount ability: Charge 2/3.

Before attacking, the razorback accelerates up to 50 mph for seven seconds, dealing 7 times more damage to the target.

The impact all but guaranteed the death of at least one mob. Of course, that didn't mean much against a pack of ten-fifteen skeletons. I imagined a battle against such a pack out in the open, and even with this new element I just couldn't see it ending with anything but a crushing defeat for me. Say I used Gloom's Charge to one-shot the strongest mob in the pack, who, at level 150, should have around 100-120k HP. Say I then popped Fortification to buy some time and get away, then accelerated back to a gallop and knocked out a second mob. What then? How many others would I take down before the rest overwhelmed me from all sides? One? Two? My prospects seemed even gloomier for the fact that nearly all packs also had archers and mages... Wait! What if I Charged at one mob while striking another with a lance? And popped Frenzy before impact to boot? The razorback would hit three targets, dealing roughly 25k damage to each, and I would put down the fourth! Better, but still not a winning combination. About half the skeletons in a pack wore chainmail or better, which meant at least 35% damage absorption. That would reduce the boar's damage from 25k to 15-17k. Ordinary mobs around level 150 had 40-50k HP, and my attacks dealt slightly above 4k damage without accounting for the target's armor. I sighed despondently—there was no way to handle the local packs of undead on my own.

I chuckled, recalling a conversation with Max from my past life. When I asked him how he was doing, he responded with: "Do you know what a sumo wrestler looks like, Roman?" After an affirmative nod from me, my friend continued: "Well, imagine that a bunch of sumo wrestlers decided to play a game of rugby. There's a term in rugby called 'scrum,' when the players of both teams pack closely together and wait for the ball to be thrown in." He sighed heavily. "I'm on the outside of the scrum, Roman. I want to get at the ball, but everywhere I look there's a big fat ass staring back at me, not letting me through."

I seemed to be doing pretty good, at a glance. I'd gained favor with four gods of this world, I had a scalable epic, a mysterious ring that was probably pretty powerful, an absolutely fantastic mount, and a boatload of money. But then, I never asked for any of this stuff, and how does it help me against an ordinary pack of mobs? I spat angrily, and the razorback, sensing his owner's foul mood, gave an indignant snort. Or was that a comment on my manners?

Screw it, we'll deal with all these problems as they arise, I took heart, guiding the boar toward the nearest trees, their branches heavy with large, seemingly ripened fruit. Surprisingly, the ride was even smoother than on a mare. The razorback's tall hump covered me from the front up to my chest, making it easy to use a shield. When executing a frontal attack, the enemies would have a hard time hitting me with their arrows. Turning the razorback toward open space, I activated Charge. "Goddamn!" I couldn't help exclaiming when the animal gunned forward without any skidding. It felt like a roller-coaster—if not for the saddle's high back, I would have flown out of it for sure. On the plus side, there was almost no shaking. All in all, very much manageable, especially after getting used to the super-fast jolting. Gloom was smart enough not to brake too quickly, bringing our little experiment to a satisfying ending. I turned the boar back to our makeshift meadow, letting him graze to his heart's content on all the fruit that had fallen from the trees when he'd made the earth shake with Charge. It was time now for my own stats and talents.

First, the easy part—raise constitution to 142. As for talents... Well, no need to complicate things there either: 10 connecting plus one point into Shackles, and two more into physical attacks.

You've learned the spell: Tongue of Flame IX.

Instant cast.

Energy cost: 46 points.

Cooldown: 2 seconds.

You attack the enemy with a blade burning with the power of fire, dealing 230% damage on top of the weapon's base damage and ignoring 9% physical defense.

You've learned the spell: Ice Blade IX.

Instant cast.

Energy cost: 46 points.

Cooldown: 2 seconds.

You attack the enemy with a blade of ice, dealing 230% damage on top of the weapon's base damage, slowing the target by 40% for 10 seconds with an additional 9% chance to freeze the target for 9 seconds.

You've learned the spell: Earth Shackles III.

Instant cast.

Duration: 10 seconds.

Mana cost: 330 points.

Cooldown: 30 seconds.

You create an area of powerful terrestrial magnetism six yards in diameter within 40 yards of yourself. All creatures caught in or entering the area are shackled by the element of earth for the duration of the spell.

And that was that. I'd need to save the next ten points for portals, which meant I didn't need to worry about talents through level 155. Everything is peachy, but what do I do now? How am I supposed to retrieve the truesilver case from a treasury inside a level 180 dungeon? How am I supposed to get there? Should I even bother? And I can't teleport out either due to this bloody continental event. Thinking these somber thoughts, I proceeded to gather up the fruits that my razorback seemed to have taken a liking to. They were massive, at least seven pounds each, and looked kind of like apricots. Might as well stock up, since I don't know what else to feed this beast. Thankfully, between his strength and mine, we can carry several ton without any issues.

Having gathered around fifty fruits, I lowered my butt on the ground and opened the princedom's map. So, presently I was near the suburbs of Xantarra, a city that, in theory at least, still housed some of the princedom's residents. Xantarra itself was located on an estuary. Sitting at the center of the suburbs was some kind of fortification called Farot, clearly smaller than a castle, at which the road forked. One direction led south to Gilthor through some nameless castle, and the other to the actual city. Xantarra was maybe two-three days away traveling southwest. The zone levels ranged between 150-180, which meant my chances of making it in one piece were pretty good. Still, I had no idea what was happening in this satrapy—that was what the demons called a barony, if memory served me right. The map showed a village called Ballan five or so miles from here—perhaps it made sense to drop by? Yes! My reputation in these parts was unfriendly, so it would be prudent to move slowly, from village to village. I might even learn something useful thanks to my courier's badge, or pick up some quests.

The sun was already high when the overcast sky began rupturing into long red wounds, white clouds skidding across, breaking up and merging back together, their contours shifting into peculiar shapes. Gathering up my resolve, I opened the options menu and made visible my lieutenant's title. Then I put away the map and rose to my feet. "To me, my trusty mount!" I shouted to my razorback who was still chewing away merrily on the droppings. "Quit stuffing your face. "Let's go find ourselves some trouble."

Chapter 9

Ballan was maybe half a mile away when I spotted billows of black smoke rising over the forest ahead. Soon thereafter I heard the characteristic thumping of metal on wood. I picked up speed, spurring the razorback with my heels. The village came into view as we rounded the nearest bend—tiny, maybe two dozen houses in all, and enclosed by a simple palisade.

And here's trouble, I thought to myself, and swore with gusto. The village was being attacked. The attack was clumsy and uncoordinated, which was typical of NPCs, but with more than enough force to crush whatever defensive effort the villagers could put up.

The two guard towers were ablaze, and the massive gate was in serious danger of giving in to the furious blows of two-handers wielded by a colossal death knight and four of his henchmen. Several broken ladders were scattered the length of the palisade, with heavily armored skeletons bashing away—stupidly, much like their leader—at the sharp-tipped pickets. Corpses of archers and mages lay piled up across the gate some fifty yards away, ostensibly killed by the defenders on the walls.

The death knight leading the attack was being barraged with rocks and chunks of wood, but to little apparent effect. And no wonder, what with his eight million HP and his own personal healer—I'd spotted one of the three surviving liches throwing up his hands periodically, shrouding the tank with miasmic mist, while the other two hurled crimson fireballs at the defenders on the walls. The walls' durability bar was in the yellow, and it seemed inevitable that before long some forty level 170 skeletons, led by a ten-foot-tall death knight, would burst into the the tiny village. With maybe fifty-sixty level 150 defenders, the outcome was as sad as it was certain. But what could I do?!

You've accessed the quest: Saving Ballan.

Quest type: unique.

Help the residents of Ballan repel Daeron the Death Knight's raid party.

Reward: experience, reputation increase with the Krajde Princedom, reputation increase with the residents of Ballan, Feator, Farot and Uriatta.

Attention! Reputation gains are dependent entirely on your contribution to the defensive effort.

The wind at my back had picked up, sweeping the smells of smoke and cinders beyond the village. The gate's groaning was getting almost lifelike. The skeletons had stopped bashing at the palisade and were now watching their leader. Everything was set for the Hero to appear in his shiny armor and save the day! I swore again—the governing AI was so eager to slip me another unique quest that it didn't matter if I were alone or in a raid of forty. What the hell could I do against a small army?! I felt rage surging inside me, and drank deep from its familiar cup. My rage was directed at all of Arkon with all its deities and AIs, at that scumbag Cheney, at the Cursed Princedom... What could I do?!

"A hell of a lot!!!" I bellowed, breaking one of Ar-Iraz's vials and spurring Gloom to gallop in the direction of the three liches.

The healer sported 60k HP. I decided to save Charge for now—I should manage without it. The mages were clustered together and hadn't yet noticed me. I raised the lance, aiming the tip at the bastard just as he threw up his arms. Would it have killed me to practice a little earlier? I scolded myself, but immediately channeled my anger at the enemy. Screw it, this isn't the real world. It'll work just fine. Having entered their aggro radius, the mages started to turn toward me. Bam! The healer's bones cracked and crumpled to the ground. The second lich got trampled by Gloom, and the third got knocked back a good ten feet on impact. Throwing Silence on the farther one, I whipped out my blade and started assisting the razorback. Before long the silenced lich came running up, swinging his gnarly staff. I switched and let the boar do his thing—following the game's laws, all attacks against a knocked-down target were crits. Easily blocking the lich's blow with my shield, I struck back with a vengeance, alternating Ice Blade with Tongue of Flame, each blow hitting for 7-8k HP thanks to the Essence of Light. The third Ice Blade froze the target; I landed several more blows before Gloom, having dispatched his opponent, thrust his tusks into the frozen target in an upward motion. The mangled lich shuddered one last time, then went limp.

Adrenaline pumping, I turned the razorback toward the gate. Here it was, the moment of truth! My 7k damage at the speed of 50 mph... The ten-foot-tall figure in matte black plate, Daeron the death knight, eight million HP. This bastard stood before me and Karn! If not for his plate, I could end it with just one strike. But no...

The people on the walls had seen me, and were shouting something while waving their arms. But I couldn't hear anything over the blood pounding in my ears. With only fifty yards separating me from the gate, I snatched the vial with Shaartakh's Venom from my belt, and hurled it at the death knight's broad back. I wasn't afraid of missing—this wasn't real life.

"Come on, Gloom!" I touched the razorback's sides with my heels, and he began picking up speed. Daeron, having suddenly lost over seven million HP, began turning toward me as if in slow motion. Charge, Gloom! A great force pressed me into the saddle's back seat. The tip of my lance focused on the massive figure ahead, the wind whistling in my ears, the shocked faces peeking over the walls. Frenzy, Gloom! Ingvar heeelp meeeee!

BAM!!! With a sickening crunch, my lance plunged into the death knight's lower back. A crit! Hell yeah!!! The number that flew out was too incredible to believe. I let go off the lance, unable to keep a grip on it. Two of Daeron's minions had been knocked back, and one of them wasn't getting up—my razorback could crit as well. More importantly, the death knight himself had slowly toppled over, wheezing in agony. I spun my boar around, pulling out my sword, and began hacking away at the swarm of mobs coming at me. Gloom assisted, growling ferociously. The people above were still shouting something. I managed to twist and snatch my lance from the corpse, glimpsing a dozen skeletons rushing right at us, and popped Fortification. The next several minutes I spent swinging and slicing at everything that moved, rage spilling out of me. I felt no physical pain, but noticing that my HP bar had dipped below half, I popped and drank a healing potion, then dove back into the brawl. Gloom was feeling the heat as well—we were still breathing only because our backs were literally against the wall, and the skeletons couldn't flank us. The defenders were firing at the undead with their bows, but to little effect. And then I realized that it was time! My vision blurry and the razorback barely shuffling his feet, overwhelmed by the swarming undead, with a potion already used and an agonizing pain shooting through my back, grasping at the fringes of my consciousness I Stepped through Darkness, and wound up behind the gate.

A small square in front of the gate, the two closest houses ablaze. Several demons were running toward us. Carried by momentum another fifteen yards or so, Gloom stopped and slowly laid down on his belly. Fighting another bout of rending pain, I slipped out of the saddle and onto the ground...

"Hey, light one, wake up!" My consciousness was gradually returning.

The sky was cloudy, and the air thick with the smell of ash. I opened my eyes, seeing the wrinkled face of an elderly demoness holding a ladle. In an instant, the face was replaced by an enormous snout. Gloom breathed right into my face, forcing a grimace. Oh god, the stench! Do I need to brush his teeth or something? Or is this his way of giving me smelling salts? Shoving aside my four-legged friend's musky muzzle, I sat up sharply.

"Some water, master," the withered woman handed me a ladle with water—ice-cold and incredibly delicious.

"How long was I out?" I asked after taking two deep swigs.

"A few minutes at the most. And your animal was back up almost right away."

Returning the ladle to the demoness, I finally took a look around. Huddled up at a respectable distance of fifteen-twenty feet was a group of kids, their faces smudgy, their eyes watching Gloom, wide with wonder. The din of metal banging on wood was still coming from the other side of the gate. The defenders' corpses lined the walls and the parapet—Daeron's mages and archers had taken out nearly half of the village's combat-capable population. Of the survivors, there were sixteen hunters in leather armor, and four swordsmen in chainmail and leather caps. All the other villagers had, at best, only several random pieces of leather armor and crude, makeshift weapons. All in all, there were roughly sixty people ranging between levels 140-145. Only the archers had remained on the walls—the rest were gathering behind the gate, waiting for the undead to break through. If my calculations were correct, there should be around thirty level 170 skeletons left, most of them in plate. Oh, I was getting real sick of it all!

"How are you doing, sir knight?"

This must have been the elder—a large stocky demon clad head to toe in leather, wielding a long hunter's bow. His brown, vertical eyes radiated hope.

"I'm all right, Gvert." Rising to my feet, I fed my razorback an apricot, then climbed back in the saddle with some difficulty. "Are there any healers in the village?"

"Yes, sir knight. Two. But fairly weak."

"Clear the area by the gate so I could accelerate. Tell the archers to focus fire on the same targets." I peered into the demon's brown eyes. "And tell the healers to heal. That's it!" I nodded to the elder to go and relay my orders. Then I turned my razorback toward the gate, and backed up a bit.

There was a distant crash of thunder, as large raindrops began pattering the ground. I removed the lance from my inventory and held it at my side, tip pointed upwards, watching the gate live out its final moments. It came suddenly, just as a bolt of lightning sundered the suffocating evening dusk. Thunder crashed, and the gate's wings fell. Plate-wearing skeletons began pouring through the ten-foot-wide breach. Spurring Gloom with my heels, I popped Charge!

Nearly a ton of live weight rammed into the midst of unprepared crowd at top speed, sending the attackers flying like toy soldiers, and creating a congestion. Popping both Frenzy and Fortification, I proceeded to hammer away at the undead soldiers, still recovering from the shock. The people around me kept shouting something, but I couldn't hear them over the pealing thunder and the clanging of metal. Bones crunched under the razorback's hooves, and the saddle was getting slippery from the now full-on downpour. Ice Blade, Tongue of Flame, Ice Blade, change target to the mob knocked down by the boar, Tongue of Flame... Every so often I felt the cool wave of healing wash over my body. Good thing holding aggro for too long was impossible in mass battles like this; otherwise, were the skeletons to pounce on me all at once, nothing would have helped.

Hearing strings of profanities coming from the walls, I glimpsed the elder in the corner of my eye releasing feathered death at the undead bastards at the shortest possible intervals. Some skeleton caught me in the leg with his sword. Ow! Parrying the next strike, I countered with a chopping blow from above—a crit! I Jumped back with the boar, then set him into a gallop, sending yet another soldier in plate crumbling to the ground on impact.

Three more mobs appeared before Gloom. The first managed to land a heavy blow with his two-hander on the razorback's head before dropping to the ground with an arrow in his eye-socket. Catching the second skeleton's attack with my shield, I let the razorback drive the third into a rod post. I instantly switched targets to assist on the incapacitated third mob, ignoring the other one. As the boar landed a finishing blow with his tusks, the momentum carried us outside the gate.

Striking the ground no more than fifteen feet away came the brightest lightning I'd ever seen, accompanied by crashing thunder.

"Yes!" Standing up in the saddle with my arms spread wide, blinded and literally thunderstruck, I bellowed up to the heavens. "It is me, Ingvar! Check out your lieutenant!"

Your reputation has increased! Residents of the Krajde Princedom are neutral to you.

Your reputation has increased! Residents of the Farot relate to you with respect.

Your reputation has increased! Residents of Ballan, Feator and Uriatta relate to you with reverence.

The crowd behind me erupted with shouts of joy. VICTORY!

You've completed the quest: Saving Ballan.

My XP bar was nearly spilling over into the next level. With a heavy sigh, I fished out Treis' voluminous flask and took five deep swigs. Then I removed my helm, shut my eyes and craned my neck, letting the rainwater wash over my face.

I listened to the rain. To the drops champing as they struck the damp ground, drumming on the wood of the broken gate and the metal armor of Daeron's slain soldiers. The death knight himself was lying in an unnatural pose over by the right gatepost, his visor open, the black pools of his eyes looking up at the overcast sky. His face looking entirely, eerily human. Black hair, straight nose, thin lip line. Death had reduced the man in size quite a bit.

I hopped off the razorback, bending over his mangled body. Three rares: level 155 plate gauntlets, level 160 longbow, and level 165 chain legguards. Five unusual quality items, seventy five gold and a dozen or so vials of varying purposes. Seems too good a haul... Maybe due to the continental event? But hell, I'm not complaining. I shrugged, then headed over to the casters I'd killed first.

Struggling to keep my balance on the soggy ground, I walked up to the liches. Damn, Gloom and I sure had our fun with them! The hapless bastards' bones were scattered all over the square, itself nearly ten feet in diameter. The loot was pretty decent too with three unusual items and a bunch of coins totaling around three silver. The rest of the stuff was relatively useless to me: three mana potions and some alchemical junk. So, a thousand mobs around level 170 should net me one hundred gold, I made some quick mental calculations. In addition to the actual loot.

I had always been fascinated by the game's economy. After all, in the era preceding the latest patch, an average player could make over ten thousand dollars a month simply by grinding mobs for money. Even if mobs dropped twice as much money during events as I'd theorized, killing two thousand mobs over the course of one month was well within the realm of possibilities. And two thousand mobs translated to ten grand. Not bad at all! Sure, lower-level mobs dropped far less, but they were also easier to kill, and the local conditions weren't as harsh as I had it here. On the other hand, considering the immense player base and the standard six-hour respawn time for most mobs, your earning potential suddenly looked far more bleak. Plus, simply playing the game had expenses, some of which were pretty damn exorbitant. Want a private castle for your clan? The construction alone would set you back at least fifty thousand gold, NOT including the cost of the land. Then there were the regular expenses like armor repair and upgrades, and reagents for trade skills. If you wanted to become a pro, you had to shell out serious money. Perhaps that was why game gold was so highly valued? Thankfully, back in my past life I was already making over ten grand a month, and without all the extra hassle. Why am I even thinking about this stuff? It's pointless. I gazed up at the sky which had mostly cleared up—immersed in my thoughts, I hadn't even noticed that the rain had ended. Dollars don't exist for me anymore. Neither do rubles or yen.

A loud champing sound at my back startled me. I spun around sharply, and my jaw slowly dropped. Even before the crazy raid on the village I'd noticed a huge filthy puddle on the side of the road leading up to the gate. Well, the puddle wasn't there anymore—it was displaced entirely by my valiant mount. The razorback—plastered from hoof to withers with the brown slush, the bridle and the saddle and all—was lying on his back, kicking the air with his hooves in the most comical way, and casting sidelong glances my way. Was he expecting a reaction from me?

The villagers were crowding at the gate, shouting and pointing fingers. Little demon kids, having slipped past their naturally worried guardians, were running headlong in the boar's direction. I covered my face—whether to hide shame or glee, I wasn't sure—then took a seat on the nearest rock, and lit my pipe. Gloom let out some kind of half-indignant half-inviting roar, frightening the children silly. Are you calling me over or something? I snorted. Sorry, I pass. You go ahead though, knock yourself out. It all felt so familiar, like washing your car right before the rain.

What now? I was thinking, inhaling the aromatic smoke. I'm kind of a hero to them now, so I should take advantage. I wonder if they have a tavern? It would be good to chat up the elder—any new information is worth more than gold to me. I don't see any quest-givers, and that's too bad. Maybe after things calm down? It's settled—today we rest and figure out future plans.
I knocked out the pipe against the rock I was sitting on, and started toward the village.

"All right, hero, enough is enough," I chuckled at Gloom reveling in his mud bath, and kept on walking. There was a splash, followed by the boar's puffing at my back.

When the two of us came into view, all conversations died down at once, and all the heads turned our way. Their faces were warm and friendly, and not tense at all. Nobody spoke, perhaps out of politeness, waiting for the elder to clarify the situation. I walked past a heap of bones and metal, looking around for Gvert. I'd pick up the loot later.

"Sir knight! I... We... We don't know how thank you... We didn't touch your kills," he gestured at the skeletal remains. "We did loot our kills, but if you want we'll be happy to—"

"Don't worry, Gvert," I protested. "Where is your inn? I also need a blacksmith. And I have some questions, if you have the time."

"Um, well..." the demon sighed, spreading his arms in dismay. "You see, we don't have an inn. We used to have one, but it burned down thirty years ago, along with One-Eyed Reym. Nobody bothered to take over the business—we're a small village, you see, and it's just not very profitable. We've been doing booze runs to Feator, or making our own in a pinch. But the boys from Feator, now they make proper moonshine..." the elder faltered. "Or rather, used to make..."

"The undead filth, they destroyed it..." said a young black-haired demon in plain dun chainmail and a sword at his waist. He spat on the ground angrily, turned and started toward a smoking house, shoulders slumped. That was where the villagers had been carrying their dead. The attackers' corpses were being dragged outside the gate and tossed into a pile. Only the ones I'd killed were being left alone.

"You can stay with me, sir knight," Gvert removed his leather cap, gripping it with his huge hands. "And we do have a smith. Aye, and a skilled one at that," he nodded to a face in the crowd. "Skyle!"

"What do you need, dar?" a gray-haired demon spoke up, wiping his hands on a grimy rag.

"My lance needs repair, and some other stuff," I shrugged. "Maybe buy something."

"I doubt my stock will interest you," the smith shook his head, looking over my gear. "I don't even have any decent iron currently. Only what we just took off of them," he motioned at the corpses. "I'll be happy to do the repairs; as for the rest, you'll need to look elsewhere, I'm afraid."

"Quit standing around!" the elder shouted at the gawking villagers. "Get back to work! Kart, get that gate back up before some other fiends show up. Beg pardon, sir knight," that last part was for me. "Come with me, I need to show you—"

"Hold your horses, Gvert," I turned to him, barely holding down laughter as I motioned at Gloom. "And speaking of horses, where do I, um, park mine?"

"Your... horse?!" the elder's eyes were wide with incredulity. I heard chuckles and giggles all around.

The razorback really was a thing of beauty. Looking like a clay sculpture from a mental patient's worst nightmare, he kept shifting his gaze from me to the elder. Moreover, the way he was eyeing the elder was a bit unsettling... almost like the demon was a forbidden treat.

"You know what I mean. Horse or razorback, does it really matter?"

"But I've got sows in the shed... He's not going to, um, hurt them, is he?" the demon mumbled with pure horror in his eyes.

"What do you mean?" I demanded. "What could he do?" Then I looked at the razorback, and the elder's misgivings suddenly made sense. Gloom could indeed hurt those sows, whether by devouring them or, ahem, engaging in other activities.

"I know!" the elder smacked himself on the forehead. "We've got a shelter that way," he pointed down the main road. "Survivors from Feator and Uriatta are currently housed there. Behind the building is a stable, a spacious one. Not like the cattle shed—forgive me, but your 'horse' just wouldn't fit in there... But he'll be just fine in the stable, I assure you." The elder hesitated, looking flustered. "Before we head over, I do have to ask that you take care of those," he gestured at the corpses piled up near the gate. "It's just that we want to burn all this filth sooner rather than later."

I walked over to all the skeletal remains, throwing all the loot into my inventory. For anyone keeping score, Gloom and I were responsible for the death of seventeen skeletons, not including the three liches and Daeron! Not bad at all. Besides money, five unusual quality pieces and twelve healing potions, I found six bones of a peculiar shape. How odd... I thought, and then...

You've accessed the quest: Old Bones.

Quest type: unique, recurring.

Hand in 500 old bones to Askel, Xantarra's Quartermaster.

Reward: experience, increased reputation with the Krajde Princedom, increased attack and defense for you and your allies over the duration of The Cursed Princedom event.

Oh really, only five hundred? I snorted, but took the bones anyway. They weighed almost nothing but could still prove useful—who knew what the future might hold?

"Done," I said to the elder. "Let's go to that barn of yours..."

The elder lived in a two-story log house in the center of the village. We headed over there right after I'd taken Gloom to a spacious stable, situated close to the windmill. The lady of the house swiftly put together a bite to eat, and we drank—first to our victory, and then to the fallen. The elder was still clearly ill at ease: either he still hadn't recovered from the battle, or there was something about me that unnerved him.

"What's gong on, you ask?" Gvert spun an empty glass in his gnarly fingers, then put it on the table and frowned, leaning back on the log wall. He sat there in silence for a time, eyes downcast. "It all started about a month back. Things had been quiet around here since the times of the Black Lord. We were here, and the undead were somewhere else. I wasn't even around back then. But my grandpa was—he'd taken part in the defense of Xantarra. When Erisjat's army broke through the walls and razed half the city, including Wolce's Temple, and began laying siege to the citadel..." the elder fell silent, as if remembering something.

What was it with these cheap dramatics of NPCs pulling cliffhangers!

"That was what, almost three centuries ago?" I took my pipe out of inventory automatically, then shrugged and put it away.

"Be my guest, dar. If you have some tobacco to spare, I'll gladly join you." Taking the pouch from me, he nodded in appreciation, then reached into a huge trunk by the wall, produced his own pipe and proceeded to stuff it. "It was all very strange. Grandpa used to say that Erisjat had been a wise ruler when he declared himself a free lord. But then..."

"He got tangled up with the Twice Cursed?"

"Yes!" Gvert took a deep, satisfying drag. "All I know is that Satrap Gorm wiped out a mission of the disavowed, and a month later General Korg's legion was at Xantarra's gates."

"Gvert, you forget that I know nothing of your history or your politics. Could you clarify for me who's who?"

"Apologies, dar," he nodded. "Satrap Gorm was Xantarra's ruler, and Korg was the commander of Krajde's first legion at the time. So, first Gorm pillaged Suonu, and then he showed up here."

"And what happened then? Did the city hold?"

The demon poured us some moonshine. Without bothering to clink, he exhaled and downed his shot, then raised his somewhat murky eyes at me.

"Grandfather said that they were preparing for death, preparing to kill their own wives and children to keep them away from the dark bastards' altars... And then... Then Ahriman's getare cohorts smashed into Korg's rear," the demon concluded, falling silent once more.

"I see," I picked up my shot glass. "And what's happening now? You said things have been quiet."

"Aye," Gvert nodded. "For nearly three centuries there had been peace. Some say there are still sentients living in Gilthor. I wouldn't know—I am but a simple farmer. At least we've been able to reap the season's harvest, or things would have been even worse..." The elder grew quiet, seemingly lost in his own thoughts.

Was he drunk or something? He was a bloody computer program! It shouldn't matter if he drank two shots or half a bucket. Or was it the way farmers always acted, all quiet and taciturn?

"Gvert, you promised to tell me what's going on in Krajde nowadays. I'm listening. Or is something giving you pause?"

The elder's eyes flashed with anguish. Seemingly coming at a resolution, he poured himself another shot and upended his glass. Only then did he finally begin to talk.

"You see, Master Krian, in these parts we mainly worship Wolce and Ahmen, even though we're children of the Lightning god. On the other hand, he's a true god. Maybe they'll come to an understanding up there," Gvert stuck his index finger upward. "It would be better than what's happening now. Our warriors are probably with Ingvar as well, and—"

"Hold up!" I threw up my arms, stopping his verbal diarrhea. "Gvert, I'm here on my own accord. I couldn't care less about Wolce, Ahmen or any of their divine politics."

"A month ago, an undead army appeared from the direction of Suonu," the elder began, clearly relieved. "For one reason or another, they ignored Farot and moved straight at Xantarra. Gorm defended the city again, but that was only the beginning. Suddenly graveyards all over the satrapy were in unrest. Their eternal sleep disturbed, the undead began to rise, swarming our lands. The swamp beasts awoke as well. They weren't aggressive, sure, but who would want them as neighbors? For a while we simply stayed behind our walls, waiting." Gvert pulled on his pipe, then pressed the tobacco with a finger. Looking up, he explained, "I used to get my tobacco in Feator. But with the roads closed..." he spread his arms. "We kept waiting for Xantarra to send over troops, or for someone in Farot to wake up and do something..." Taking another drag, he glanced in the direction of the narrow window which looked more like a fire slit. With a heavy sigh, he continued, "This is the result of our waiting. The day before yesterday we received refugees from Uriatta, and yesterday from Feator. There are no more villages left. I had a brother in Feator... That bastard you've put to rest by the gate had caused us all great sorrow. Thank you..."

"What are you planning to do? Or do you think there'll be no more attacks?"

"What can I do?" the elder peered into my eyes. "This morning I had twenty of my own hunters and sixteen from other villages. How many are left? Maybe half."

"Then give me some of your people. I will try to clear the area."

"With all due respect..." Gvert cast down his eyes again. "I can't," he sighed. After a long pause, he looked up suddenly, his eyes flashing with a kind of audacity. "Cleanse the village of the blight, dar! Clear out the swamp cave, and I will give you people!"

You've accessed the quest: Cleansing the Area.

Quest type: unique.

Cleanse Feator and Uriatta of the undead blight, and kill all the monsters in the swamp cave.

Reward: experience, reputation increase with the Krajde Princedom, reputation increase with the residents of Ballan, Feator, Farot and Uriatta. 10 peasants to command.

"What's this swamp cave and where is it located?" I produced the map from my inventory and laid it out on the table.

"Roughly five miles toward the Great Lake, in a swamp-ridden wood, there's a strange structure that's been there since the olden times. It's easy to spot due to an elevation running the length of the swamp, and the old road to the lake cutting right across." The elder took a drag, released a ring of smoke, and pointed to a spot west of Ballan. "After Ahriman's army departed from the princedom, something happened there. First a caravan went missing, then a group of hunters that were deployed to investigate. Some time after that a squad of soldiers from Farot vanished as well, but the authorities were too busy dealing with other problems. To this day the locals give this place a wide berth, and a new route has ben laid further north."

"What kind of monsters are there?"

"Hunters report seeing huge glowing toads the size of your, um..." the demon faltered, but then, seeing my wide grin, he grinned himself and continued, "your war mount, yeah."

"I got it," I rose. "Thank you, Gvert. I'll see what I can do."

"You're not staying here?"

"No," I shook my head. "I'm used to being with the boar. And I'm sure you're plenty busy yourself." Bending slightly so as to not hit my head on the low door jamb, I walked out of the house.

"Wait!" the elder ran out after me.

"What now?"

"Bear the torch, Master Krian, do us this honor..." Seeing my incredulous gaze, he clarified. "The funeral pyre outside the village. The undead are probably all incinerated by now, but not our people..."

"Let's go," I nodded.

It took about an hour to prepare everything. The funeral pyre was constructed at the local graveyard—tons of logs stacked to around ten feet, adorned with flowers and white ribbons. The entire surviving population of the village, around eighty people in all, stood around the pyre in perfect stillness—the women's faces stained with tears, the men's stern and solemn. This had stopped being a game a long time ago! No game could construct that kind of palpable sorrow in a woman's eyes, or severity in a child's.

I accepted the burning torch from the elder's hands, and brought it to the edge of the pyre with a heap of straw. It caught fire instantly, as if I'd poured gasoline over it, breathing hot air into my face. I tossed the torch onto the pyre and stood there for a while, same as everyone else, deep in contemplation. What have you done, RP-17?! Have you taken the lives of twenty million or bestowed life upon billions? What was all this? Unconscionable evil or the greatest good? Finding no answers, I shook my head, despondent, turned and started back toward the village. In the corner of my eye I glimpsed the young black-haired demon in chainmail from before. He was talking to a tall fair-haired young woman, waving his hands excitedly while gesturing my way.

There was a wide bench right outside the stable. With a canopy to protect from the rain, it wasn't the worst place to spend the night. I took a seat on the old cracked wood and lit up, leaning back. The day was slowly winding down, as the villagers were returning from the mass funeral. I caught a whiff of freshly drawn milk and baked bread. If I closed my eyes and just sat there, listening to cattle lowing in their barns and dogs barking in the distance, I could almost forget where I was, or rather convince myself that I was back at grandma's country home back in Russia, the one I'd visited with my parents every summer as a kid. Any moment now I'd hear the floorboards creak under dad's boots coming back from a fishing trip. Then mom would come out on the porch, wipe her hands on a thick embroidered towel, and call everyone to dinner...

"Sil knight, sil knight!" Two kids were standing maybe ten feet away: a boy around seven-eight, and a girl, slightly younger. Both were watching me with eyes wide open; if not for their plain peasant clothes, one might mistake them for characters from an anime. Seeing that I wasn't sleeping, the girl walked over to me warily, and proffered a clay jug she'd been carrying. "Mum said to bling you some milk."

I felt a lump in my throat, and difficulty breathing. Accepting the jug from the girl's hands as if it were the most precious of gifts, I placed it on a bench next to me. The boy came closer as well, offering up something warm bundled up in white cloth.

"Thank you," my voice was hoarse. "What are your names?"

"Dala," the girl smiled. "And he's Helt."

"Hert!" the boy corrected his sister, still terribly embarrassed.

"And I'm Krian," I smiled back at them. My hand reached into my purse automatically, producing two gold coins. I handed them to the little ones. "I have nothing to give in return, so have your mum buy you some sweets."

"Buy where?" the boy's face grew serious. "Feator used to have a fair, but there's no more Feator."

"Feator will be back, and so will the fair," I vowed, clenching my teeth. "I promise you!"

"Will you destloy all the undead?" the girl looked up from the gold coin in her fist, her huge gray eyes peering into mine.

"Yes," I nodded solemnly. "I will destroy them all."

"Hey, can we look at your razorback? We were hiding at home before, and didn't see him. What's his name?"

"Gloom. Gloom is his name."

There was a sharp crunch behind me, and a few seconds later the formidable carcass of my valiant mount appeared in the doorway. Having heard me call him by name, the boar must have decided that the stable's closed door wasn't much of an obstacle. The razorback turned his snout left and right; confirming that his master wasn't in any danger, he walked up closer and plopped down on the ground with a loud exhale.

"He's so huge!" the kids' eyes shone with fear and admiration.

"Want to pet him?" I asked. Seeing the unbridled joy on their faces, I waved them over.

Dusk was gathering over the village. A piece of rag caught on a fence was flapping in the wind, which carried in the scents of grass and pine from the nearby woods. The moon hadn't yet appeared, though the sky was already studded with stars. I gazed up at the sky, looking for the Big Dipper, but it was nowhere to be found. My spirits were lousy. The children had gone back home, leaving me and Gloom alone outside the stable. Having gorged on the apricots, the razorback wasn't in a hurry to go inside, dozing merrily at my feet, exhaling loudly and twitching his ears periodically. His huge belly heaved in tune with his breathing like a bellows.

I got crazy lucky with the death knight, I remembered the recent battle, looking at the sleeping razorback. If not for the crit, how much would I have hit him for? Four hundred thousand? Five hundred? And that's being optimistic.

But what's done is done. I had other matters to occupy my mind, like saving two villages and clearing a level 170 dungeon. And I simply couldn't find a realistic solution, especially for the dungeon. Then again, If I somehow managed to sneak the boar inside, I might be able to handle packs of five mobs or less. How many vials with the venom did I have left? Three? I couldn't just sit still anyway—I had to do something... Little Hert and Dara hadn't looked any different from real children. I just didn't believe that a computer program could behave that way, and that meant those undead bastards weren't killing NPCs. There were probably children in Feator and Uriatta as well... Twenty percent loss in levels as a penalty for dying? The hell with it! I had a job to do...

"May we speak, dar?"

"What?" I looked up, startled from my reverie. The boar at my feet snorted loudly. Was it something in my eyes that had caused the uninvited guests to recoil, or the razorback's sizeable carcass shifting ominously? "I mean, sure. We may speak." I stroked Gloom's warm side reassuringly.

It was the same young guy in chainmail, with the blonde girl to his left, wearing a leather vest and a bow at her back. Looking at her, I couldn't shake the feeling that I'd seen her somewhere. But where? She looked to be about twenty two, with a comely open face, brown eyes, narrow hips, and shoulders a bit too broad for someone with her frame. Well-defined features and a pointed chin... No, I couldn't place her. The fellow's hair was pulled back in a ponytail. He had high cheekbones, a straight nose, and dark brown eyes brimming with the carelessness of a man who had come to a particular decision, and wasn't turning back no matter what.

"We don't want to intrude, but... What are you planning to do next?"

"Huh?" I said, taken aback. "When I leave the village, you mean?"

"Exactly," the lad shifted from foot to foot, glancing at the girl and then back at me.

"Why do you care?" I shrugged. "Go on, have a seat," I motioned at the thick log across from the bench.

"Trust us, it is very important that we know," the youth sat down on the log without taking his eyes off me, whereas the girl didn't move an inch. Her face was an emotionless mask. Her eyes wore the same sense of desperation, only mixed slightly with... hope?

"It's no secret. I'll try to dislodge the undead from Feator and Uriatta, then check out the swamp cave..." I shrugged. "No plans past that just yet. I need to get to the Derelict Temple somehow, the one in Gilthor, but that's too distant a prospect to worry about now."

"We want to go with you," the young demon said breathlessly, leaning forward. "My name is Ayim, and that's Salta. There are twelve more from the two villages pillaged by the undead. The other survivors are still kids, but they have relatives here to take care of them."

"You want to go with me? In what capacity?"

What a gift from above! Ayim's level was equal to mine, and Salta was just one level lower. Even two companions would have been nice, but fourteen? That was awesome!

I tried inviting the demon to a party, but it didn't work. I sighed and shook my head despondently.

"How do you see this happening?"

"You killed the monster that's been slaughtering our families. We don't care how you use us!" the demon spoke hastily. "Make us your swordsmen, bowmen, squires..."

"Even mounts," the girl interjected suddenly in a low pleasant voice, glancing sideways at Gloom.

"I don't need more mounts," I shook my head. "But how—"

Attention! Farmer Ayim and Farmerwoman Salta request to join your clan.

Do you want to found a clan?

Conditions for founding a clan:

You must not be a member of any game clan.

Attention! If you proceed, you will have five days to pay 5,000 gold to the account of the Realm of Arkon's administration. Failure to pay will result in your application to found a clan being denied, and a three-year penalty will be levied, preventing you from founding or joining any clan in the Realm of Arkon.

Yes. No.

A clan? Well, sure, why not? I had never heard of NPCs joining human clans, but... No, actually, there might have been something of the sort mentioned in the press. I motioned the demons to wait while I reviewed the deluge of system messages.

5,000 gold was a huge sum! This explained where the game's money went. Now, I had the money on me—the problem was that I needed to make the payment in the town hall of any starting city, or... Or wire it from a private room! The nearest private room was in the undead-infested Feator, which I'd planned on visiting anyway...

Confirmed.

Clan menu...

Enter your clan's name.

I stared at the blank line. All this name-creating really wasn't up my alley, but who else was going to do it but me?

"Give me fifteen minutes," I said to the demons.

Having finally taken a seat on the log, Salta stood perfectly still, hands folded on her knees. Where had I seen her before...

Now, the name... No cute or half-assed attempts at humor—this wasn't a game anymore, and I didn't want to be leader of Gummy Bears and whatnot. Something patriotic, maybe? Ugh, none of that nostalgic nonsense—let someone else bear the banner of Russian Bears or Iron Curtain. I was a patriot of two countries—the one I was born in, as well as the one that welcomed me as a resident—but patriotism wasn't about that, not to me. Something menacing or pompous, perhaps? Fires of Heaven, Legacy of Steel, Brotherhood of the Spider? Bah, those names were probably already taken... Why couldn't I think of anything relevant?! Knights of Setara or Ingvar's Warriors? Nah, that smelled too much of boot-licking, and that just wasn't my style. Hmm, what if... I shrugged the steel shield off my back and looked at the drawing. The wolf cub appeared to have grown a little, though he looked just as adorable with huge eyes open wide and tongue sticking out. Almost like a Disney character. Wolf cub, eh, I snorted. Wolf cub it is!

From the side, all my manipulations looked like I'd been handling a leather-bound book in A4 format. I picked up the quill attached thereto, and wrote out the name of my clan in bold strokes.

Congratulations on founding the Steel Wolves clan! After your payment of 5,000 gold, your clan will be inscribed into the Realm of Arkon's chronicles. Do you wish to continue?

Steel Wolves.

Clan level: 1 (1/50)

Clan leader: Krian.

Maximum membership: 50.

Clan bonuses: +7% to physical and magic damage.

Number of castles: 0.

Finances: 0.

Clan treasury: none.

I turned the page, and wrote in four more titles besides my own:

Warrior, Archer, Healer, Mage.

Officers, treasurers, deputies and so on would be appointed later as needed; in the meantime, all the other functions were on the leader by default. In the early going, I'd link the treasury to my own vault, as soon as I got to it. The money wasn't an issue—I could cover the fee and still have about six thousand gold remaining. As for the clan interface, it was so complicated I'd probably need a whole day to figure everything out. Salaries, tasks, XP distribution... the items went on and on! For instance, it was within my power to levy a tax—for everyone as well as for every individual member. Thirty percent of all individual earnings into the clan treasury? No problem. As long as there was a treasury, which wasn't the case just yet. The clan emblem was simple enough—all members would wear it on their cloaks and shields. Oh, and the banner! Heh, did I also need to compose our own slogan and anthem? Never mind, I'd deal with all that later. Shutting the book, I looked up at the pair of demons. Both were sitting perfectly still.

"I trust you realize that my word is the ultimate truth?" I doubted they understood the full meaning of the term, but they seemed to get the gist of it. "You do as I say. When I say it. Always."

"Yes, dar, it is understood," Ayim bowed his head.

Salta gave me an unclear look, then nodded as well.

Attention! You are about to accept a non-player character (NPC) into your clan. This action is irreversible. NPCs will enjoy all the same privileges as the other clan members, in accordance with their clan title. When an NPC joins your clan, their stats will change. In the event of death, NPCs will have a chance to resurrect at their last bind point, depending on the clan's level, and suffer a penalty of 20% loss in levels.

Levels 1-5—0%,

Level 6—20%,

Level 7—40%,

Level 8—60%,

Level 9—80%,

Level 10—100%.

Do you still wish to accept Farmer Ayim into Steel Wolves?

"One last thing," I stared the black-haired demon in the eye. "You realize this is forever?" It was just like me to shoot myself in the foot, but I couldn't live with myself if I didn't warn them. It just wouldn't be... human.

"Master," Ayim looked off to the side. "We have no one left. Almost no one. And nobody needs us here. Gvert took us in, and we're grateful to him. But he's just going to keep hiding behind these walls until some other monster comes, stronger than Daeron, and knocks them down. But we refuse to hide. We want... vengeance." The demon closed his eyes, his fists clenched. Then he took a deep breath and continued. "We want to slaughter these beasts, as many as we can. We'd rather die than hide here, trembling with fear. My father and three others had covered our escape, and, as you can see, we're alive now because of them." Ayim held my stare. "I want to be a worthy son."

Attention! You are about to accept a non-player character (NPC) into your clan. This action is irreversible...

.........................................................................................................................

Do you still wish to accept Farmerwoman Salta into the Steel Wolves clan?

Farmer Ayim is now a member of the Steel Wolves clan.

Farmerwoman Salta is now a member of the Steel Wolves clan.

I rose from my bench. The demons followed my lead, bowing their heads. And I... I suddenly felt warm inside. We were three now, and I didn't care one bit that these two were simple peasants. For the first time, I was no longer alone. These demons were the first to stand with me, and I would cherish them for it.

"I... We... We won't let you down, dar!" The farmer's gaze was full of steel resolve. Salta just watched me silently, immersed in her own thoughts.

"I know you won't," I clapped the young demon on the shoulder with a smile. "After all, now we're family."

"Speaking of family, there's also my brother and..." Ayim gestured in the direction of a long hovel some fifty yards from the stable. "They're also, you know..."

"Hold that thought," I opened the party menu, wondering if the result might be different now that...

Ayim joins your party.

Salta joins your party.

Yes!!!

Attention! Two non-player characters have joined your party.

Each non-player character under your command confers a +1% bonus to experience gained. The maximum number of non-player characters you can command is 100.

Player and non-player character bonuses under your command: +5% to physical and magic damage, +5% to armor class and all resistances, +5% to healing spells, +5% to experience gained (Knight-Lieutenant of the Order of Punishing Steel).

Party morale: +2 (a 2% increase to party members' physical and magic damage).

Do you want to activate magic voice amplification?

I dismissed the last sentence—I had no need of amplification just yet. So, if every soldier under my command added one percent to experience, I needed a party one hundred strong to counteract the experience lost, or rather shared, with my razorback. So this was why some players took up seemingly boring jobs from their local rulers! Even a measly ten soldiers to command translated to a 10% XP boost, and that was nothing to sneeze at.

I set the master loot option, leaving 50% of the money dropped to the group. I'm going to need to invest in their gear, too, I thought to myself, since their rags didn't instill any confidence. Was that all? Nope, not yet. I still needed to assign clan titles to them. For these two, it would be swordsman and archer, it would seem. Opening the clan menu, I selected Ayim and... sat back down on the bench, my knees weak from shock.

Ayim. Level 145.

Clan fighter [Steel Wolves].

Race—demon.

Agility: 165.

Strength: 585.

Constitution: 495.

Vigor: 145.

Spirit: 30.

Intellect: 30.

HP: 4000.

Mana: 300.

Energy: 1450.

Armor: 522.

Abilities and skills.

Passive skills and achievements.

Bonus to heavy armor: +2%

Magic Resistances:

Water magic: 0%

Air magic: 0%

Earth magic: 0%

Fire magic: 0%

Mental magic: 75%

Dark magic: 0%

Nature magic: 0%

Light magic: 0%

Weapon damage: 550-590.

Stat points available: 145

Talent points available: 29

Oh snap, how had I missed Ayim's HP falling to one tenth of what it was? The kid had eight pieces of gear: two chainmail and the rest leather, a sword, a shield, a ring and a charm. All were of ordinary quality with +95 to a single stat. Still, a ninety percent drop in HP! What a cruel, dirty trick. Now I knew why accepting folks into a clan was irreversible. How was I supposed to go war with these weaklings? With his stats and equipment, the kid wouldn't last two seconds against a mob of the same level!

All right, let's start over. Subtracting the clan NPCs' modest equipment bonuses, the stats were the same as those of regular players. Ayim had 310 points in stats, and 145 yet to be allocated. As for talents... The available classes were: healer, warrior, archer, mage and rogue. The talent trees were small, maybe one tenth that of real players', but the talents themselves were more... well, focused. There was nothing superfluous, with NPCs getting one talent point every five levels.

Professions... Ayim had none, and Salta was a fledging bowyer, capable of crafting the simplest wooden arrows. Both also had a "leadership" bar in their character window, going from private to captain, that was roughly one third full.

I'd had a hard enough time picking my own talents—now I was supposed to do theirs? If so, it definitely wouldn't be now.

"Is something wrong, dar?" the youth gave me a concerned look.

"Use my name—Krian. Did you feel anything just now, when you joined the clan?"

"I don't think so," said the demon.

"A lightness," Salta bowed her head, as if listening to herself. She shifted her shoulders gracefully. "Yes, as if a weight has fallen off my shoulders." The girl suddenly jumped to the side, slipping the bow off her back. Then she froze. After a few moments, she slung the bow over her back and walked over to us, smiling.

"Well, I won't argue with lightness," I shrugged. "It's pretty late... Maybe we shouldn't wake up others?"

"They're not sleeping," Ayim shook his head. "They're waiting for us, so—"

"Reena definitely isn't sleeping," the girl snorted, rolling her eyes playfully. "How could she fall asleep without you?"

"Quiet, you," the flustered youth shushed her. "Come with us, Krian, if you would. They're all dying to know your decision."

"All right, then," I gave Gloom a friendly slap on his side, interrupting his snoring. "Get up, valiant mount, let's take a walk."

We had indeed been expected. A group of young demons were sitting outside a long cabin. All conversation died the moment we came into view; the peasants all leaped to their feet and just stood there—all tense, some even frightened. Not of me, apparently, but of the razorback following behind me. Do they think he'll be the one accepting them into the clan? I chuckled. Even in daylight the boar looked far from a harmless guinea pig, but now, with his massive frame swaying in the moonlight, and yellow eyes glowing in the dark, he looked like the stuff nightmares were made from.

Total silence. Only the sound of oil crackling in lanterns, crickets singing their night song, and Gloom's puffing air through his nostrils.

A frail-looking girl of black hair and deep dimples made a start toward Ayim, but stopped under his emphatic gaze, looking flustered, and lowered her eyes. A pair of oil lanterns illuminated the area in front of the house pretty well; I didn't see any magic lanterns, nor any mages, for that matter.

Remember to add Spark, Magic Lantern and Firefly to the backup action bar, I reminded myself for the umpteenth time. With all this running around, I keep forgetting. Most of my connecting talents simply amplified my primary abilities, but some could be fairly useful on their own.

I was looking at a confused, disorganized crowd. Equipment wise, these demons were even worse off than Ayim and Salta: several wore random leather pieces, and three had bows on their backs. Hell, I felt like I was back in the army!

Oh yeah, I was a lieutenant once. Only it was in the reserves. Service in Russia was mandatory, and I'd spent my first year after college in the army. Like most draftees, I hadn't served in the paratroops, the marines or the Spetsnaz. And, praise Hart, the country hadn't warred with anyone for twenty some years by then. The upshot was that I'd ended up in the engineer aviation platoon. And for three whole summer months, due to the officers' vacationing, I even served as the deputy commander. Aviation engineering, soldiers, shifts guarding Mig-25 FoxBats and other jets from another era that had been decommissioned in the previous century... Nothing heroic by any stretch, but rules and regulations had to be read and memorized just the same, so the notion of service wasn't entirely foreign to me.

I stood there for a minute in a tense silence, sizing up my future clanmates. Then, with a sigh, I added a dash of irony to my voice, and said:

"Are these the fighters you spoke of?"

"Yes, it is them, dar," Ayim stammered. "Don't mind their—"

"Silence!" I stopped him with a gesture. "Lesson one, when your commander asks you a question..." I turned my eyes to the crowd and continued, "This concerns all of you. When your commander asks you a question, there are only two possible answers: 'Aye-aye, dar!' and 'No, dar!' The second one may then be followed by a quick explanation. What you were just doing wasn't explaining, but mumbling. Got it?"

"Aye-aye, dar!" Ayim stood erect. "These are the people who came with me from Feator, and with Salta from Uriatta!"

"You said there were twelve? Where are the two others?"

Ayim looked over his people, then turned and gave Salta a pointed look. Finally, he turned his eyes to me, looking bashful.

"They'll be here in a moment, dar," and started briskly toward the cabin.

"Yes, literally a moment," the fair-haired demoness' eyes shone with serious fury. Turning around, she headed for the front yard exit.

"Looking for me?" walking our way was a young demon in an ornate long-sleeved red tunic, pants tucked neatly into his boots, and headgear that looked like a service cap—turned sideways, naturally. The only things missing were a carnation in his cap and a harmonica in his hands. "Hi there, sir knight! Name's Reece. So, I gather we're off to battle tomorrow?" skirting the enraged demoness, he suddenly came upon the lolling razorback. "Whoa! How cool!"

"Where have you been?" Salta hissed at him.

"Oh, you know I love you, sunshine," Reece' eyes twinkled with mirth. "I want to be near you always, but the venerable Skarda urgently needed an infusion of swamp leaves. Who am I to refuse help to a lonely woman?" he concluded with feigned sorrow.

"I am going to—"

Salta's burgeoning threat was cut short by the muffled swearing and deafening racket coming from the cabin. A male figure materialized in the doorway, looking like a rearing bear. Rubbing his eyes sleepily, the man smashed his forehead on the door post, resulting in another string of bawdy cusses, and finally lumbered outside. Ayim followed after him, barking something at the guy while nodding my way. Squaring his mighty shoulders, the beefcake surveyed the crowd with a surly look, then turned to me and uttered in a low, bassy voice.

"So, um, I'm Aritor..."

"Splendid," I smirked. "My name is Krian, and, unless someone has changed their mind, I'm ready to accept all of you into my clan. My one condition is simple—unconditional obedience to my orders and demands. You do what I say first, and think after. And another thing," I looked around the crowd of demons, "once you're in, you're in. There is no going back. So think long and hard."

"We needn't think long nor hard, sir knight," the black-haired dimpled girl looked up at me, stepped forward and bowed her head.

Farmerwoman Reena requests to join the Steel Wolves clan.

Farmer Ivar requests to join the Steel Wolves clan.

Farmer Aritor requests to join the Steel Wolves clan.

Farmer Reece requests to join the Steel Wolves clan.

........................................................................................................................

Farmerwoman Reena is now a member of the Steel Wolves clan.

Farmer Reece is now a member of the Steel Wolves clan.

........................................................................................................................

No one had deliberated for long. In a few moments, twelve requests became twelve fellow clan members. Now it was up to me to make sure these young men and women wouldn't come to regret their decision. We were as one, now and for all eternity... The atmosphere was much livelier now, with plenty of excited chatter and one young woman actually crying for some reason. I found Ayim with my eyes—he was speaking with his lady friend, making emphatic gestures.

"Ayim, is this all the equipment you've got?"

"Yes, dar," the demon looked down in shame. "Everything we've scavenged after the battle plus what we've brought to Ballan."

"Can anything be purchased here in the village?"

"Pardon for interrupting, but Skyle, the local smith, has seven sets of armor for sale, plus weapons and various trinkets," flicking a non-existing speck off his sleeve, Reece straightened his tunic and walked over to us. "The only problem is, he won't let us have them on credit. We've brought twenty two kids with us, and they've got to eat... But we'll scrounge up enough for one set."

"We'll figure it out," I nodded to him. "The kids' situation as well, but later. For now we need only fighters."

"Aritor is a smith. Hagedia is a darn good seamstress; give her some fabric and she will surprise you," he continued. "Daeron attacked unexpectedly. We hadn't been able to take anything with us. There's plenty of iron and fabric left in Uriatta that the undead have no need of. If we knock the enemy out of the village, we'll solve our equipment problem."

"Feator has iron, too," Ayim voiced his support. "And armor in the storehouse. My brother was the smith's apprentice," the youth motioned at the bear-like demon, still yawning furiously while leaning back on the cabin wall. "He and Master Hoyle were in the middle of smelting steel when the village was attacked. There were lots of them, more than a hundred—only scraps of the army had made it here. Our father, he was the elder... He ordered us to go—we never would have left otherwise. We would have died with everybody else..."

"I got it," I interrupted the demon's woeful memories. "Silence!" this was to everyone. When the chatter died down, I continued. "I know you have many questions, but it's late. Go to sleep, you'll have your answers tomorrow." Giving Reece a pointed look, I added. "And I expect everyone to be up and ready."

"Why are you looking at me?" the demon put his palms up, imitating a kind of outraged innocence. "I'm always here, I never leave Lady Salta's side. Aside from bringing the venerable Skarda her infusion against migraines. It helps her sleep, I'll have you know."

"Till tomorrow, then. Or rather, till today," I struggled to hold back a chuckle after glancing at the enraged archeress. "Up, up and away, Gloom!"

As I was leaving the front yard, there came the juicy sound of palm slapping cheek, followed by a demon's raucous laughter.

"Never leave my side, do you? Who the hell do you think you are?!" Evidently, Salta had resumed her disciplinary role. I knew there was a reason her leadership XP bar was only two thirds from full!

For the first time in a month and a half, I was going to bed almost happy...

Chapter 10

Alarm clocks are something I well and truly loathe. And, since recently, I had found out that I hated roosters, too—especially in the mornings. That is to say, I didn’t mind either of them during the day, but it all changed at the break of dawn...

I lay on the hard bench with my eyes shut, with the crowing of these motley-feathered schmucks ringing in my ears, fully aware that going back to sleep was probably a non-option, since they would just keep on crowing all across the village till I went mad. Unlike an alarm clock, you cannot turn off a rooster unless you break its neck. Alas, I couldn’t resort to that method—I’d be wide awake by the time I started chasing those damn birds! The chicks would stop hatching, too—or were the two unrelated in the game? Anyway, I moved the accursed fowls up in my morning hate list, placing them right above alarm clocks. From that moment on, I decided I hated roosters way more. And boars weren't far behind!

“Get lost, Gloom!” I pushed aside the snout that stank of something rotten. “You have slept the whole night, you bastard, while your master was busy taking care of important matters,” I added a few choice expletives, finally deciding to sit up on my bunk. The boar snorted in a somewhat disgruntled manner, but I failed to notice any signs of remorse on his muzzle, crisscrossed by old scars.

What an incredible thing the inventory was! The water I kept exclusively for washing remained as cool and refreshing as if drawn fresh from a well, the milk and bread fetched yesterday still warm and crusty. After a quick wash and breakfast, I fed the razorback ten apricots, lit up my first morning pipe, opened my clanmates' stats and fell in thought.

Truly, when someone tells you to "sleep on it," it's golden advice. Last night I couldn't even imagine where to start, whereas now it all seemed to clear. Now, judging by their stats, I had four casters under my lead: Reena, Reece, Osk and Hagedia. Reena and Reece were fairly advanced herbalists, and the dude was an alchemist to boot. Perhaps he'd been serious when talking about making medicine for that dame, whatever her name was. Even if his main goal had been to get a rise out of certain somehow... Nevertheless, he was capable of brewing a number of potions and elixirs for our level range, which was a huge plus. Hagedia could sow cloth gear for players around level 100. I saw plenty of cloaks in our future. As for heavy armor, I was mulling over a very different idea.

I nixed rogues right away—I just didn't see the class excelling in a mass battle. Rogues didn't offer any long-lasting buffs to others. They were great for scouting and diversionary tactics, and indispensable in dungeons, but they didn't fit into my combat tactics, so I was better off avoiding the headache altogether.

My squad of fifteen called for at least three healers. Four would be even better, but skimping on mages would mean giving up additional crowd control. It was settled, then—Reece would be a mage like me. The dude just didn't have the a mender's personality—havoc and destruction would be more his style. Great, done with the casters.

Next, fighters. There were four men: Aritor, Hurd, Ayim and Surat, of which two needed to become tanks. The razorback and I could soak up some damage too in a pinch. Tanks needed plenty of hit points, and considering the equipment currently worn by demons, the best candidates for the job were Aritor and Hurd. Both were miners, and Aritor was also a smith around the same level as Hagedia's sewing. I saw the two getting along real well going forward. Ayim and Surat were to become damage dealers. Certain bosses fell into berserk mode and emitted a powerful AoE wave if there were too few players in their melee zone, so you couldn't make do without some close combat fighters.

Finally, ranged dps. This was easiest since there were six demons left, three male and three female: Ivar, Hyld and Raud, Salta, Olta and Zara. All were bow-makers of roughly similar skill; all three males were also woodcutters, while Olta and and Zara were cooks.

With the classes decided, it was time to move on to skills. This would be much more complicated...

"Gloom, are you a razorback or a puppy? Don't give me that pleading look," I tossed another apricot to the boar, and opened the talents page.

Ah, there's the combat form! Demons got it at level 160, and it increased armor class and healing spells by ten percent. It also granted sets of specific talents to each class. There were general talents, like Trembling Earth, stunning all enemies in a five yard radius for two seconds; or Infernal Rage, making every strike a critical hit for a period of ten seconds; or Lord's Blessing, instantly restoring twenty percent life, energy and mana to a selected target once every five minutes. All those skills had their utility, just not for me. Combat form was obtained by investing talent points into it, except it wasn't available for me to invest in. Why the hell not, you might ask? I hadn't the slightest clue. On the outside, I looked just like any demon... Well, sans horns or a tail. But whatever...

When allocating clanmates' talents, I had to take into account battle tactics and our environment. The last thing I wanted was to take losses. Raising the clan to even level six would require at least a category five castle, whereas presently only the main citadel was available for capture in the princedom. Sure, technically the other three could be cleared of the undead, but keeping control would be impossible. No, not even a level ten clan could do it—with no respawn available in the princedom, all the NPCs were suddenly mortal...

I need to think big. Suppose I had a century under my command. According to Gvert, some undead hosts numbered in the thousands, which meant my squad needed to possess exceptional mobility so that, if push came to shove, we could take flight and regroup. The goal was also a realistic one, as every class had talents related to mounted combat. Archers had Mounted Archer at level 180, and warriors had Getare at the same level. Mages could attack from horseback as well, but only with instant spells, and the same went for healers. This meant all my clanmates had to have their combat form and mounted combat by level 180.

It felt good to have a strategy. I took a sip from my flask, tightened the cap, and put it away. I could use a Coke... the dreary thought came unexpectedly. Who would have thought I'd be missing that garbage? But if there was a McDonalds around, I'd pop in for sure. Indeed, you don't know what you have till it's gone. At a glance, what was so precious about carbonated water with artificial coloring and a crapload of sugar? And yet, I was ready to pay a hundred gold for but one can.

Up on the higher plane there were drinks that resembled those from the real world. Some had different names, though vodka, for instance, was called the same—that much I remembered. But you didn't see actual brands in the game. There had been a plan to allow the selling of brands in the game to the highest bidders, i.e. major corporations, but it hadn't been implemented before the patch. In short, I was stuck drinking what the devs had designed by default. Funnily enough, virtual reality had become the place to enjoy a ton of bad habits. Where else could I smoke one pipe after another without seriously damaging my health?

Getting back to my archers... Like all demons, hunters could wear plate, with one caveat—a hunter in plate suffered a twenty percent loss to agility. Besides, I couldn't put the whole damn squad in plate! Nah, hunters would do just fine in chainmail. Range, attack speed, Icy Arrow, Fiery Arrow, one-handed and two-handed weapons. Archers had four talent trees to choose from: ranger, hunter, longbow and mounted archer. Naturally, I picked the fourth. Mounts weren't cheap, to be sure, but we'd figure something out.

Rangers excelled in woods combat, tracking and pursuing enemies. Though there were plenty of forestland in the princedom, we weren't going to be dealing with any guerilla fighters; besides, the undead were more likely to meet us on an open plain than deep in some wood. Similarly, hunters focused too much on, well hunting: taming beasts, advanced camouflage... All of which was really great, only useless for my current purposes. In the field, even a ranger would be preferable thanks to his attack range and damage bonuses to sentient races. No doubt, a hunter with a well-developed pet would prove a tough nut to crack for any class, but that same pet, just like my razorback, would also consume half of his master's XP, and I just didn't see the sense in investing into special talents for boosting the experience gained by animals. I'd go even further and say that hunters were fairly useless in mass battles. I wouldn't pretend to know the class well, but you needn't be a genius to arrive at this conclusion. All right, so you set your bear or what have you at a row of heavy infantry. The poor thing wouldn't last a minute, and standing there healing the animal meant sacrificing your own damage output. On the other hand, the hunter lost a ton of value with the death of his pet, which could further only be resurrected every six hours. In my eyes, rangers and hunters had only one advantage over other classes: their mark. A marked target sustained ten percent more damage and couldn't go invisible via standard methods. And while that trait could certainly be useful someday, for the time being neither of these classes, much like rogue, fit into the battle strategy I was conceiving.

Longbow was the best ranged dps class in the game for combat in open spaces and castle sieges. An archer with high enough strength felt comfortable in heavy armor. The longest attack range, the highest damage output, a fifty percent boost to effectiveness of armor-piercing and incendiary arrows... But not a single instant shot in their arsenal, which made them useless for mounted combat. A pity...

I started putting some notes on paper, since I didn't know how my clanmates would react to their stats and talents being changed. So, all the archers were getting five points each into range, accuracy, attack speed and chainmail armor. Yes, demons could wear chainmail to start with, but I regarded a fifty percent boost to armor class as a necessity. I left resistances alone—defenses could be raised to seventy five percent with buffs alone. The remaining nine points went into icy, fiery and armor-piercing arrows. NPCs' talents could be set in advance to be allocated upon leveling, so I did exactly that. Now when my clanmates leveled, they would automatically have their shots raised by five, then acquire combat form, Infernal Rage, finishing shot, mounted archer and passive bonuses to agility as those became available. There, I was done with archers.

Morning. The sun had already risen over the treetops, bathing the still-slumbering land with its rays. Somewhere nearby doors creaked, water buckets rattled, and a portly demoness sauntered leisurely to the well, hips swaying. The village of Ballan was awakening.

"Seriously, darko, how long can you keep on sleeping?" I shook my head with wonder, gazing at the boar twitching his ears in his sleep, then returned to my calculations.

What should I do with the casters? The healers would be given mounts like everyone else, which meant they also needed instant-cast spells, that is Nourish and Restore. The former was a heal-over-time spell that lasted twenty seconds, and the latter plainly restore a portion of the target's life. What else? Increased healing range, a ten percent four hour buff to constitution and spirit. Crits and Rejuvenation while in demonic form. That last one was almost OP, restoring fifty percent of the target's health every five minutes, healing an additional five percent every two seconds and raising armor by the same five percent. Rounding out the picture were Holy Shield, absorbing a certain amount of magic and physical damage and over ten seconds, and a resistance buff, with each healer getting a separate one: fire, ice and dark magic. Five points into the talent brought the resistance to fifty seven percent. With my Shield of the Elements, these three resistances would be maxed out. The rest went to boosting healing spells, increasing their range and duration. I cringed at the exorbitant amounts of mana they consumed—I'd need to outfit them in gear granting exclusively spirit and intellect bonuses, ideally coupled with constitution.

Assuming that our squad won't always spend nights indoors, it would be on our mage to protect the camp. And since I was a lousy mage, that responsibility would fall on Reece. In my view, the best traps were found in the earth and water trees, snaring the victim for a time and slowing their movement to boot. So, I went with those schools. The rest was fairly predictable: Jump to the same level as me, Silence, Morph and Ice Shackles. Out of damage-dealing spells, Ice Spear for now, building toward Blizzard, Triple Ice Spear and Triple Stone Disc. In demonic form, the same crits and Summon Earth Elemental. Ice and water elementals were weakened when exposed to the sun, but their earth counterpart didn't care, functioning for his one minute without any debuffs. And, finally, a four-hour ten percent buff to intellect. I simply hadn't gotten around to it yet, not to mention I had no use for intellect, but with four casters in the squad it was essential to have.

The case of melee fighters was much simpler. There were four talent trees: tank, one-handed weapon with shield, dual weapons and two-handers. I dismissed dual weapons right away—the only real "advantage" of this tree was that it looked cool, though they also dealt decent damage in instances. In our situation, we couldn't afford to be vain. Two-handed weapons are pretty rad, I recalled the rail fluttering nimbly in Kirana's hands, but I don't have any divine beings in my squad, alas.

From I remembered from my vision about the dwarven legion, the fighters armed with two-handed swords and axes were in the back rows. And from what I remembered of real history, those kinds of troops were sent to break infantry lines. I had yet to encounter a single getare wielding a two-hander, which left my fighters with only the weapon-and-shield option. Sure, the combination would reduce their damage output by about thirty percent as compared to pure damage dealers, but they would feel much more confident in mass battles.

I still remembered the video uploaded online of three allied clans clashing against some baron's militia. The players, nearly as high as the NPCs level-wise, had barely won the battle thanks to two factors: a three-to-one advantage in numbers, and an abundance of heals. Even then, the baron's militia had nearly routed the messy and disorganized attackers, kicking their butts up and down the battlefield.

To be sure, the game had plenty of professional gamers whose skill exceeded that of any NPC unit, but those clans were few and far between, and they tended to avoid messing with the authorities and their troops. The point was, an organized squad was always far more effective in a combat situation. What was it our lieutenant used to say? Monotony, monotony, and some more monotiny.

I was no general of a legion governed by sophisticated AI. For me, simpler was better, which was why my troops were getting identical talents. Boosts to armor class, physical damage with one-handed weapons, Death Blow, Charge, Sweeping Strike, Battle Rage, combat stance, Kick and Vortex of Blades. Death Blow reduced the target's stat regeneration and inflicted Bleed; this was obviously useless against undead, but I couldn't find any other instant-cast strikes for their level. With Charge, the fighter intercepted the target, stunning it for two seconds. Battle Rage was a war cry that amplified damage output by ten percent for ten seconds and made the warrior immune to control spells. Sweeping Strikes was the equivalent of my razorback's Frenzy, and Vortex of Blades was a four-strike combo where each subsequent strike hit for fifteen percent more than the last. With Kick, the fighter interrupted the target's spell-casting, while combat stance was an ongoing warrior buff that boosted his stats and damage output by ten percent.

In Demonic Form, they got Execution, Infernal Rage and Trembling Earth. Execution was an awesome skill, popping which made all attacks against a target with less than twenty percent life deal three times more damage for ten seconds, with only a thirty second cooldown. For all intents and purposes, these were crits—only the name was different. Why oh why didn't mages have something of the sort?

Tanks were given Provoke, Taunting Strikes, Smash, Shield Bash, Stalwart Defense, Shield Wall, boosts to one-handed weapons damage and absorption of blocked damage, defensive stance and Granite Skin. The first four skills drew the target's aggro, while Stalwart Defense and Shield Wall made the wall virtually immune to all incoming damage for a short time. Granite Skin was a passive skill that improved armor class and constitution by twenty five percent.

In demonic form, they got the standard crits, Trembling Earth and Final Argument, which boosted the tank's health by fifty percent of its maximum value for half a minute, and increased absorption of blocked damage to one hundred percent. In all other respects, the plan was the same—at level 180 the tanks would be given mounts, though theirs would need to be selected separately. Razorbacks like Gloom weren't exactly readily available, but we'd figure something out. Perhaps we could find some draft horses or the like, capable of bearing the extra weight.

Making one final note in the menu, I shut the notepad lying on my knees and leaned back on the stable wall. I had no idea what would become of all this, or how the demons would even react to their newly acquired abilities. Would I need to explain to them how it all worked, where and when to use which specific skills? Or would they automatically become hardened and battle-ready veterans? I'd done my part, and had tried taking into account all the nuances. Our squad would have buffs for every occasion: constitution, intellect and spirit. I had no druids or paladins to work with, so raising vigor, agility and strength would be done by elixirs. Four resistances were maxed: fire, water, darkness and mental. After all the undead I'd fought and killed, I'd never seen them attack with anything else.

The developers of the Realm of Arkon always fought for maintaining balance, and introducing a new race wasn't supposed to change that. Even accounting for all demons' ability to wear heavy armor, the fact was that prior to receiving their combat form demons were weaker than pretty much all other races. But if my theory was right that players from above were designed to enter this plane at the completion of the continental event, then it all made sense. In the developers' mind, by the time the path to the higher plane would open, many demon players would have already learned this skill, and would be ready to take on the new arrivals.

Moreover, the devs had undoubtedly programmed several such continental events, though only this one ended up being triggered. Who could have predicted that just one player would have made it into the sealed plane?

Heavy armor... Damn! I almost forgot about outfitting my little army. Thankfully, that part was easy: chainmail for archers, with a melee weapon just in case, and plate for the rest to maximize the race's advantage. With four hundred gold to work with, I feared it wouldn't be enough to buy anything of real value from the local smith, but more than sufficient for weapons and armor sets of average quality, assuming Reece had been right about the smith having them in stock. I also needed to repair my lance—those three strikes had taken off nearly twenty percent off durability. This would be a real problem if I started grinding—fifteen strikes was just way too low. I didn't know of a way to repair weapons in the field. There were probably portable anvils of some kind or other, but I shuddered at the thought of wasting all that time on repairs. Oh, the hell with all that! Using my regular weapon over a lance subtracted only one hundred thirty strength from the attack—hardly worth the extra headache.

Getting up from the bench, I rolled my head and shoulders to get some blood flowing through the stiff muscles in my neck and back. The planning portion was over with, and waiting to be put into action.

"Good morning, Krian!" Salta was waiting anxiously at the entrance. "I came to find out what we're doing. You told everyone to stay put..."

"And to you as well," I smiled at her. "Everyone is up?"

"We've been up for three hours now. It's the second time I'm here."

"Apologies, I seem to have lost track of time."

"No wonder. I saw how concentrated you were, writing in that book of yours and gnawing on the quill," the young woman grunted. "I didn't want to disturb. How did you sleep, by the way?"

"It wasn't much, but I slept well," I shrugged. "Why do you ask?"

"Oh, no reason," Salta tossed her hair back with a flick of the head, her eyes sparkling with mirth. "It's just that the bench outside our house is wider than this one, and there's a stack of hay nearby one could use for a pillow. Or do you prefer solitude?"

"I'll keep that in mind," I snorted. Was she... mocking me? "Anyway, let's go to the others. I've got plenty for y'all to chew on."

"Gvert came by as well," the archeress said as we started walking. "Wanted to discuss something, but I think you intimidate him, so he asked me to get you."

"Am I really so scary?"

"More mysterious than scary," she shook her head.

The young woman was walking just ahead, and I couldn't help but admire her easy gait. Salta seemed to almost glide, as if walking on air that congealed into solid ground the moment she stepped on it. Tucked into plain brown boots, her close-fitting leather trousers accentuated her slender legs. Her coat and broad sash came together organically at her waist. Her figure was somewhat boyish, but no less attractive for it. Whoa! I chided myself. Easy on the NPC romancing—I've got enough on my plate as it is.

"How so?" I willed my eyes away from her legs, glancing behind at the boar breathing heavily through his nostrils.

"Are you serious?" the young woman gave me an incredulous look. "Just when we think all hope is lost, a knight of the Lightning God arrives, riding a black beast, slays that mongrel Daeron and proceeds to exterminate his entire host! Or do you think light races riding razorbacks is a common sight around these parts?"

"That's not the whole story. I had plenty of help."

"Don't be modest, dar. Ballan wouldn't be standing today if it weren't for you..."

"Sir knight," Gvert addressed me the moment we entered the gate of the common house. "You're taking fourteen people from the village. Why? There won't be anyone left to defend the village!"

"Defend?" I asked wearily. "Do you really think the village has a chance against another wave of the undead?" I folded my arms over my chest, looking sternly into the elder's dark brown eyes. "These fourteen guys and gals won't make a difference, and you know it."

"But... but..." Gvert seemed deflated, his indignation having turned to befuddlement. "Then what do we do?"

"Stay behind these walls while my troop and I try to clear the area," I said, watching Gloom trot past and plop down next to the sleeping Aritor, apparently sensing a kindred spirit. "Then I'd recommend evacuating to Xantarra—I reckon everyone will be safer there."

"If we're leaving, Farot would probably be best," Gvert gave a heavy sigh. "It's got a fort as well, though it wouldn't survive a serious siege. But can we really just abandon all this?"

"Do you have any other options?"

"Nothing I can think of," the elder spread his arms.

Suddenly I felt a pang of compassion for this simple man, for the burden that had been forced upon him. Whereas I still somewhat associated all that was happening as a game, for him it was very much real. And bearing responsibility for a hundred farmers, nearly half of which were children... It was scary. I couldn't begin to imagine the full magnitude of his emotions. I knew then that I couldn't stay away...

"We will escort you wherever you go," I had decided. "Whether to Farot or to Xantarra, it makes no difference. We were headed to both anyway. But you'll need to give us a bit to prepare properly."

"Thank you, dar," the elder's eyes shone with relief. Looking over the motley troop crowding the front yard, he scratched his head contemplatively, then looked back at me and asked: "You need to outfit all these heroes, is that it?"

"That's right. Do you have any suggestions?"

"I will tell Skyle to give you everything you might need. We don't have much, but it should be enough for fourteen people. Considering some of your fighters aren't entirely without weapons and armor." The elder paused for a moment, thinking. "But I must ask you for something in return."

"What is it?" I was a bit stunned at the NPC's grand gesture—things like this never happened! Or was he going to ask for something that would require a raid full of one hundred high-level characters...

"It's nothing, really," Gvert nodded in the direction of my clanmates. "You're going to be training them, aren't you?" After I confirmed his suspicions with a nod, he continued. "We've got three communal pastures here... And, well, no one thought that our cemeteries would come alive—how could we know? But they did... Started to come alive, that is...."

"Let's get to the point," I smirked.

"Yes, of course," the elder nodded quickly. "You see, our cattle, we've been keeping them confined for a month now. We've managed to reap the harvest, but the fodder... Our supplies are running low. Some are trying to forage near the village, but it's not enough."

"You want us to clear your communal pastures?"

"You need to train all these louts anyway, don't you? Might as well put their efforts to good use," Gvert spoke animatedly. "And in return, I will tell Skyle to issue whatever gear you may need to your troops..."

You've accessed the quest: Clearing the Communal Pastures.

Quest type: unique.

Cleanse three communal pastures around Ballan of undead.

Reward: experience, reputation increase with the Krajde Princedom, reputation increase with the residents of Ballan and Farot, choice of armor and weapons for your troops.

"I suppose you'll issue the armor and weapons only after we clear the pastures?" I asked, accepting the quest.

"Why would you think that?!" the elder seemed indignant. "How are they supposed to fight those stiffs without equipment? I'll go tell our smith to expect you soon, yes?"

"Thank you," I watched the retreating demon, dumbfounded, having just witnessed an NPC transgress one of the game's fundamental rules... A quest reward, given in advance? Or had I misunderstood something? I'd never heard of anything like it. Unless it was my high reputation...

"Gvert is a good, decent man," Ayim said, appearing beside me. "His brother was a good friend of my father's. He, the brother that is, had an inn in Feator... Ivar is Gvert's nephew," the black-haired demon nodded toward a tall scrawny youth chatting up one of my future priestesses. "Father, Master Hoyle, Gyrt—the elder's brother, Raoh the drunkard... They remained back there, in Feator's breached palisade..." Ayim grounded his glistening eyes and sighed. "Who could've known that a lousy drunk was capable of such heroism..."

"Life sure is strange," I gave a shrug, then gestured the archeress over, and bid them to start getting everyone ready.

I felt a slight stab of panic. Could I have overlooked something? After all, I'd had no more than a few days' experience playing with groups. I gave my notes another lookover, but couldn't spot anything egregiously wrong. Come what may! If I did make a mistake, it could probably be rectified at some point. I'd done a good enough job with my own build... Right? I wouldn't know for sure until after I made it out to the higher plane. In the meantime, let's proceed with the plan.

"Listen up," I got down to business as soon as the demons took their seats on the benches they had dragged out of the house. "We are now a clan. I will not stand for any squabbling or disrespect toward one another. Treat each other like family. Because, essentially, that is what we are."

"I tried telling her that yesterday, but she wouldn't—" Reece shot an sidelong glance in Salta's direction, clearly for show.

"You're going to get for interrupting your superior officer," I made a hand gesture, stopping the archeress just as she was about to unleash her ire.

"What does that mean?"

"It means you'll be cleaning up after and cooking for everyone for one day," I informed him. "It's a common form of discipline in the armed forces for rule-breakers."

"The punishment for this kind of thing is different in a legion," Ayim interjected with his own two cents. "And far more severe. Besides, by putting this one in the kitchen you'd only be punishing the rest of us!"

"You see, dar," the future mage stated with sorrow in his voice. "The people are against seeing me punished. Your heartfelt speech must have affected them deeply—now they see me as family and feel great guilt for having wronged me on several occasions in the past. Of course, you may still exercise your commander's authority against popular opinion," Reece spread his arms mournfully, scanning the faces of the demons as they struggled to hold back laughter. "If you wish to see me punished, cast down to that terrible place."

"Don't worry," I shot back at Ayim. "I know that at least one in our squad will surely appreciate our alchemist's cooking skills," I motioned toward Gloom, puffing merrily to the side. "Besides, there'll be a lot of cooking needed to feed all these mouths. And if anyone is unhappy with their meal, figure it out amongst yourselves. The bottom line is, the next soldier who interrupts me will be deployed to the kitchen until they become a master chef. Understood?"

"Perfectly, sir. Piping down," with those words, Reece stared wide-eyed at Salta, covering his mouth with both hands.

Where do you even find such a loquacious farmer? Then I remembered something in the game's description about certain NPCs possibly linking to additional, reserve AIs when communicating with players. Could this be the manifestation of that very thing?

"Listen carefully," I surveyed my fledging host. "Right now none of you are worth anything—a single skeleton could easily dispatch any one of you into the Flame..." I raised a hand, cutting short growing whispers of discontent. "But there is a way. I can teach you to fight."

"Fight just like you?" asked Ivar, unable to contain himself.

"No, not just yet," I shook my head. "My gear is too good, and that is a major factor. Besides, you will all have separate roles in combat: warrior, tank, mage, healer..."

"We can salvage weapons and armor from the enemy," Ayim stood up. "There'll also be equipment in the pillaged villages. How will you teach us, dar?"

"Since you're so eager, I'll start with you," I put my hand on the black-haired demon's shoulder, forcing him back down. "Sit and focus. Tell me what you feel." I opened his menu and selected the warrior class.

Attention! Farmer Ayim from the Steel Wolves clan is now a warrior! Additional clan bonus: +145 to strength, +145 to constitution. Do you want ti assign Warrior Ayim's talents?

Nice! I totally forgot about the clan bonus—good thing the game's AIs didn't! Moving into the stats menu, I threw 100 points into Ayim's vigor, and the remaining 45 points into strength.

The demon's base vigor was set at 50, with his ordinary leather boots adding another 95. Those boots would soon be switched to plate, which might not come with the same bonus, while vigor was indispensable to a warrior—Vortex of Blades alone consumed 350 energy. This was where I lucked out—since physical attacks didn't make up the core of a mage, their use was dirt cheap. Were I to ever decide to play a mage proper, I would need to start making serious investments into intellect.

For talents, I simply copied everything from my notes. Five points into one-handed weapons, one into Charge, five into Death Blow... Midway through assigning talents I paused and looked away from the menu. It was totally quiet—all I could hear was the clanking of pails carried by the village women, hens clucking in an adjacent coop, and the razorback puffing as he napped. Thirteen pairs of eyes wide with wonder, glued to me as if I'd just pulled a rabbit out of a hat. Ayim was sitting, head resting on his arms. His shoulders had visibly increased in size, and the sign over his head had changed from "Farmer" to "Warrior."

"Hey, man, are you all right?" I gave his shoulder a push.

The demon raised his murky eyes at me. His facial features were rougher now, as if weather-beaten, sweat streaming from his brow, his breaths shallow.

"I'm all right, dar," he wiped the sweat with his sleeve. "I feel a little warm. And sleepy."

"Anything else?"

"Uh, well..." he hesitated. "It's like my body isn't even mine, and somebody's clawing inside my head. I don't know how else to describe it."

"Good, that's the way it should be. Hang in there, it won't be much longer."

For players, the process of assigning talents was much simpler: you simply added a point into a talent, and it was learned. But here you needed to wait for a bar beneath the talent's icon to fill up. It took at least ten minutes to assign Ayim's fourteen remaining talent points. When the final talent's bar was filled at last, I closed the menu and took a good look at my first warrior. Ayim was sound asleep, his head resting on Raina's shoulder. Judging by the way his lashes twitched in his sleep, he was dreaming something quite unusual. No matter, it couldn't have been dangerous, and I expected him to wake up a full-fledged warrior.

"Ivar, Hurd. Take him into the house, let him sleep it off. Who's next?"

"Could I go next?" Aritor rose to his feet. "Was a rough night, I could use some sleep..."

The rest was smooth sailing. Each clanmate took around twenty minutes, and it was close to lunchtime by the time I carried Salta, who had been the last, into the common house where my future squad was sleeping. How long has it been since I carried a woman in my arms? I thought as I carried the demoness, her body shuddering in her sleep.

I felt like a lifetime had passed since the day I'd been confined to this Hart-forsaken world. Even my curses had become local. How long was I supposed to keep running? I hadn't known any peace since, aside from perhaps the few days journeying with the caravan and the one evening in Lamorna. It felt like someone—or something—kept prodding me from behind. Nor could I afford to rest now, as the continental event afforded a unique opportunity to raise my reputation in this princedom, and make my clan large and strong enough to take on the level 180 dungeon. Oh, and the twenty percent boost to experience was nothing to scoff at either. Events like this didn't happen more than maybe twice a year, and I suspected that with the latest patch they would be happening less and less.

What would happen at the end of these two months? It was hard to say, but I supposed that if the main fortress wasn't captured, Ahriman's spell would be lifted, and Ashtar would contend with Rualt for these provinces. On the other hand, Ashtar had plenty on its plate, so perhaps Rualt legions would simply walk into the province unopposed. Oh, but I shouldn't forget about the barbarians, for their military might rivaled that of the dominions.

"Father! No! I can't!" the young woman's body convulsed in my arms, and tears streamed from her eyes.

"Easy, girl, it's all right," I laid the demoness on a cot, stroking her hair gently as she cried in her sleep. "It's all over now."

After a few more shudders, the young woman curled up with her knees to her chest, and her breath evened out. I kept standing there a while longer, observing the archeress. Then, with a final gaze at my slumbering army, I shook my head and left.

So, where was I? Right, the barbarians, I thought while walking toward the smithy. In the end, I couldn't care less who would end up contesting these lands. I was pursuing my own interest, and I sincerely hoped to actualize it.

There was just one glaring question: how was I supposed to free all those knights and mages? It would become virtually impossible after the event's completion. What was I going to do: present myself before one of the lords claiming I had some human friends in need of rescuing? Demons and humans were probably natural enemies, but even beyond that, there were too many unknowns. What would be the asking price in exchange for the lives of Altus' people? More than I could pay, no doubt. But then, what were my other options? Level to at least 170-180, sneak into Krajde undetected, open the sealed door, accept all the troops into my party, and evacuate them through a portal? Impossible!

Rounding a group of kids playing in the street, I nodded a greeting to a couple of farmers passing by, and walked into the smithy's front yard. Master Skyle wasn't anywhere in sight, so I took a seat on a nearby billet, sighed and fell into contemplation. First of all, in order to group up with an NPC, they needed to join my clan first, and I doubted that Altus' troops would even consider it. Joining a clan was forever, and they probably had tons of obligations as it was. Besides, who was I to even make such an offer to a celebrated band of heroes? And even if they accepted, it wouldn't do any good, since clan membership maxed out at one hundred NPCs. Right? Or was it a hundred max per party? I pulled up clan options to review the relevant info. Damn it! The description was unequivocal, leaving zero wiggle room for any creative interpretation.

The number of non-player characters in your clan is determined by the clan's level (1), and the clan leader's NPC command rating (100). At present, you can accept 36 more NPCs in your clan.

I probably wouldn't be able to accept into my clan the army's commanders: Kan Shyom, Saverus, Raena, Gerat and the like. I didn't know my place in the local table of ranks, but I sincerely doubted it was superior to knight-commander of the Order of the Red Flame. And I could only imagine how accomplished one had to be to become Altus' deputy or even aide. This was a problem, since you couldn't accept into your clan anyone of a higher rank. But there was a "second of all" as well—if I did manage to recruit one hundred characters after all, the clan would have no room left for new members.

"Greetings, dar," the local smith came out of the nearby house, and started toward me unhurriedly.

"Yes. Greetings, Skyle." I rose to meet him. "Gvert said you might be able to help me."

"I sure will, dar," removing his leather apron and gloves, the demon tossed them on his workbench. "Come with me to the stockroom, we'll talk there. You want a beer?"

The dusk was falling. The day's waning sunlight still frolicked over the tops of trees and rooftops, but twilight was rapidly descending on the village of Ballan as its residents prepared for sleep. I looked up at the star-studded sky, searching yet again for the Big Dipper, and gave a dejected sigh. The remains of the day had flown by, filled with unending bustle. I was sitting on the bench outside the common house, taking the occasional sip of throat-burning moonshine from the flask, and smoking my pipe with pleasure. The evening breeze was cool on my face, carrying familiar scents from the nearby woods. This was my fourth night in the Cursed Princedom. Time certainly wasn't stopping, but at least now I had some degree of certainty.

The elder hadn't lied—the smith had enough equipment in stock for all of us. But it did raise a question: why hadn't the villagers put on plate during the attack? Not enough of a bump to their collective intelligence with the patch? Or a quirk of the governing AIs? Could be they fought in the gear they felt most comfortable in. Whatever the case, I was now in possession of eight sets of plate and six of chainmail, along with corresponding weapons. Sure, the equipment was mostly junk with only seven items of unusual quality, but I hadn't expected even that. All the items were in the 110-145 level range. On top of all that, the smith loaded me with seven hundred arrows of shoddy quality, and two ordinary lances. All in all, it should be enough for at least fifty packs of undead. I placed an order for three more lances and paid the man a couple of hundred gold, since commissioning new orders fell outside of the quest's conditions. As for arrows, we would need to make do by ourselves—thankfully, the clan had members with all the necessary professions.

Salta was right about this bench—it really is wider, I snorted, scratching Gloom behind the ear. I took a drag and tried to exhale the smoke in the shape of rings. Good thing I hadn't forgotten about provisions. The Realm of Arkon differed from the real world in that here you didn't need to travel with a caravan hauling all your things. Back on Earth, especially in the Middle Ages, caravans were indispensable, but here you didn't need to worry about any of that stuff. Nor had I forgotten about my four-legged friend, having stocked up on turnips, carrots and rutabaga—two hundred pounds of each vegetable. That should last the razorback a week. Of course, the manner with which Gloom munched on that rutabaga, one might think he were doing me a huge favor, and the reproach in his eyes was hilarious. I supposed apricots from the magic grove were much more appetizing, but what could I do?

I opened the menu yet again, running some mental calculations as to what my squad might look like once I equipped them with all the gear received from the blacksmith. The conclusion was somewhat encouraging. The archers should deal a little over three thousand damage, and the melee fighters around a thousand less. I wasn't worried though—with time I would outfit everyone in at least unusual quality gear, maybe even rare. Our weakest link were probably the tanks—though they had a few thousand more hit points than me, their armor class really suffered with such poor gear. Still, they should probably keep aggro of one-two regular mobs around level 160, so it would have to do for now. As for toughness and focus, all my new demon clanmates started with 40% as base. Almost as much as me, which was pretty good. In fact, it not for that, I would have been much less optimistic. All right, that's enough—time to get some shuteye. I stretched out on the bench, slipping an arm under my head to act as a pillow, and began to drift into sleep to the even puffing of my valiant mount.

I awoke to the din of Gloom leaping to his feet and emitting a guttural noise that sounded almost like growling.

"What's with you?" I asked, sitting up on the bench while rubbing my eyes.

It was still dark. The front yard of the common house was only slightly illuminated by faint moonlight. I cast Shield of the Elements on myself, just in case, and looked around.

"I'm sorry for waking you, dar," Ayim appeared in the doorway, arms spread guiltily. "Your board is like a real guard dog."

"No kidding," I snorted while glancing at the clock. Five in the morning—it wouldn't be long before the rooster concerto began. There was no use trying to get any more sleep. Good thing one's basic physical needs weren't as critical in the game—three-four hours was generally enough to function, and you could always accumulate sleep in advance, if need be. "Well, don't just stand there. Have a seat. How do you feel?"

"Hard to say," Ayim shrugged, taking a seat on the bench's edge. "I feel like myself, and not like myself at the same time. All these skills..." the demon gazed at his palms contemplatively. "Turns out I had been holding the sword the wrong way all this time."

"Did you figure out which skill is used for which purpose?"

"Yes, of course. The question I have is when exactly to use them."

"I'll talk about that when everybody's up so as to not repeat myself. In the meantime, here, put this on," I laid a set of armor intended for him on the bench.

Chapter 11

"Sir knight? Do I have to put this thing on?" Reena looked at me skeptically, then at the plate fauld that she held in front of herself, pinched between two fingers like a mouse caught in the pantry.

"Only if it's on your head," Reece chimed in with a grin. Having already slipped into his suit of armor, he was twirling his sword thoughtfully.

"Yes, you have to," I replied, forcing myself to stay calm and gesturing to Ayim, who was about to defend the lady's honor, to stay calm as well. "You're a healer now, and your role carries great responsibility. Plate will offer you much better protection than what you're wearing now." I looked around at all my clanmates. "You have one minute to put all this on—we've lost too much time as it is. You'll worry about looks and style later. We're not headed to the club, after all, but to—"

"A club? Is that like a tavern up above?" Having finally slid his blade into its sheath, Reece now indulged his curiosity.

"Kind of, except you don't eat at a club," I snapped back. "Enough chit-chat. Time's up."

Alas, the village had nothing in the way of staves or rods, so besides fighters, tanks and archers, all my casters were issued swords as well. The blades were useless as weapons, but I made sure to give them those with a boost to constitution. Almost a thousand extra hit points never hurt anybody.

A déjà vu moment... I recalled my days in the army. Why was it that uniforms always looked so terrible on new draftees as compared to seasoned soldiers? It all came from the same warehouse, after all. Having finally finished changing, the vast majority of my troops made a rather comical sight. Imagine a suit of armor that slipped off a pedestal and came to life, each piece moving independently of the others—that was how the armor looked on my soldiers. They looked every bit the rookies they really were.

I looked at Salta slide the sword out of the sheath, then make a few test swings, and chuckled. It reminded me of an old movie about pirates from around the turn of the century. There were several sequels, and the main character was a pirate captain who acted like a total fruitcake. I didn't remember the actors' names, but the demoness was the spitting image of the lead actress. The devs were known to model certain non-player characters after famous actors from the past and present. In fact, Ingvar had seemed familiar to me right away...

"Bring the benches here and sit," I snapped at the demon crowding the yard. "I will show you how and when to use all that you've learned..."

Our squad departed Ballan some three hours later. The entire village poured out to see us off, having nosed everything out in time. The settlement was tiny, and rumors probably spread in an instant. Some of the women were crying; most of the men looked on grimly, yet approvingly. I led the way at the front, steering Gloom by the reins. This was what the Spartan king Leonidas must have felt leading his three hundred soldiers to the Pass of Thermopylae. Recognizing the solemnity of the moment, my clanmates tried their darnedest to look the part of stoic warriors, which made them look even more comical. Or was that just me?

The first pasture hit beyond a small grove roughly half a mile from Ballan, though it took us all of fifteen minutes to get there. I raised my hand, commanding everybody to stop. I surveyed our purported farming area—a square about a half mile in diameter, overgrown with nearly waist-high grass that swayed in the wind. The aroma of plants and flowers streaming our way was intermixed with the repugnant stench of dead flesh. Packs of undead—levels 152-157, thirteen to seventeen mobs strong—stood some sixty-seventy yards away. Oh, but the place was crawling with them!

Climbing into the saddle, I activated magical voice amplification for Ayim, Salta, tanks and healers, then put on my helm. The nearest undead pack was fifty yards away: a seven-foot-tall zombie with two hundred thousand HP, four liches, two skeleton archers and six skeleton warriors. The ordinary mobs all had around forty five thousand HP. No big deal.

"All right, just like we practiced. We'll attack the nearest pack to us. Tanks, assume your positions to the sides. Archers, three behind each tank. Take down the warriors first," I marked the targets, and indicated them by hand for good measure. "Each tank takes two! Archers pull with arrows and wait for the tanks to intercept, then switch to my targets. Tanks, make sure to keep the attention of your two skeletons. Ayim, you're with Aritor, Surat is with Hurd. Keep away from me. Reena heals Aritor, Osk heals me, Hagedia heals Hurd. Reece, count to three, then start unloading on my targets. And don't forget to cover one another. I don't want anyone's life dipping below half! Buff up! Ayim, Salta, report when your groups are ready."

I turned, watching the demons behind me spread out and take their indicated positions. Having already cast Shield of the Elements on everyone, I could simply observe how they went about carrying out my orders.

"Ready, boss!" the smiling mage raised his right hand. "Let's kick their bony asses."

"Put your helm on!" I barked at him. 'Ready' my butt! Ayim? Salta?"

"Ready, dar!" the archeress stood still, bow drawn, helm hiding her face. Yet, I could still sense her tension.

"My team is ready!" Ayim stood in a crouching stance behind his brother, the rags attached by the devs to his strangely-shaped helm flapping gently in the breeze.

I gave my anxious clanmates one last lookover. When my eyes fell on Aritor's bronze-bound steel shield, the wolf muzzle on it winked at me, then widened its eyes. Was I hallucinating? Not likely! If anyone expected me to wink back, fat chance! I turned my boar in the pack's direction, and touched my heels to his sides. "Osk, shield! Let's roll!"

The razorback's target was one of the zombie healers directly behind the mini boss. The tip of my lance pointed right at the bastard. Charge! The momentum pressed me into the saddle's back. In the corner of my eye I glimpsed a volley of arrows strike at the skeleton warriors, and tightened my grip on the leather straps on the shield's inner side. The razorback steamrolled one of the warriors on his path, an arrow sprouting from its shoulder, knocking the skeleton into an archer and sending them both tumbling into the tall grass. I popped Frenzy for Gloom. A huge zombie appeared on our path out of nowhere, its arms spread wide like a goalkeeper. Bam!

The lance rammed into the collarbone, skewering the victim, and the razorback knocked it to the ground. Silence on the other healer. Unable to reach Gloom's target, I let go off the lance, whipped out my blade and pounced on the nearest archer. Osk's shield absorbed the first two Clots of Darkness and several arrows. After blocking a warrior's attack with a shield, I felt a sharp stab in my back. Ah, damn! In my initial charge I'd run over a skeleton meant for one of the tanks, and Gloom's Frenzy had picked up the other one. The boar's aggro was my aggro, so now both of them were on my ass. After quickly finishing off his skeleton, Gloom hurried to assist me. Dispatching with my target with an Ice Spear that left a gaping hole in its chest, I switched instantly to the remaining healer as the archer's bones crumpled to the ground.

"Heals on the dar!"

Two more strikes at my back, and I noticed my health bar slide close to the midway point. As I downed a health potion, a cool wave of healing washed over me at the same time. The boar spun in place, knocking down my target, but it didn't matter anymore as five arrows plunged into the lich's chest within the span of a second, finishing off the mob. I turned, setting my sights on one of the mages. As a Clot of Darkness struck me in the side, I suddenly found myself surrounded by four warriors, all four attacking at once. I managed to block one blow with a shield, and one other landed on the boar, but the remaining two connected. Almost immediately after I felt the sting of an arrow loosed by the last remaining archer. Pain, a world of pain!

"Fire at the ones in plate, damn you!" I picked up notes of panic in Salta's tone.

Three simultaneous heals brought my life back to full as I finally made my way to my next target, the mage. Tongue of Flame, Ice Blade! A crit! Three arrows plunged into the lich's chest, and the next Ice Blade ripped the bastard's head right off.

"Focus fire on the last mage!" I ordered, blocking another two-hander's swing. Then, standing up in the stirrups, I swung my blade at the head of the last skeleton archer. The skeleton tried to block me with a bow, but the sword sliced right through the wood and smashed into the skull, sending bone fragments flying in a small explosion. The mob's health had already been low, and my death blow had triggered the effect. The next to drop was the last remaining mage with four arrows in his chest, and I turned to attack the nearest warrior. Where the Hart are the other two? I glanced around me, searching for the remaining skeletons...

"Salta!!!" Ayim's yelp pierced the ears. "Hagedia! Heal her! Heal!!!"

Standing away from everyone, the archeress was firing arrow after arrow at the chest of one the skeleton warriors rushing right at her. Her energy was running out—the girl had drawn the aggro of these two from me with armor-piercing shots, and for some reason had run away from the tank. Suddenly, one of the two skeletons charged her, bringing the blade of his two-hander down on the stunned demoness' shoulder. The girl's health bar dropped to nearly half, and I felt my insides twist, as if gripped by winter itself.

"Bitch!!!" Jumping toward them, I set the razorback into a gallop while casting shackles on the other skeleton running toward the archeress. There wasn't enough time! Rage swept over me.

"Heal her!!!" Ayim bellowed again, and dashed in Salta's direction, along with everyone else.

The only one within healing range, Hagedia threw up her arms. The archeress' health bar rose by a quarter, but the mob's next blow became a crit, dropping the demoness to the grass like a broken doll.

The skeleton staggered from my Ice Spear and five arrows plunging into his back. Ignoring us completely, he raised the massive two-handed sword over the girl, as if in slow motion... Just as my boar's Charge finally refreshed.

"Come ooooon, Gloooooom!!!"

The tip of the spear I'd whipped out of the inventory was aimed right at the backside of the bloody bastard's helm. Bam! The steel tip broke through the helm's metal, piercing the skull right through. The next instant Gloom smashed into the skeleton, knocking it back, tusks grinding against metal in the most horrid way. I'd made it in time! I turned the razorback around, shielding Salta's unconscious body.

"Finish off the rest," I commanded wearily.

Even without my order, the tanks were already intercepting the skeletons running my way, while Reece and the archers were finishing off the remaining undead at almost point-blank range.

The morale of your party has risen by 3 points. Your party's current morale is +5 (a 5% increase to your party members' physical and magic damage).

Our first battle, makes sense, I hopped off the boar, kicked off the skull stuck to the tip of the spear, and turned to Salta who struggling up from the ground.

"What were you thinking, stupid? You could have died! Why did you run away from the tank?"

Salta ripped off her helm with a single motion, letting her fair hair fall heavily onto her shoulders. Tears streaked down her cheeks, but the girl's huge brown eyes shone with defiance.

"Hurd wouldn't have survived against three, and Hagedia was healing you!" she shouted into my face, her voice breaking. "Who am I? A nobody! If I die, it won't matter one bit! But if you die, all of this will have been for nothing! Who will avenge my mother and father? Who will avenge us all?!"

"Now, now, let's not get emotional," I said, suddenly feeling like a total jerk, all my anger evaporated. "The right thing would have been to draw out of the two warriors I wasn't fighting," I continued in an even tone. "Why have casualties at all?"

"I... I..." suddenly deflated, the young woman fell to her knees, covering her face with her hands.

"If this happens again, I'm sending you back to the village for further training. Every single one of you is needed, and I can't afford to lose anyone for foolish reasons," I concluded patronizingly, clenching my teeth so hard they hurt. But then, watching the demoness' shuddering shoulders, I added with a sigh. "And also... Thank you, Salta..."

The young woman withdrew her hands from her face, and looked at me with tear-stained eyes... Then started to weep even harder.

"It's my fault, dar," Ayim, who had been keeping a tactful distance until now, walked over, his eyes downcast and twirling the helm he'd pulled off his head. "I didn't realize we needed to fire at the others..."

"It's nobody's fault! There will be more mistakes to learn from. This is only your first battle—you will react faster next time." Closing my eyes, I let the breeze cool my face.

Reena and Hagedia skirted me, then sat on the ground on either side of the weeping archeress, consoling her. The tanks were sitting on the ground, conversing softly. The others were discussing the battle, giddy with excitement and gesticulating wildly.

"Sir knight!" the intrepid mage appeared before me. "Don't you think it's time to sort through the trophies obtained in this uneven battle? With all this psychoanalyzing you've completely forgotten about what's important!" Reece cast a skeptical glance at the three young women sitting on the ground, shrugged and sighed, then looked back at me. "And don't forget that you've promised me all the reagents."

"An 'uneven' battle, sure..."

"We were sixteen, the boar included, and they were thirteen..." the demon smirked. "Do you think we were evenly matched?"

"Maybe not, but at least we wiped the floor with them," I said, matching his tone, and started toward the corpses littering the ground.

"I'm not arguing that! But we should get back to exterminating our enemies," Reece motioned at other nearby packs. "If we don't, we're risking Aritor dozing off while spooning your black beast. Either that or," he nodded toward the three weeping females, "these three will cry a proper river and we will all drown."

"How is it you're such a wise guy?"

"My mom is a succubus," Reece shrugged. "She would visit Xantarra often in her youth. I don't remember my father simply because I don't know who he is," the demon gave a light-hearted wave of the hand. "But why should I care? As long as I'm here, that's what's important."

"You're right, that is what's important," I slapped him on the shoulder. "Tell Ayim to gather everyone for some blamestorming."

"Blamestorming?" the mage stared at me curiously.

"A figure a speech where I come from. I'll tell you about it some other time," I frowned. "Now go, you have orders."

"Aye-aye!" His eyes bulging, Reece spun awkwardly on his heels, and Jumped right to the weeping women. A real clown, that one.

The dead skeletons had only one item of unusual quality that would be of use for my squad: a tank helm. Other drops of note included an alchemy recipe for a strength potion, and five ancient bones. The rest was your typical junk. I handed over five pieces of thick fabric looted off the corpses to Hagedia. Reece got the recipe and all the ingredients. I distributed the dropped vials, awarded the helm to Aritor, and proceeded with an educational talk. My subordinates listened attentively, and promised not to act the fools from here on out. And, oddly enough, they made good on that promise.

The rest of the day became your typical farming raid. Honing our tactics and skills, by sunset we were spending no more than seven-eight minutes per pack, including looting and distribution of trophies. We hadn't managed to clear the entire field, but at least half of it was now free of undead. Six people, including myself, had leveled up, and nearly everyone had obtained unusual quality rings and miscellaneous gear. One of the drops had finally allowed me to upgrade my blade. Though it wasn't anything special—a level 145 unusual quality cavalry sword with nearly 150 strength and plus one percent chance to critical hit—it nonetheless raised my base physical damage by almost fifteen percent. The squad's morale had also risen to ten, so spirits were quite high as we returned to Ballan.

Once through the gate, the whole crowd streamed in the direction of the blacksmith. We found Master Skyle sitting on his workbench, a mug of beer in his hand. All that was missing was a TV playing SportsCenter. Seeing so many guests, the demon gave a friendly smile and patted a sizable barrel next to him, suggesting that we celebrate the squad's baptism by fire. It seemed that Skyle had felt desperately lonely drinking in solitude. After giving me the spears I'd ordered and graciously offering his smithy and all the tools in it for our use, he sat everyone down on a wooden logs he'd carried out from behind the barn, and proceeded to hang out mugs filled with a foamy beverage.

It took Aritor about two hours to repair the entire squad's equipment. Bit by bit the smithy's yard emptied out, as my clanmates received their mended gear and went about their business. But I just there, enjoying every moment. Leaning back on the fence with a mug in my hand, I listened to Master Skyle's monotonous dribble, watched Aritor working the anvil, and analyzed the events of the past day.

Hart damn, I'd actually done it! I'd put together a squad that was fully capable of farming the local mobs. It had been a bumpy ride at first, sure, what with the girls bursting into tears, but what would you expect of someone who was a simple farmer only yesterday? But with those tears they had seemed to cry out all of their fears and uncertainty, for their behavior afterwards was exemplary. The key now was not to push too hard, too soon. We had no problem taking out groups of mobs ten-fifteen levels above us, but it was important not to overextend ourselves.

Of course, the devs hadn't put out the complete information on combat math, but whatever was available publicly was quite enough to draw certain conclusions. Roughly speaking, your damage output against any mob, NPC or player was equal to your base damage multiplied by the level difference. For instance, with a level 100 player versus a level 200 mob, only half of the player's damage got through, whereas the mob dealt twice as much damage to the player. Accounting for the difference in the base damage, it was clear that the player in this example wouldn't survive more than one-two attacks. There were certain other coefficients, to be sure, but let's put them aside for now. The point was that I wasn't going to lead my people into zones where the mobs' average level was more than ten-fifteen above ours.

"Did you say something, master?" I noticed that Skyle was silent, as if expecting an answer. "Forgive me, I got distracted."

"I said that you're doing a good deed, dar," the demon pointed with his mug at the plate and chainmail armor pieces piled up outside the smithy for remelting. "And I happen to have a proposition for you."

"What kind of proposition?"

"Gvert said that you will be taking your squad to the swamp cave?"

"Yes, I will, but probably not right away. Why, what's in the cave?"

"My father was a hunter, you see. Back in the age of the Black Lord." The master looked to the side, as if remembering. "When all this filth began pouring out of the breach, he and several others headed to the cave to investigate. They managed to slay an enormous toad. Father used to tell me what it was called, but I no longer remember," Skyle sighed disappointedly. "But it doesn't matter. The point is, when splitting the booty, my father got a rare breastplate recipe. It was that recipe, essentially, that led me to becoming a smith. I hadn't even been alive at the time, but later on my father sent me to Master Ghert in Uriatta for apprenticeship that lasted ten years." The demon took a sip from his mug, paused for half a minute, and continued. "As you can see, I did become a smith, and I've learned the recipe as well... The problem is, actually crafting the breastplate requires a number of special ingredients."

"And those ingredients can be found in the cave, I suppose?" I chuckled.

"You're right," said the smith. "Except nobody dares go in there after a squad of city guards had vanished in the area. The satrap has got his plate full, and it makes no sense for our hunters to risk their lives."

"What kind of ingredients do you need?"

"The blood of something called Skarx, and twenty chunks of defiled ore for one set. As for steel," the master nodded at the heap of metal beneath the canopy, "we'll have more than enough by then."

You've accessed the quest: Ingredients for Master Skyle.

Quest type: unique.

Bring Master Skyle in Ballan one vial of Skarx blood and twenty ores of defiled ore.

Reward: experience, a breastplate of your choosing: Plated Breastplate of the Swamp Guardian, Plated Breastplate of the Swamp Warrior, Plated Breastplate of the Swamp Cleric, Plated Breastplate of the Swamp Mage.

"What if we bring more blood and ore?" I didn't want to lose out on the opportunity to outfit half the squad in rare quality breastplates.

"I'll craft as many as you need," Skyle grunted. "But then I get to keep every fifth one. Deal?"

"Deal," I smiled at the smith, chugged the rest of the beer, and got up from the log. "Farewell, master. I should turn in, tomorrow's going to be a fun day. Are you coming, Aritor?"

"Nah," a voice sounded from under the canopy. "I've slept enough to last a month. Tons of work still left to do here."

"Suit yourself." I nodded goodbye to Skyle, waved to the tank sweating over the workbench, and started in the direction of the common house.

Passing through the gate, I was surprised to discover Reece sitting on the ground in the corner of the yard. A small green table stood in front of the demon, atop of which a greenish fluid boiled in some metal contraption. I had never seen an alchemist at work before.

The sky had already grown dark. The weather had visibly worsened, the sky had clouded over, and all signs pointed to imminent rain. The figure of the mage sitting on the ground, beneath the light of lanterns swaying in the breeze, cast peculiar shadows to either side. Watching the boiling vessel with great concentration, his wavy hair a disheveled mess, Reece looked like a character from a horror movie.

Coming up to him, I grimaced from the unpleasant odors, and lit a four-hour magic lantern over the portable lab.

"Thanks, dar," the youth muttered without turning around.

"It'll rain soon," I rounded the table to be upwind of the ingredients laid out on a piece of cloth, lowered myself to the ground, and took out my pipe. With an indignant snort, the boar proceeded to his spot on the bench; there he spun in place, like a dog about to do his business, and finally plopped onto the ground.

"I'm almost done," said the mage, watching intently the fluid in a transparent retort. "They threw me out of the house—the smells rubbed them the wrong way, you see."

"No joke," I chuckled, taking a drag. "It doesn't exactly smell like roses."

"How else should dead flesh smell, pray tell?" Reece quipped, then deftly snatched the retort off the fire and poured out its contents into ten vials prepared beforehand. "Good thing I already had glass and some of the ingredients. This will only be enough for fifty Lesser Essences of Light. Counting only our damage dealers, as you call them, this fifty and whatever you have left will only be enough for three days, at best." Grabbing a chunk of slimy revolting matter off the cloth with one hand, and a small knife resembling a scalpel with the other, he proceeded to cut thin slices right there on the table. "Reena and I should go into the woods for some maldarra. The pasture only has thistle and duck feet growing there. We've picked some today, but—"

"Maldarra is an herb?" I asked, trying not to watch the alchemist's manipulations.

"Perennial witchgrass whose buds spawn vegetative and floriferous shoots. It is found on patches free of turf, in mixed and coniferous forests, and—"

"Hold up!" I chuckled. "Spare me the details—you don't need to teach me the entire Mendeleev's Periodic table. The woods will happen only in three days and under guard. Who knows what we'll run into there."

"Just your regular fauna," the young man emptied the ground mix into a deep white bowl, then reached for the next chunk of dead flesh. "Wolves, bears, lizards... With our current abilities, the two of us will be just fine. Of course, you can count on Ayim tagging along—he'd die before letting Reena go anywhere with me," the demon shook his head reprovingly. "Who's Mendeleev? Is he a famous alchemist where you come from?"

I could hardly recognize Reece. Focused on brewing his elixirs, he seemed more like a young and eager lab assistant from some Ivy League school than the cocky brat I'd come to know over the last two days.

"I suppose so," I said. "He was a famous alchemist back in his day. By the way, I'm surprised you're not bringing medicine to someone today, like you usually do."

"Oh no, Lady Skarda mustn't have any migraines today," Reece grunted, then raised his eyes at me, deep blue and twinkling with guile. "I am equally surprised, dar," he said in a serious tone.

"Go on..." I asked warily, half-expecting a trick.

"Last night Salta made you a bed with such love," the kid said with sorrow. "She'd started it as early as morning. But you still slept on the bench with that pig of yours..." he sighed. "Why do you treat her like that? You know she won't be able to get any sleep if you'll stay out here again with the boar... Don't get me wrong now!" the demon put up his reagent-soiled hands, feigning terror, "I think your boar is a wonderful creature, but—"

"All right, we're even now," I grunted, getting up on my feet and dusting myself off. "Where is my bed?" I asked, walking over to the house.

"To the right, on the men's side," the answer came. "It may not be as luxurious as a bench, but..."

"May I speak with you, dar?" Salta stepped through the doorway, startling me.

"Sure," I shrugged and took a seat on that very bench, next to a puffing Gloom, and motioned for the girl to sit down next to me.

The demoness shook her head, her face reflecting serious emotional struggle. After several sighs, she blurted out in one breath.

"I wanted to apologize, dar. I feel really bad for acting all hysterical earlier today. I promise it will never happen again." Once finished, the archeress finally took a seat next to me, looking off to the side while biting her lower lip.

"Oh, that," I said. "No worries, it all worked out. It was a natural reaction to the stress of your first battle. Don't let it get to you." I looked at her lovely, tense face, and added: "You can call me by name, you know. In a casual setting like this."

"You're really not mad at me, dar?" the young woman fell back to the timbered wall of the house, looking up at the grim starless sky with unblinking eyes. "I never cried like that, not even when those monsters came to Uriatta and... my mother..." Salta swallowed a lump. "So many of my friends, my family..."

"Easy now," I put my hand on hers, trying to soothe her. But the moment we made contact, I felt my entire body convulse in a spasm...

"Daughter, run!!!" the gate shook under the death knight's blows. Bodies littered the palisade beneath the wooden planking. Her mother's body was there, too. Burned face, singed hair, hand clutching a hunter's bow in a death grip... There were almost no survivors left.

"Daughter, run!!!" someone was shaking her by the shoulders.

"Who? What?"

"Snap out of it!" Her father's kindly, wizened face was terribly twisted.

Her senses were overwhelmed. The drumming rain, the rattling gate, the wheezing wounded... And the smoke curling and rising from the burning houses.

"Father! No! I can't!" She shouted back at his face, so dear to her. "Mother... she's—"

"We can't bring her back, Salta. Go, I cannot lose you as well. The wounded have escaped with the children. The trapdoor behind the old barn, you know it..." her father mumbled. "Go with them... If you don't, who will avenge us... Avenge us, daughter... But now you must go..."

Tears glistened in his eyes... But her father never cried! Or was it the rain...

Pressing her to his chest, the demon caressed her hair, just like when she was little, then pushed her away...

"Go..."

Salta dashed in the direction opposite the gate, the wet was slippery under her feet. She fell, bumping her knee on a rock painfully, still clutching her father's old hunting bow. The bow-string was torn, but she would never let go off it. She would need it to exact her vengeance! Bastards! You bastards! The rain washed away her tears of pain and despair, her mother's charred face haunting her. Why did this happen? Why?! There was a deafening crash behind her. Glancing back, she saw skeletons clad in plate burst into the broken village gate, led by an enormous black figure. Daeron swung his massive sword, bringing it down with great force, beheading a demon in a blue tunic embroidered with golden flowers who had charged right at him.

"Father!!!!!" shaking with sobs, she plucked an arrow from her quiver and... dropped it to the ground, gritting her teeth. Bloody bow-string!

The battle at the gate was over... She hadn't been detected yet. She must be strong! That was what her father had always told her! Biting her lower lip to staunch her tears, Salta darted behind the barn, then slipped through the small trapdoor.

Ahead of her were the backs of her fellow villagers moving in the direction of Ballan. Hurd, limping on one leg, carrying Reece' lifeless body, Zara holding up a wobbling Surat, Hagedia bringing up the rear with little Malek in her arms, steering the rest of the children egressed from the village. When the archeress reached her own, the tears on her face and in her heart were all gone. Only hatred was left. A raging, all-consuming hatred...

"Here," Salta took hold of Surat, on the verge of passing out, from small-statured Zara. "Watch after the children," she said to her friend, then turned to look one last time at their burning home...

"Dar! Krian!" the demoness' face was before me, twisted with worry. My head was killing me from the vision that had just swept through it. "What is wrong with you?"

"I'm all right," I exhaled, shaking off the vision. I reached into the inventory for my flask, and took five big swigs. "Part of the job, I suppose," I shrugged my shoulders somewhat guiltily, then offered the flask to Salta. "Will you have some?"

"It was as if you'd turned to stone," the young woman accepted the vessel from me and took a few swigs, then returned it with a grimace. "It's nasty! How can you even drink this slop?"

"I want to say something," I said after a small pause, looking up at the girl. "Daeron is dead, and your parents are avenged."

"That  monster was but a pawn manipulated by the Twice Cursed," said the archeress without averting her eyes. "And I've vowed to kill as many as their kind as I'm able. How many other Daerons are roaming the satrapy's territory?"

"I don't know," I shrugged. "A few more, I imagine."

"You probably want to know why we followed you, dar? Because being next to you give us a chance at revenge, and right now, that is all we want..."

Peering into her eyes, I realized that the hatred that had taken residence in Salta's heart hadn't abated one bit. If only I was sure I could keep it from growing stronger...

We sat in silence for a while, listening to Gloom's puffing and the screech of lanterns swaying in the wind. The girl was the first to break it.

"Time for bed, dar. Tomorrow's going to be a fun day," Salta rose from the bench, stretching like a wild cat. "You don't need to sleep on the bench tonight, by the way. Unless you like sleeping in the rain."

"Thanks for giving me a bed," I smiled, getting up as well. "Reece already told me."

"What else did he tell you?" the archeress asked warily. Her eyes shot a glance at the alchemist toiling away at his lab, promising certain, agonizing death.

"Nothing. Just that I have a place to sleep in the house, that's all..." I replied. And thought to myself that the alchemist should really come in handy for us going forward. He wasn't a bad kid at all...

"Goodnight then, Krian," the young woman smiled, and disappeared in the doorway of the common house, light-footed as ever.

"Goodnight, Salta..."

Chapter 12

"Is it far yet?" I raised my hand, ordering for the fighters behind me to stop, and turned toward Ayim, who was following behind.

"No, dar," the demon pointed toward a dry crooked tree that stood by the side of the road straight ahead. "There'll be a path to the right of that erdis over there, which will bring us directly to Uncle Storkh's mill. Once there, it will be just under half a mile left to Feator," the lad nodded toward Aritor, as if urging him to confirm his words. "The main road would take you well over a mile, but it's a stone's throw away through here..."

"Is there anyone at the mill?"

"No," a shadow ran over the demon's face. "Storkh lived in the village along with everybody else, and only went to the mill to work, so there are definitely no survivors."

"I see," I eyed my valiant army over, and, failing to find anything amiss, gave Gloom's sides a light squeeze with my heels.

The road passed through a forest, still muddy from last night's downpour. Wind rustled the leaves in the trees, joyful at the moisture and the morning sunshine that came to replace the thunderclouds which had disgorged prodigious amounts of water over the forest at night. The forest stood in silence, broken only by Gloom's grunts, the soft creaking of my fellow clanmates' gear, and the chirping of the local avian species. It felt as though no Cursed Princedom or hordes of undead roving across it ever existed, and that at any moment we would come upon my grandma's village from that other, long-forgotten world.

The last two days had turned out incredibly productive for my young clan. We had completely exterminated the undead in the three pastures around a village, collecting a mind-boggling amount of loot. The yard of Skyle's smithy was filled with fragments of regular plate and chainmail prepared for meltdown. All the cloth, leather and other stuff we had no use for just yet had been deposited into the village's spacious storehouse for later use. The result spoke for itself. The guys leveled up a bit, got fully equipped in unusual quality items, and already looked like seasoned fighters. The archers' damage, boosted by buffs and Reece's elixirs, grew to five thousand, while the tanks could easily hold two or three mobs of the regular sort each, with timely healing.

Today was the last day I'd been given by the administration to play the clan fee, which meant Feator had to be conquered at any cost. I patted the boar on the nape and turned around to take another look at the demons following behind. Yesterday I'd barely managed to wrest them away from leveling their professions and get them to go to bed early. Too much depended on today.

I had no idea how we were going to exterminate the undead in the captured village, and that worried me a whole lot. Vanquishing skeletons out in a field, one pack after another, was one thing. The capture of castles, cities or villages was quite another. Mobs behaved much more intelligently after capturing a settlement. Oh, they still let tanks draw their aggro, and attacked head-on without any sophistication, but they already acted as a coordinated military unit. When a castle was under attack, extra archers manned the walls, and the first thing they tried with their shots was to set the siege engines on fire. The fighters tipped over the ladders used to scale the walls, a designated group of fighters in heavy plate gathered on the other side of the gate, waiting, and regular patrols began making rounds of the castle, which were hard enough to evade even while invisible.

A backwater village was no castle, to be sure, but the undead were likely to have an overwhelming advantage in numbers, and I didn't know how to handle it. Never mind, we'll cross that bridge when we get there, I tried to reassure myself mentally. At the very least, we are in no way limited in terms of time given for conquering the settlement. There is no respawning within the princedom, so we can try the assault-and-retreat tactic, with a skeleton or two taken out every time. Ten or twelve hours should suffice to do the job.

Gradually, birdsong became mixed with the sound of running water coming from somewhere up ahead. Lost in thought, I nearly missed the turn that Ayim had warned me about. There was a wide enough path leading right and down, away from the main road. It started right behind the oddly-shaped tree, and seemed to be well-trod from where I was standing. In about ten minutes, my party approached a narrow stream, its banks overgrown with dense rows of reeds.

It may have been an illustration from a book of fairy tales—the forest, the slow flow of the river, and the sandy beach near the millpond. The mass of water would crawl over the dam languidly and then roar downward from the height of some twelve-fifteen feet. The whole scene exuded peace and serenity. Perfectly idyllic... if it weren't for the charred ruin of the watermill on the other bank. The roof had fallen in, and the walls, formerly white, were blackened by the blaze. The arch of the entrance facing the river, and the windows, having shattered in the fire, gaped with unnatural blackness, as if someone had spilled an inkwell over a rustic painting, and then proceeded to slash at the same spot with a knife.

"So lovely," said Zara, who was the last to come out of the forest, but then she saw the burned-down watermill. The girl stopped, sighed and stared at the ground.

"My brother and I used to catch enormous catfish here," said Aritor in a soft low voice, his stone-like face softening around the edges as he let the memories flood his mind.

"There's a pool over there," Reena echoed, pointing upstream. "The sand is soft there, and the bank isn't the least bit steep... Me and the girls would always bathe there, didn't we, Olta?" the demoness turned to one of the archer girls for support.

"Well, some of us were catching catfish," Reece pursed his lips, clapping Aritor, lost in his memories, on the shoulder, "while others sat in the bushes over there," the mage pointed toward the pool. "Watching the girls bathing... Choosing a conformation of his liking, as it were..."

"Why you..." Reena's gaze shifted from Ayim, who had gone red as a beet all of a sudden, to the mage, his face cracking a wide smile. "And which bushes would those be?"

"Hey, don't look at me!" Reece put up his arms. "I'm just complimenting his good taste! Whenever you go bathing with Olta again, be sure to take Salta, Zara and Hagedia along. And I'll go fishing for catfish with Aritor. I'm genuinely interested, you know. They might look fine, but what if there's a defect of some sort? Those catfish can be tricky..." the mage hastened to add, noticing the senior archeress staring daggers at him.

"Did you really?!" Reena took a few steps toward Ayim, who looked utterly abashed...

"Too much talk!" I decided to nip the burgeoning "family" conflict in the bud. "Will you stop behaving like children already? Where is the bridge that you promised?"

"Right here," Ayim pointed to the surface of the water, happy to have escaped righteous retribution. "It's easy enough to cross along the edge of the dam—it's only ankle-deep there. We would all use this shortcut as kids. Uncle Storkh kept scolding us, but it's not like we would use the door or anything," the demon pointed to the gaping black hole across the river. "We would dive and come out further right. Our clothes would be dry by the time we reached the village."

"Why would he need a doorway facing the water?" I looked at the black-haired demon in surprise.

"Who could have known the river would rise so high?" the demon shrugged. "They were digging a canal from the other side for the wheel, and must have miscalculated, so another doorway had to be made. But this one remained anyway."

"Just tell me one thing, my dear friend," I looked at him with a sigh. "Are you sure there's no one inside?"

"Well..." the warrior looked nonplussed, "I could scout it out myself."

"You fool," I shook my head. "Do you think your death would gain us anything?"

"No one is likely to be there. The undead aren't all that fond of buildings."

"There's a first time for everything, and the first time usually happens at the worst possible time. The path here is narrow," I nodded toward the rocks that were barely noticeable underwater. "We'll be lucky to cross one at a time. If anything comes at you, you wouldn't even be able to escape."

"Well, they'd probably start shooting—they're stupid mobs, after all, as you always say. And this looks like shooting distance to me," the demon shrugged.

"Is there any other way across the river?" I asked.

"There is—the bridge on the main road," Ayim lowered his eyes. "I told you about it, dar. There are only these two ways across—the bridge and the miller's path."

"I see," I hopped onto the razorback and turned him around. "Let's head for the bridge! By the way, Ayim," I looked at the black-haired demon. "If I ever put you in charge of others, and you will have a choice of two options, go for the tried one. And never leave anything to chance. Got it?"

"Aye-aye, dar!"

The squad set into motion. Getting up from the ground, Reece stretched, clapped a sullen Ayim on the shoulder, and said in a deliberately cheerful voice.

"Cheer up, buddy! Being in command is not like sitting in the bushes... getting a feel of, uh... catfish! You'll learn!" He nodded toward Reena and sweetened the pill a little. "You might teach me, too, while you're at it. You've had pretty good luck with the catfish, after all..."

Ayim was right—the way to Feator took much longer along the main road. We had to move through the forest at a snail's pace for a mile, and cross the river along a wooden bridge that felt as if it was crumbling. From there it was another quarter mile before my squad finally got the tall palisade surrounding the village.

Feator and Environs was a level 155-156 zone whose shape resembled a cucumber stretching from the northeast to the southwest. The village lay in the southern part, near the border with the neighboring zone—right on the road leading from Ballan to Farot. The environs of the village lay behind Thessa River that passed through here before flowing into Ithele much further south.

"Bastards! How I hate them!" Reena exhaled, looking toward the village seized by the undead. The priestess' eyes started to glisten, and she turned away from the view that had opened to us, burying her face in Ayim's shoulder. Looking grim, the youth gave her a pat on the shoulder and whispered something soothing into her ear, but the struggle on his own face was all too visible.

The sight was indeed anything but inspiring: a crooked gatepost, with the actual gate lying on the ground, smashed to splinters. The houses that stood closest to the entrance had burned through to little more than charred ruins. All the space before the gates was strewn with the rotting carcasses of the former defenders of the village, and the bones of the attackers. The hideous emanations of death and putrefaction coming from the village could be felt from even here.

"There's a breach in the palisade on the right, about three hundred feet farther on," muttered the black-haired warrior through clenched teeth. "We used it for our retreat. I think there are fewer of those freaks there," he nodded toward the silhouette of skeleton archers above the palisade, five on either side, and six undead knights in plate armor standing at the gates. Other invaders roamed the main street behind them in formation that defied easy understanding, the most conspicuous one being a nine-foot-tall two-headed skeleton with a huge two-handed poleaxe. A light blue mist shrouded the blade of the monster's weapon—most likely, it dealt extra cold damage and had a small chance of dropping from this oversize bonehead. Seven million hit points, level 165—the beast was weaker than Daeron whom I had killed earlier, and my party, which dealt around fifty thousand damage per second, should manage to dispatch the monster in three or four minutes. But how would we handle the rest? There were a hundred there at least, and if they all attacked at once, I didn't see any way we'd survive this encounter.

"Everybody rest and wait for me," I put on a helmet and took the lance out of my inventory, just in case. "I'll ride around the village and take a look at how things stand, then formulate a strategy." I turned toward the fighters as they prepared to pitch camp, then gave Gloom a shove, steering him to the right so as to avoid the aggro range of the skeletons on the walls. "I'll be back in two shakes..."

My riding around Feator did not yield any results. The breach in the palisade that Ayim had mentioned had been made from the inside, and I couldn't help wondering at first why the locals hadn't let the kids escape through the southern gate of the village, where the road to the next zone began. But once I reached the southern gate and saw groups of level 170 skeletons swarming the road, the answer became abundantly clear.

What if we launch our assault from the next zone? What if the enemy garrison can't cross the border, and we manage to pick them all off from a safe distance? I kept thinking this as I gazed at the gates, shut tight and reinforced with strips of iron. But what if they can? What do we do then? If I'm wrong, there'll be nowhere left to retreat. And taking the trouble of clearing another zone just to find out... Nope, that won't do. Time is too short. The only thing that brightened my mood a bit was that there were no undead near the village itself except for the garrison inside. It meant that we didn't need to vanquish any mobs to ensure an escape route for the squad.

After some deliberation, I decided against scouting out the village invisible. What would that gain me? I might be able to calculate the exact number of those stiffs, but what good will that do? Whether they number a hundred, or a hundred twenty... makes no difference to me, I thought to myself as I headed back to the party camp. Should we try the breach in the palisade? It's narrower than the main gate, and two tanks can easily hold it, but they'd have to handle two or three skeleton warriors each, plus there'll be archers to worry about. And if some of the undead slip out of the main gate and flank us, we'll bee in deep shit...

"Buff up," I waved to the demons who had jumped up at my approach, dismounted the boar, and placed Shield of the Elements on my action bar while we buffed.

"Have you reached a decision, dar?" asked Salta, hand covering her face from the sun that rose above the trees.

"I have, and it concerns you and your archers first and foremost." On the second day, I placed the demoness in command of all the ranged fighters, putting the healers in Reena's charge, while tanks and other melee fighters became Ayim's responsibility.

"So what exactly do we do?" Salta's eyes assumed a serious expression at once.

"See the skeletons on the walls? They're our main concern now. I can assume that should we manage to dispatch one of them, it will instantly be replaced by another. Mobs are predictable enough, so we may take out all the ranged fighters in the village in this fashion. You see now why I have assigned... I mean, why I have taught you long-distance shooting—your arrows have a longer range. So, as soon as we're buffed, the archers are to approach the leftmost skeleton within firing range," I marked the required target in the options. "This one, to be precise. Fire at my command. Next you switch to the one on the right, and keep at it until there's no one left standing on this side of the gate." I looked at the soldiers—they all listened attentively. "Everybody else, don't stick your necks out. Just stay put and observe everything quietly, and get ready to retreat to the bridge at any moment. You do realize it is only the archers who will fire, don't you, Reece?"

"Aye aye!" shouted the mage, his chest puffed out and his eyes bulging and blinking.

"Aye aye what?" I asked him with a sigh.

"Aye aye to staying behind and observing the flowing motions of certain parts of our archer squad's anatomy! Reena and Hagedia, in turn, can watch—"

"Stop," I waved my hand, staunching his verbal diarrhea. "Are you ever going to pipe down?" I feigned my fiercest glare. The truth was that this kid with his lighthearted buffoonery always brightened my mood, as well as that of most others. "If everything is clear, let's begin! Salta, report when you're ready."

I watched the archers move to take position, then mounted Gloom, my gaze fixed on the palisade with the skeletons standing over it, immobile. In a moment, I would see whether or not my assumptions were correct. The risk was minimal, however—the party could just retreat if anything went awry. Once you got some five or six hundred feet away from a mob pursuing you, in most cases it would cease its pursuit and return. Dungeon mobs were the exception—they would pursue their quarry to its death.

"We are ready," the magically amplified voice of the demoness sounded in my ears.

I focused my gaze on one skeleton, its head kept turning this way and that, gave a deep sigh, and gave the order, "Go!" Red and white flashes marked the trajectory between the archers and the mob, taking off over three quarters of its health at once. The monster's body shuddered at the impact, and fell over the palisade, carried by the momentum, the sun reflection off the metal of its bent helmet.

"Fire at the next one!" I ordered, and the second skeleton disappeared behind the palisade, pincushioned by arrows. But then something strange happened. The remaining three skeleton archers from this side of the gate and the five that had stood on the other simply disappeared behind the roughly hewn logs of the palisade, while the six armored skeletons hastened to disappear behind the gate, falling out of my archers' reach. Great, just great!

"What did they just pull off?" Reece asked somewhere behind me. He sounded just as surprised by the behavior of the undead as I was.

"I wish I knew," Reena shook her head, her eyes fixed on the gate.

"Archers, fall back!" I shouted, waving my hand to Salta, who had turned in my direction. I could not see her expression behind the helmet's visor, but she must have been just as astonished as everybody else by what had happened. "Run!" I turned toward the rest of the squad, and raised a hand for the soldiers to stop all chitchat. "Quiet! Let's wait..."

We didn't need to wait long. About three minutes later, an organized horde of skeleton warriors poured out of the gates. Following closely behind were their brethren in robes and chainmail—liches and archers. S'art, the local bicephalous boss, marched heavily behind them all, his poleaxe heaved on his shoulder and his eyes' sorcerous green glow following my squad's every movement. So much for the battle!

The undead boss threw his arms upward and roared. The host of skeletons that marched out to attack us started to move faster.

"Retreat!" I shouted. "Make for the bridge, quickly!" I noticed the faces of my clanmates darken, clearly displeased with my orders.

The morale of your party has fallen by 5 points. Your party's current morale is +14 (a 14% increase to your party members' physical and magic damage).

Damn it! But of course, it was the first retreat in the past three days. There would be countless others, but attacking a hundred walking dead bristling with iron head-on would be suicide. I wasn't going to bury everything that had been achieved with so much effort like this, in a single engagement. I brought up the rear on the razorback. As I barked orders for my soldiers to move faster, I turned around and made one of the most widely used gestures in the world at the attacking undead...

"So why the long faces? You remind me of pregnant gophers," I spat through my teeth. "It took just one retreat for you to start whining. Did you think I'd leave the village to the undead?"

The demons were a pitiful sight. Once we had lost the pursuit and stopped our retreat, I was instantly barraged by questions such as, "Why didn't we stand and fight?" "Why didn't we try to do some damage to the enemy using ranged weapons?" Given that it had taken us all of yesterday to earn those five morale points, and that the exact way of capturing this Hart-forsaken Feator was still beyond my understanding, I lined up my subordinates and proceeded to give them a thorough chewing-out.

"It was a tactical retreat! If you intend to pout every time we retreat, we won't do much fighting! Do you really think a heroic death is a good thing? Do you want revenge or not? You!" I stopped in front of Ayim, his head hung low. "Tell me, should I have tried to find out what to expect of the enemy? To make an approximate estimate of their numbers, at the very least?"

"Aye-aye, dar," muttered the demon.

"Salta!" I fixed my gaze on the leader of the archers.

"Aye-aye, dar! You should have!"

"Exactly," I clenched my fists and took a few deep breaths. "So why do you have to look like... whatever they were..."

"Gophers!" Reece puffed up his chest. "Pregnant gophers!"

"That's right," the hand that had reached for the pipe froze midway. "What?"

"I have no idea why pregnancy makes those rodents dour, either!" barked the mage in a jaunty voice. "But if that's what commander says, that must be it!"

"Your tongue will land you in hot water someday," I shook my head with reproach, and eyed the ranks over again.

The demons' sullen grimaces were replaced by guilty expressions, which was exactly what I had wanted. Although the party morale didn't rise, they would trust me more in the future.

"Dismissed!" I ordered. "Everybody check their equipment—we march in five minutes."

So how do I proceed with this village? I stood at the railing of the bridge, watching the water running underneath. Regular mobs couldn't have become that much more intelligent! Those aren't NPC armies which could sometimes act in non-scripted ways even before the patch, but your run-of-the-mill undead... Feator must be captured—there's no way I can get to my private room otherwise. Such were my thoughts as my teeth chewed on the mouthpiece, and my mind replayed our first unsuccessful engagement time and again.

The forest around us lived a life of its own, one full of mystery. The birds chirped, the canopies of the mighty trees rustled in the wind, and the leaves whispered to each other. A mottled woodpecker kept beating his tattoo on the thick trunk of a nearby tree, ruining my concentration. So, what do I do now? Bang my head against the wall all day long, just like this woodpecker? I've got to think of something. I can't afford to lose these guys! They're like family to me now—the only ones who had faith in me and decided to follow... Fury started rising from the depth of my mind, making it hard to breathe. Mobs could not have become so intelligent! It would be like... like... The mobs didn't—it was I who was the idiot! The archers hid behind walls because they ran out of targets! Normally, they would have just run out through the gate. But the behavioral mechanism of defending the settlement must have kicked in, so they must have waited for everyone to rally and joined the host, ditto for the armored warriors. Apparently, according to the scripts, they have to wait for others if no targets present themselves, and it makes no sense to do that when you're fired at, even to the stupidest of mobs! If that's the case, we can put up our tanks to soak up the archers' arrows, and they won't hide!

"Dar, we would like to say that we get it—we shouldn't expect to win every time..." Ayim and Salta had approached without me hearing them. "So we might as well get used to it."

"Diddly-squat is what you get," I grunted, stashing my pipe back into inventory. "You should expect to be victorious each and every time—I won't have it any other way, since none of it would make any sense then. Why take the sword in your hand if you don't believe it?"

"Or the bow," the fair-haired demoness standing just behind Ayim beamed a smile. At that moment, standing against a background of trees, caressed by sunlight filtering through the canopies, she looked like an elven princess out of a fairy tale. I shook my head, trying to clear my mind, and when I raised my eyes at the smiling archer girl again, she met my eyes with a straightforward gaze that conveyed perfect understanding, mischief twinkling in her eyes. I stared into those eyes for a few seconds; then Salta winked to me, spat out the blade of grass she had been chewing, spun around and started toward the waiting archers with that signature gait of hers.

"Tell me something, Ayim," I said pensively. "Why is your bridge in such a sorry state? Is it that hard to fix?"

The bridge was indeed in a horrible condition, so I had waited for everyone to get across first, and followed with Gloom only afterward. There was reason enough to worry—two of the four spans had less than five percent durability.

"Why would it be hard?" the lad shrugged. "Nearly everyone in our village had some woodworking skills. After all, we would send a wagon train to Xantarra and Farot every month with arrows, axe handles, and all kinds of other wooden articles." The demon looked at the gaps in the planking and the broken railings, drawing a heavy sigh. "Thessa overflowed a week ago—it rained like never before. Old Cert kept saying it was a bad omen, but few listened..."

"I get it!" I cut him short before he got overcome by sad memories yet again. "Save it for later! Let's get going!"

"Listen up, I'll repeat myself one more time!" I announced, sitting on the boar's back and looking toward the village, which I already hated. "We will have to retreat a few more times. We are not running away. It's a tactical ploy. So stuff your emotions and trust me. Tanks, archers, take your positions!"

My voice sounded perfectly confident, but I still felt enormous tension inside. What if we don't make it? In that case, all I could do was charge the razorback into the six warriors in plate at the gate, and try to take down two or three of them. The worst bit was that I'd have to do it with two dozen archers firing at me from the walls, and an unknown number of them firing from behind the walls. The risk would be enormous, but, should it come to that...

"We're ready, dar!" Salta reported for the archers.

"Tanks?"

"Standing by for orders," Aritor turned toward me and gave a slight nod.

The six-foot-six demon stood rocking on his half-bent knees, holding up a huge rectangular shield.

"Let's move!"

Just like the first time, the first six arrows made the first archer drop behind the palisade. My tanks took five quick steps forward, entering the aggro zone of the four neighboring skeletons. The undead drew their bows with a single motion. One of them gave an awkward wave of the hands and followed the first one down, but the rest stood fast. Three arrows hit Aritor's shield at once with a dull thud, and his HP bar flickered just a tiny bit. The warriors at the gate, as well as the archers from the adjacent wall, disappeared behind the palisade, just like the last time. Come on! I clenched my teeth and squeezed the hilt of the sword till my hands hurt. Show yourself, you swine!... Yes!!!" The very moment the last skeleton disappeared behind the wall under concerted fire of my archers, the first one reappeared over the palisade. It had more than one half of its HP intact—the mobs that had captured the village had healers of their own, but none of it mattered anymore.

"Finish off the bastard!" I bellowed, and, seeing the skeleton's skull shatter in an array of shards, marking our first kill, realized that we would probably win this battle, after all...

"You see, dar? There's no one there," Ayim nodded toward the charred watermill with gaping black holes where its windows had once been. "Those bastards left when they destroyed everything they could."

"Lucky for us," I shrugged and took another look at the terrain around the burned-down building.

The ground was overgrown with burdock, brambles and tall nettles. All that remained of the building were ruins of stone walls, a rickety shed and the deformed rim of the waterwheel with fragments of charred planks. I walked around the debris toward one of the mill's walls, darkened with soot, and asked, gesturing at the falling water.

"Is it deep there?"

"Twelve feet at least," Ayim leaned over a wall fragment, took a look inside for some reason, then sighed and looked at me. "Must be the same up there. Father said it took them three years to build this dam," he explained. "But are we going to fish here? Or..."

"You have caught enough already, now! Others wouldn't mind having a go," a grinning Reece squatted near the wall, sticking his hand into one of the torn and charred sacks strewn across the yard, and scooping out a handful of burnt flour. He sighed, then quipped, "Looks like the pies didn't come out right this time..."

"Ayim, look!" Reena approached from the direction of the rickety shed, stepping gingerly amid pieces of debris, holding a large black cat at her breast. "It's Coalie!"

The cat in her arms stared in panic at the grinning demons who had gathered around the girl, ears pressed close to his head which kept turning from side to side, but wasn't trying to escape.

"It's Uncle Storkh's cat," the black-haired demon smiled. "And he didn't wander off anywhere—it's as if he had waited here for us."

"I see," I nodded, looking my subordinates over, and gave my orders, my voice amplified by magic. "Remove all the debris from the building. Quickly. You can play with the cat later—every minute counts."

"What for, dar? Are we planning to spend the night here?" Salta turned toward me. When she met my hard stare, she shouted, "Aye aye!" and hurried toward the ruin together with the rest of them.

It took my squad a little over an hour to clear the building of the fallen roof fragments and other kinds of debris. I smiled at the sight of their sooty faces, walked to the door that had faced the water, nodded at the narrow stone path across the river, and asked:

"And how did you intend to mop up the remaining sixty-something fighters led by the two-headed skeleton?"

"Just like the archers and the mages," Salta shrugged. "Is there any other way?"

"Didn't you see that your twelve arrows only took off a little over half the HP of the armored skeleton defending the gate? Warriors aren't the same as archers—and we got lucky with those exposing themselves to our arrows, so that we only had to retreat a couple of times."

"But there are skeletons with shields at the gate!"

"So? You suggest that we drag that whole horde behind us and shoot at them from a distance?" I chuckled, looking back at the black smears on her face.

"How else are we going to do it?" the girl wiped the sweat from her brow. "We could let them follow us in this manner for as long as we need."

"Can you be certain you'll stay out of range of their fighters' charge, or that the two-headed stiff won't throw his axe at you? No? In that case, run across and wait for me there. The tanks can block the path easily from the other bank, and the mobs will line up along the dam—they can only cross one at a time," I motioned toward the falling water.

"But half of them will drown," Aritor, who had been leaning against a wall, scratched the back of his head. "What about the loot?"

"You can dive for loot later," I grunted. "Which is more important to you, loot or survival?"

Ayim slapped his hand on the charred wall, peeked out of the door frame, then turned toward me and asked, adjusting the handle of the sword on his belt.

"Why couldn't we draw them out here from the very start?"

"How would you stand there with arrows hailing down? There are no buildings on the other bank, are there? Had Feator been over there," I pointed at the bank across, "we would have done that, of course. No arrows could reach us if we had tanks here and here," I took Ayim by the shoulders and placed him near a wall, taking a position nearby. "They could have shot all their arrows from the other bank, and the mages' range would not have been sufficient, so RTFM." As the demon looked at me quizzically, I just slapped him on the shoulder and headed for the exit, where Gloom had already managed to fall asleep.

"RTFM?" Ayim's question reached me from behind.

"Yup," leaning against the doorframe at the exit, I turned to my clanmates gathered inside the building. "Is anything unclear? Get across the river, all of you. Tanks and archers, get ready. Also..." I frowned as I looked at their grimy faces. "You might wash your faces while you're at it—you look like fiends from the netherworld..."

Everything went without a hitch. The only complication that arose was getting the boar across the river. Gloom flatly refused to take one step along the narrow path that lay maybe eight inches underwater, so I had to resort to the carrot method—or, rather, the apricot method. Taking one of the few remaining fruit from Kirana's magic grove out of my inventory, I let my valiant mount smell it, and stepped onto the narrow underwater path.

"Gloom, buddy, let's go, shall we? It will get very hairy here soon. You don't want to resurrect just yet, do you?" I could just release the razorback here, then re-summon him from the other bank, but my gut was telling me not to do it.

Bewitched by the enormous, melon-sized apricot, the boar drew a heavy sigh and followed me. Sometimes it pays to be aware of your pet's weaknesses, even if the pet in question is an aquarium fish. And if you decide to go for a larger specimen, knowing those weaknesses is absolutely vital.

As soon as Gloom and I caught up with the demons waiting for us on the other bank, the first skeleton I'd brought to the slaughter emerged out of the destroyed mill's doorway. The creature looked at the flowing river, its eyes aglow with a blue sorcerous light, and took a confident step onto the edge of the dam, with other pursuers trailing close behind. Success!

"Let the first seven skeletons reach the tanks. Salta, focus all your damage on S'art, but don't even think of finishing him off midway. He has got to have some HP left, or you'll dive for the loot yourself! Aritor and Hurd, try to go easy on the first skeleton. Ayim and Surat, you two move aside while those seven shuffle their feet between the boss and the tanks.

I took another look at the skeletons wading across the river along the narrow path, then gave the apricot to Gloom. Taking a swig from my flask, I mounted the chewing razorback and readied myself.

"Salta, are you sure you don't want to take a dive?" Reece hurled another Ice Spear at the monster roaring on the dam, glancing sideways at the focused archeress. "Now that's a sight I could never get enough of."

Salta shot back an unprintable reply without so much as looking his way, whereas I told the mage to shut up lest he wanted to take a dive himself, right there and then.

In the meantime, the two-headed freak entered its second battle phase, having lost half its HP. Translucent streaks of blue started to swirl around its bulk, freezing the water within fifteen feet around him. For a while, nothing happened. Then, suddenly, the ice exploded in a myriad icy needles that scattered like grenade fragments.

The impact wave knocked around a dozen skeletons off the dam, throwing them into the water, at which point S'art made a huge leap over the heads of the tanks, targeting the archers that stood about a hundred feet away.

"Yeah, right!" I shouted, expecting something of the sort, and instantly popped Charge.

My spear tore through the breastplate's chainmail, piercing the skeleton's right side with a screeching sound. Then the boar's tusks hit the monster in the groin, and his nine-foot bulk crashed to the ground.

"All damage on the boss! Tanks, hold your ground!" Popping Fortification, I thrust my shield forward to block the swing of the two-headed monster's enormous axe—the creature had bounced back onto his feet instantly.

A horrendous blow numbed my left arm for a moment, taking about a quarter of my HP. I clenched my teeth and started to hack away at S'art with my sword, happy to have drawn his aggro. The second blow of the poleaxe hit Gloom, dazing him for a moment. The razorback skidded to the side, and S'art, sidestepping to us, got my unprotected back with his third blow. A flash of pain, and my body felt like it was being torn apart. I saw treetops flicker before hitting the ground, the wind knocked out of me.

"Kria-a-a-an!" the head archeress' voice pierced my ears as a cool wave of healing magic rolled over my body. I opened my eyes in time to see the poleaxe, ablaze in blue light, fall right upon me, only managing to roll aside at the very last moment. The enormous axe smashed into the ground inches from my head with a hideous thwacking sound, and I sprang to my feet, glimpsing Ayim and Surat frenziedly hacking at the skeleton's sides. Gloom's tusks were plunging into the boss from behind, and the archers, having run closer, were loosing one arrow after another into the roaring beast virtually at point-blank range. I don't remember turning on his Frenzy, I reflected, attempting to locate the shield I had dropped. S'art pulled his poleaxe out of the ground with ease, singled me out unmistakably with his gaze, swung again, and, suddenly, froze for a moment, stunned! After Charging into the skeleton's side, Aritor used Provoke to draw the boss' aggro to himself.

"Heals on Aritor!" I pounced on the two-headed freak and started to slash at its poorly-protected side, disregarding the lost shield.

The second swing of S'art's poleaxe knocked the six-and-a-half-foot demon aside as the boss turned toward me again, only to freeze into an icy statue in mid-swing. The razorback, who had been assaulting the skeleton all along, used all his weight to topple the enemy to the ground, while I grabbed the hilt of the sword with both hands and drove the blade into one of its throats, gaping open in a silent cry, with a cracking sound. The enormous bulk shuddered, and the skeleton's eyes stopped glowing blue. We did it!

"Aritor, join Hurd," breathing still came hard, "Salta and Reece, finish off the bastards."

"How do you feel, dar?" asked the archeress concernedly, without pausing the process of mopping up the undead stuck at the edge of the dam.

"Fine," I assured her, giving the boar, who had run over to me with a guilty look, a hearty clap on the side, suddenly overwhelmed with that warm and fuzzy feeling. It is truly pleasant sometimes to see someone genuinely concerned about you, even if all Salta saw in me was a means to get her revenge. Still, it didn't matter to me.

I stayed away from the fray of the battle—there simply was no place left for me. Hurd had the exit from the narrow underwater path blocked completely, and there was only enough space for a single fighter next to him. Ayim and Surat took turns fighting there. The archers fired at armored warriors stuck on the dam as if in a shooting gallery. Arrows struck the armor, making a loud noise as they pierced helmets and breastplates, getting stuck in shields, and very occasionally ricocheting.

"We wiped the floor with them!" Reece's Ice Spear knocked another skeleton into the water; he spat in disappointment and turned toward me. "By the way, dar, did you get hurt? You flew like an experienced air mage," he shook his head respectfully.

"Yeah, but I landed like a crappy earth mage," I grunted, recollecting my less-than-successful landing. "Focus, now, don't let yourself get distracted."

"Bah, this is pretty much over," the demon chortled, gesturing at the last ten skeletons on the dam. "Salta could handle them alone—she's really pissed off now," the mage threw a sideways glance at the archers, and continued in a conspiratorial tone. "For some reason, she didn't like it when you, uh, hit the ground like a bag of jelly... I mean, like an earth mage, that's it..."

What a wet blanket! My good mood was ruined completely—I shook my head dejectedly, sighed, and bent over the monster's carcass.

Chapter 13

We got lucky with the loot: three rare items, each of which suited someone, seven ancient bones, gold, alchemy ingredients, and, finally, the Symbol of Feator—the grand prize we had come here for in the first place.

Any object in the game held by non-player characters was considered captured when you smashed its symbol, dropped by the slain commander of the conquered settlement. I didn't remember all the details, but I thought the symbol needed to be smashed on the premises of the captured settlement's main building—the local village elder's house, in our case. Well, even if we failed to take the village under our control—not that we really wanted to, anyway—we could at least claim everything we found in the local storage vaults.

"Here you go!" I threw Reece a rare staff which was exactly his level—145, with 250 intellect and an added 50% to cold damage.

Reece caught the item deftly, and proceeded to examine it with affection. The staff was smooth and slightly curved at the tip, with a blue iridescence running down its length. An expression of pure joy lit up the mage's face.

"Thank you, dar!" Reece shouted, turning toward the dam and cursing loudly—there were no more enemies left in sight.

The morale of your party has risen by 3 points. Your party's current morale is +17 (a 17% increase to your party members' physical and magic damage).

"If anyone feels like diving, go right ahead," I looked at my fighters celebrating their victory, and motioned toward the river. "But be quick about it—we have already lost a lot of time. Aritor and Hagedia, come over. These are for you."

The boss dropped a good shield for a tank and plate gauntlets with intellect. Both would have to level up a bit before they could use them, but I wouldn't want to lug them around in my inventory lest I forget. I didn't know how player clans distributed their loot, so I shared it out the way I saw fit.

"Actually..." Aritor had taken off his armor, and was now pointing at the dam, clad in a tunic and simple flaxen pants, "There's a whole bunch of money and all sorts of other stuff down there. I won't need more than ten minutes." He looked at me, and, once I nodded, started toward the river.

Once the demon reached the water, he stretched. I thought his tunic would burst on his muscles—he had already been as big as a bear standing upright before becoming a tank; following his specialization, and especially after leveling up his stats and skills a bit, he now struggled to fit through regular-sized doors. The giant turned toward his brother, and asked him with a warm smile.

"Ayim, remember how we used to dive here to catch..." At that moment his eyes fell on Reece, who had already finished admiring his new staff, and now looked bored to tears. The tank's last phrase made his eyes light up, but Aritor just waved his hand, "Oh, the hell with y'all," and dove in, to the sound of his fellow clanmates' laughter.

"Would you explain something to me, Krian?" the succubus' son's curiosity  got the better of him again.

"What is it?"

"Skeletons are dead, aren't they?"

"So?"

"So they don't need to breathe! Why did they drown like regular sentient creatures instead of just walking out of the water? I mean the ones knocked off the dam by arrows."

"Game mechanics," I blurted out, lost in thought.

"What?"

"Nothing. I said, that's how the world works. Who told you they had to breathe, anyway? They're supposed to lie in their graves, but there they go crawling about. So I'm not entirely sure about this whole breathing business. Running water may have something to do with it. I head the undead aren't particularly fond of rivers."

"Don't pay him no mind, dar. We've all already gotten sick of his questions back in Uriatta," the archeress approached us, her face flushed from the battle. "He even got kicked out of Xantarra—their sentient populace must have lost their patience with him, too."

"That's a vicious lie!" Reece looked outraged. "My studies at Xantarra ended for reasons quite unrelated to my curiosity."

"Indeed," Salta grunted. "You should have left behind your habit of trying to hoist up every other skirt you see. Maybe then you may have actually graduated."

"Incidentally, I happen to possess a delicate disposition," the mage announced with an air of injured innocence. "You may be able to run around in the woods like a moose cow for days on end, unlike yours truly," he sighed mournfully, "the likes of me require inspiration..."

"What was that, you little swine? I'll show you inspiration!"

Salta darted toward Reece, but he prudently took a sixty-foot Jump to the side, shouted something about crazy broads, and added that he would wait for us in the village.

"Hold your horses," I pulled the girl, ready to chase the running mage, back by her shoulder. Turning her around to face me, I handed her a rare level 160 bow from my inventory. "You won't be able to use it right away," I said, "but it won't take you that long to learn. It's Daeron's bow. I think that your foe's weapon has got to become yours."

"Thank you," said an astonished Salta, instantly forgetting all about the mage as her hands got a tight grip on the powerful composite bow. "But Krian... I have my father's bow. I don't know..."

"Keep your father's bow as memory," I shook my head, winked to the girl, and started toward the river bank, where the pile of items recovered from drowned mobs kept on growing.

"Where's the elder's house?" I turned toward Ayim, walking to my right. "Salta, Reena! Stop feeding him! He already eats enough for a dozen horses!"

"He's still very young, you know," smiled the archeress, walking next to Gloom. "He needs a lot of food—he's still growing. Trust a hunter's daughter on this."

Gloom grunted affirmatively and nudged the demoness with his snout gently, demanding seconds. The girls laughed, and, completely ignoring my outrage, started to take turns feeding the boar with green fruit of some sort.

"He'll grow bigger?!"

"Of course," Salta pushed the black beggar's snout away, raising her laughing eyes at me. "Not by much, but, given his current size, he will add another foot and a half in the shoulders. His weight is also likely to double."

"But..." I tried to estimate how big my boar would get eventually, and arrived at a mental image of an attacking rhinoceros. "You're going to spoil him like this. He already turns his snout up at rutabaga."

"What, you think we won't manage to find enough food to feed one young boar?" snorted Reena, walking on Gloom's other side. "And he's so cute, too!"

I'd be hard-pressed to call the razorback "cute" even with half a gallon of whiskey inside me, but women had a slightly different perception of reality, so I decided not to get in their way. If they want to feed this piglet, they're welcome—one headache less for me. After all, the boar was my trump card, and the bigger he grew, the better. Mounting him would likely become a harder task, but that would be a small price to pay.

The party's jolly mood soured as soon as we reached the village gate, where the succubus' son was already waiting for us, leaning against one of the gateposts with his arms crossed.

All the inside space adjacent to the gate was covered with the rotting copses of the defenders. The undead had swarmed into the village, destroying every living creature in sight with the indifference of wildfire. Despite the wind blowing sideways, when you got within fifteen feet of the gate, breathing became a struggle. I raised a hand, ordering everyone to stop, and gestured for the mage, standing by the gate looking bored, to come over. How is it he didn't faint from the stench yet? I thought to myself. Or could it be that NPCs just aren't as sensitive?

"To the smithy first," I looked at my clanmates' sullen faces. "We'll drop all our loot there, then return to the elder's house. You never told me where it was, Ayim."

"Our house is down the road, straight ahead," said the black-haired demon in a barely audible voice. "I did tell you—you just didn't hear me." The warrior finally looked away from the gate and turned toward me. "Can I take a look around the breach, dar?"

"First the smithy, then the elder's house. You can go afterwards, of course," I nodded. "Listen to me, everyone—we only move around the village in standard groups of five: tank, healer, and three dps. We don't yet know whether there might be anyone left here. Don't enter any buildings without an explicit order. We check the village first, and bury the villagers later. Got it?"

"Take this, dar," Reece handed me a vial of cerulean blue liquid. "Apply some under your nostrils, or you will find it hard to breathe as you go further in."

I followed his advice and passed the vial on. The smells did not disappear entirely, but they ceased to be unbearable. This must be the answer to the questions of how necromancers managed to play these days, as well as other classes whose development depended on the presence of walking dead and other entities smelling of things quite unlike roses.

Anyway, first things first. We needed to drop all the extra stuff in the smithy yard and confirm the capture of Feator before anything else. That was the only way for me to enter my private office, and for the group to gain access to the village storage vaults. I waved my hand forward and went in the direction indicated by Ayim, trying not to look around me much.

The elder's house was completely unharmed. In fact, only six houses had burned down in the whole village—the ones that had stood right next to the main gate. I decided against going in, and we all went toward the massive storage vault built of hewn logs. Ayim claimed it would be filled with wooden intended items for sale in Xantarra, so I was eager to see what they had. I took Feator's symbol out of my inventory. It was a small red object adorned with a fine ornament and shaped like an egg. I squeezed it in my fist and turned toward my party.

Congratulations! Your party has successfully managed to capture the settlement of Feator! [Demon Grounds, Krajde Princedom, Xantarra Satrapy] [Village. Category 3]

Due to the continental event The Cursed Princedom, currently taking place in the Krajde Princedom, it is impossible to take the village of Feator under your control until the Krajde Citadel, the primary stronghold of the Krajde Princedom, is captured. Once you capture the Krajde Citadel, the settlement of Feator will be added to your conquests automatically.

Your party has received a bonus of 300 gold for capturing the settlement.

Your reputation has increased! Residents of the Krajde Princedom relate to you with respect.

Your clan has gained a level!

The Steel Wolves clan is now Level 2.

Now available: clan treasury upgrade to level 2. Clan membership limit increased to 100 sentient beings.

The morale of your party has risen by 3 points. Your party's current morale is +20 (a 20% increase to your party members' physical and magic damage).

Attention! In ?? h., ?? min., and ?? sec. the captured settlement will be attacked by the undead that remain in the zone Feator and Environs.

"What?!" I turned toward Ayim sharply. "Did you have any pastures here?"

"Of course, dar—four of them," the black-haired demon nodded in reply. "Our village is roughly twice the size of Ballan, so we needed to—"

"Hold it!" I interrupted him, squeezing my temples with my fingers until they hurt, my eyes shut tight.

Idiot! What an idiot I was! I knew the capture would be followed by an attack, but somehow I'd convinced myself that if we didn't establish control over the village, there would be no attack. There must be at least five thousand walking dead throughout the zone! We could, of course, collect everything we could carry and depart through the southern gate, but that would be tantamount to fleeing, and my clan really needed this victory.

"Anything wrong, dar?" Salta's voice brought me out of my reverie.

"No, nothing at all," I turned to Ayim. "How many arrows did you say there were in the vault?"

"Ten or twenty thousand at least—we missed two deliveries to Xantarra," the demon shrugged. "There are also a few hundred axe handles there, and—"

"Quiet," I cut him off, eyeing the fighters over, their faces suddenly grave. "We're in for a little skirmish, so listen up... Reece, Surat, Ayim—get to the bridge at once! Do whatever you need, but it has to be destroyed! The two central spans are in real bad shape, so a few minutes should suffice for each. As soon as you break it, head for the mill and join the others." I looked back at the black-haired demon, his jaw gaping, and shouted, "Move it! None of those bastards must get across the bridge!"

Reece's usual grin left his face at once, and Ayim swallowed the question he never got to ask. The boys spun around and darted for the village gate as fast as their feet could take them.

"Everybody else, listen up! Dump everything you have in your inventory except potions and elixirs right on the ground, and grab as many arrows from the vault as you can carry—then head straight for the windmill! We need to make sure no one gets to this side of the river. Salta, you're in charge," I nodded to the head archeress, noting the concern on the faces of my clanmates. "Should you fail, there will be a couple of thousand skeletons here in an hour. Aritor and Hurd, stand the way I showed you. The wall will shield you from arrows fired from the other bank. I want three archers on either side of the building. Your positions must be out of enemy shot and spell range. Just like an hour ago, you will shoot the undead off the dam. Your main targets are mages and archers who attempt to get across. Use your superior range to your advantage and don't let them get close enough to you or the tanks to fire a shot." I looked at the demoness, who was listening attentively, sighed, and asked in an already calmer voice. "Salta, is everything clear to you, too?"

"Aye aye!" shouted the girl, then looked at me questioningly. "But what about you, dar?"

"I'll grab the arrows in a moment, then pop into the inn, and join you right after. Another thing," I glanced over the demons' dour faces. "This battle is of the greatest importance. Give it your very best, and... hurry up—I won't be able to stand there long on my own." I tapped the archeress on the shoulder and gave her an encouraging smile. "That's it, Salta. The countdown begins now. Give your orders."

I ran out of the inn some three minutes later. I could hear the demoness issuing abrupt orders from the yard of the elder's house. Shaking my head, turned Gloom toward the gate, and sent him galloping.

Gotta make it... gotta make it! The undead will try to make a dash for the bridge first, and if the boys don't let me down... Once the bridge falls, there'll be just one way left to reach Feator—the choke point where we had already destroyed half a century of armored warriors, I thought to myself, directing the boar along the narrow path leading left, toward the ruins of the mill. Stone walls will shield the tanks for as long as they need, as long as the mages with their area-of-effect spells are kept out of range. Salta's team will pick off any lich that steps on the dam first. We have enough arrows. All we need is to be ready in time! Come on, Gloom, buddy! Faster, faster!

"Ree-ee-ece!!!" Ayim's shrill scream pierced the air. Just then I saw the experience bar twitch.

"What's the matter? How's Reece?" I asked instantly, then bellowed before he could reply. "Answer me!"

There was a short silence, followed by some loud exhales, elaborate curses, and the black-haired warrior's excited exclamation:

"Alive! He's alive, dar!" The demon panted, as if carrying something heavy. "He's a right bastard, make no mistake, but if he hadn't frozen those beasts on the bridge... He Jumped toward them and immobilized them all to buy us time with the bridge... I don't know how he managed to survive, dar—there were four of them slashing at him. And then he fell into the water right after the bridge went down..."

"It's down?! The bridge is down?!"

"Aye aye! Not a single one got across! All of our guys are alive! We're on our way to the mill now."

They did it! Now everything hinged on me. How long did I need to hold out? Two or three minutes, until the demons reached the mill? The undead may not have reached the dam yet, in which case...

"Hart!" I cursed out loud the moment I saw the charred walls from around the bend—roughly three dozen skeletons were emerging out of the forest on the opposite bank. Some of the bastards had already started to cross. With three hundred feet or so separating me from the mill, I popped Charge without dallying a second. What a pity I won't fit in the hut mounted—the remaining roof beams won't let me, I thought to myself as Gloom came to a stop next to the ruin, puffing heavily. We're gonna make it! I hopped off the razorback, slapped his side, and Stepped through Darkness, through the walls, to the doorway facing the river. In the nick of time!

Two arrows from the opposite bank scratched the top of my helmet, and I hurried to take shelter behind the wall, jabbing at the unprotected femur of the first skeleton to barge into the building.

The creature tried to swing its rusty two-handed sword at me, but it caught on the door frame, leaving the skeleton's side exposed. I took full advantage, alternating attack skills to deliver two piercing blows at the opening between the helmet and the armor. The blade made a screeching sound as it hit the bones; the skeleton's head bobbed as it tried to hide behind its heavy weapon, then kicked out at the center of my shield. Stepping aside to let the blow glide over, I drove my blade right into the glowing eye socket. A crit! The enemy froze. A second skeleton armed with a rusty axe appeared behind the first, squeezing past, and instantly attacked. I easily parried with my shield and carried on slashing at the first opponent, hardly losing any HP at all. More enemies flashed behind—if this were happening in real life, they would have surely crushed me due to their sheer numbers. But real life it was not. Form a line, you bastards! I chuckled, staring them right in their loathsome mugs.

When the first skeleton's bones dropped to the floor, making an icy clangor on the floorboards, an archer in rotten leather armor took its place, waving a short dagger. I kicked the freak away hard—the difference in strength remained in my favor—and switched to the one with the shield. As the archer hit the wall, he lost about 5% HP and was stunned for a moment, but then he was back on me, displaying the true doggedness of the damned, swinging his narrow blade, touched by patches of rust.

"Krian, we have set forth from the village," there was anxiety in Salta's voice as it rang in my ears. "How are you doing there?"

"Fine," I replied, drawing a sigh of relief—I could hold out another three minutes or so easily. I hadn't lost so much as 5% of my HP yet.

Spoke too soon! Three fireballs hit the opposite wall with a hideous sound, and a pool of hot plasma started spreading across the floor. Ugh! It started to get unbearably hot, and damage dealt over time was slowly gnawing away at my life bar. I slammed the archer into the wall with another kick, failing to parry a blow from the rusty axe that connected to my side. The undead warrior then tried pushing me out of the room, but instead exposed an unprotected neck, getting a blade right in the throat and freezing, a statue of ice. I hacked at its exposed throat once, then twice, parrying the second skeleton's dagger with my shield. Three more fireballs hit the wall, and I started getting dizzy from the lack of oxygen, the pain seeming to tear my body apart. But I could not retreat! A whole host of the undead would get across otherwise, and that would be the end of us!

I downed a healing potion, finishing off the skeleton with a sword. His frozen remains melted in the flames blazing in the room. I switched to the archer, knocking him off his feet and hitting him twice as he lay on the floor. Both strikes turned out to be crits, and the blue haze left the skeleton's eyes. A mage squeezed into the space, and started to cast another fireball from behind another shield-bearer. "You swine!" I shut him up with a Silence, then tried reaching the robed skeleton with my sword. The warrior aptly blocked my way, his blade glancing off my shield. As my lunge was parried in turn, I was forced to step back to evade its next attack.

My consciousness was growing hazy, as two more fireballs flew into the building. In the corner of my eye I glimpsed a tifling's ghostly shape in the corner. Cymon? Am I hallucinating? No matter—the figure of the punisher who never retreated infused me with strength.

The skeletons inside were burning along with me. I gave the fighter a mighty kick in the shield, tossing it aside, then grabbed the mage by the throat with my free hand, pulling the skeleton toward me and furiously hitting at it time and again, alternating skills.

A red haze rose before my eyes. The shield-bearer counterattacked, its rusty blade thudding into the wall next to my head. I made one last effort to push the undead warrior onto the burning woodwork, and, hearing someone's heavy breath behind me, whispered into the raid channel, choking as I spoke.

"Salta... the mages... get them first..."

"Krian! What's happening?" yelled the demoness. "We're nearly there! Answer me!"

The burning silhouette of the shield-bearer, who had fallen onto the lava-covered floor after tripping over the remains of the mage, rose slowly. Leaning heavily against its sword, the skeleton tried to stand, but then one of its arms broke at the joint, and the creature cracked and crumbled in a heap, to be consumed by the flames. Two mages at once squeezed into the room. Their eyes darted to me right away, and a crimson flame began to form around their clasped hands. Bitches! But how?! I took a step toward them, seeing virtually nothing around me, and realizing I was too late. Something hit me hard in the back, and I toppled to the floor. The darkness enveloping me felt like a godsend...

I came to my senses with a yank. The room was filled with smoke, and the smell of burning matter was overpowering—even stronger than the stench of bones burning over the embers of the woodwork. The razorback's enormous bulk filled my field of vision—like a dog protecting an unconscious master, he was making short work of a skeleton under its hooves with powerful blows of his tusks. The mages were dead as doornails, but the boar's life bar was already in the yellow. Numerous arrows fired from the other bank bristled from his neck—he was just too big for the wall to cover him completely; besides, he didn't even think of taking cover.

"Gloom," I had to make an effort to whisper it to him, "get behind the wall." I could barely breathe, and everything was swimming before my eyes. I drank a healing potion, took two deep breaths, and a coughing fit made me double over. With a quarter of my HP left, how can I still think? And where are the others? These thoughts flickered at the edge of my consciousness. Still coughing, I smashed the last healing potion over the boar's hind leg, trying to get up, leaning hard against the charred wall. We had maybe twenty more seconds—and then...

"Krian, where are you?" This was Ayim. The demon was panting, obviously from running.

Right—my stand lasted three minutes maximum, so the guys physically couldn't get here any faster. I was about to answer when I heard the demoness' worried voice, accompanied by the sound of heavy footfall over floorboards:

"Are you alive, dar? Say something!"

"I am," I grunted, seeing Aritor and Hurd rush into the room, while Reena, who had frozen in the doorway for a moment, instantly assessing the situation, first cast a healing spell on me, and then started to pour healing into Gloom.

The boar turned around sharply, his bloodshot eyes staring at the newcomers, but, recognizing them as allies and obeying my yell, eased back slowly, freeing the space for the tanks.

"You smoke too much, dar," Aritor chuckled as he squeezed between the wall and the retreating razorback, using his shield to parry a one-handed axe swung by the skeleton that had appeared in the doorway.

"Bad habit," my head still spun a little, but I was beginning to see the world in color again. "I need to step out for a second. Tell Ayim they should be looting everything from the corpses without delay, or we'll be stuck dragging all this crap away from here," I nodded toward the remains of the undead scattered across the floor.

"I told you he was cute," Reena stepped aside, letting Gloom out and gently running a hand over his neck, still bristling with about a dozen arrows. "Does it hurt, my little one?"

The boar growled, greeting the priestess by nuzzling her side with his snout. I used both my hands to shove him outside, and finally managed to follow him out for some air, letting Hagedia and Ayim into the room. I'm alive! Everything was under control here—my archers' arrows sliced through the air with fiery and icy streaks every second as they fired at the dam. Reece, a little pale in the face, was hurling his Ice Spears at the undead. Osk, whose mission was to take care of the archers, looked bored out of his wits. The opposite bank was black with the horde of the undead filling it—I couldn't even begin to estimate their numbers. It looked like we were in for a real hot night!

"Why didn't you tell us the plan?" hissed Salta when she saw me. "You... I... I was really worried for you," the archeress' voice quivered. I thought she might be crying, but I couldn't see the tears behind the visor, and her shooting seemed quite unaffected.

"I really had no idea they'd get here so quickly," I shrugged and drew a heavy sigh. "But look how many there are on the other bank..."

"Please don't do that again, dar," the girl interrupted me. "We entrusted ourselves to you, didn't we? So why don't you trust us?"

The demoness' question baffled me. Really, why couldn't I have taken someone like Osk along, at the very least? Was I just that much accustomed to being alone? But I had all of them now, and they were anything but mere lines of code—after all, code doesn't cry when it discovers its leader to be a real jackass. I sighed heavily, then raised my eyes to meet hers.

"I'll try, Salta. I really promise I'll try..."

Chapter 14

Dusk was falling, the setting sun painting the treetops bright orange. I took off my helmet, pushing the hair, which had grown rather long, away from my forehead as I produced my flask and took a few gulps. I had a clan now—the money was paid and accepted by the administration, or whoever served as such at the present. Never mind that—the main thing is that I had succeeded. All we needed to do now was vanquish a few thousand skeletons that had gathered from all across the zone—a trifle, really. Then we could start some serious planning for the future.

"Here, help yourself," I passed the flask to Reece, who looked like he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders as he kept throwing one Ice Spear after another at the undead, occasionally looking about himself, apparently looking for something to comment on.

"Thank you, dar," the mage reached for the vessel and took a few swigs. The taut lines in his face smoothed out a little, and he said musingly. "I respect that! We all went to fight like idiots, but you somehow even managed to pop into the inn en route..."

That must have done it. The fury that rose from the depth of my soul took complete hold of me for a moment. I squeezed the demon's shoulder tight and spun him around to face me.

"Listen up, demon," I hissed into his face, my voice resonant with rage. "You are forgetting yourself! Your jokes cross the line more often than not. If I hear just another careless word about myself, I'll start by ripping off your ears, got it?!" Giving the mage's shoulder another hard squeeze, I pushed him away and folded my arms.

"Sorry, dar," Reece lowered his eyes and stood there, staring at his feet. With a heavy sigh, he added, "It sometimes happens spontaneously. I'll try to hold my tongue in the future. Here's your flask back," he handed me the vessel. "Whenever I have a few, I start to run off at the mouth, and given everything that has transpired, I believe I'll find a good use for my ears yet."

You have gained a level! Current level: 147.

You have 1 talent point to allocate.

Class bonus: +1 to intellect; +1 to spirit.

You have 3 stat points to allocate.

You've earned an achievement, Field Commander.

The party under your command has defeated ten times its number of enemies whose levels were equal to (or higher than) the maximum level of your warriors, in a single battle. From now on, your party's morale cannot be negative, while you and the fighters under your command located within 1 mile of you receive the following:

2% to critical hit chance with a physical or magic attack,

10% to critical hit damage with physical or magic attacks,

2% to critical effect chance with healing spells,

10% to critical effect with healing spells,

2% to damage and movement speed of siege engines,

2% to durability and movement speed of siege engines.

I'll be damned! I've never heard of such an achievement in this game. Not that I ever paid much attention... Instantly forgetting all about the offending mage, I plopped down under the nearest apple tree, produced a calculator from my menu, lit up a cigarette, and got to counting. The demons could do without my help so far—there was no space for anyone but one melee fighter next to the tanks inside the watermill, leaving me enough time to calculate everything thoroughly.

The figures looked good. Going by base values alone, the damage output of the party increased by almost five percent—nothing to sneeze at. Still, every raid leader from one of the top clans probably had an achievement of this sort to boast of. Not that I cared. It was nice to have one just the same, and if this achievement wasn't the last—I glanced at the opposite bank, still black with the milling throngs of the undead—I might be in for more pleasant surprises. The most important thing now was to avoid screwing up and to make sure we did everything right. Indeed, the fun was only just beginning...

"Krian, dar! These seem to be the last ones," the magically enhanced voice of the head archeress interrupted my monotonous pastime.

"Change shift!" A few hours ago I'd commanded that the guys take turns sleeping, and Ayim was due to replace me now.

I parried another swordsman's attack with my shield, countered with a Tongue of Flame, and nodded to Aritor waiting behind me. The big guy drew the mob's attention with Provoke and turned it sideways a little. I finished off the freak, striking it in the exposed side that didn't have much protection, and fell back, to be instantly replaced by Ayim, woken up by Reena moments prior. The black-haired demon was still squinting from sleep, but that hardly prevented him from jumping right into this seemingly endless battle that had already lasted over twenty four hours. I sidestepped the yawning priestess, made a loud bang as I hit the doorframe with my head, and crawled outside, lacking the strength to do so much as curse. I eyed the boar, sleeping peacefully in the shade, with great envy, then took off my helmet and washed my face.

The next evening came, and it seemed like the slaughter would never end. So many undead warriors had been vanquished that in some places fragments of the creatures' armor stuck out of the river where multitudes of skeletons had been shot off the dam. It had been an incredibly taxing ordeal for the whole party.

"Take a look, dar—there can't be more than a hundred left over there," the archeress pointed at the opposite bank. The ranks of the undead did look a whole lot thinner.

Did we really make it? We were incredibly lucky that the village storage vault had so many arrows inside—I could only guess how long this strategy would have taken us otherwise. I nodded to the girl and announced the good news to the whole party; their response, however, wasn't particularly enthusiastic. The demons were so tired they could barely stand up straight.

I took a few deep breaths, washed my face with the ice-cold water once again, lit a pipe, and sat down under the apple tree I favored. The vantage point gave a good view of the other bank.

Our efforts had been by no means futile. Twenty four hours of ceaseless fighting had translated into some serious leveling-up for the whole party. I had a few XP points to go before reaching 149, and the weakest of my warriors was already level 151. My clanmates will have their combat forms soon, I thought with a pang of envy. But I had no reason to grumble, either—the Field Commander achievement had become replaced by
Seasoned War Chief, and even though the bonuses for those didn't stack, a five percent increase to critical hit chance with a twenty five percent increase to critical hit damage were every bit as good as any combat form. In my past life, I probably would have been inundated with invitations from top clans, I thought to myself, and my mood soured all of a sudden.

Alyona... I wondered how she was doing. I knew her too well to think she would hide behind city walls. I sighed heavily and closed my eyes, leaning my head wearily on the rough bark. What was happening to all those people up there, whose lives had changed so suddenly, so drastically? There were thirty million of them! Were they panicking? Or were they happy to have become immortal? And why didn't Aunt Tanya answer her phone? Was she that reluctant to speak to the deceased? Was there anybody else I could call? But we had no acquaintances in common with Alyona and Max... I mused on this for a second, bringing up the telephone menu, and dialed the number for the umpteenth time, without counting on much...

Attention! A geographical location's name has changed. Thessa River [Demon Grounds, Krajde Princedom, Xantarra Satrapy, Feator and Environs] has been renamed Bone River.

You've earn an achievement, Legendary Warlord.

The party under your command has defeated one hundred times its number of enemies whose levels were equal to (or higher than) the maximum level of your warriors, winning the battle without suffering any casualties.

From now on, your party's morale cannot dip below 10, while you and the fighters under your command located within 2 miles of you receive the following:

10% to critical hit chance with a physical or magic attack,

50% to critical hit damage with physical or magic attacks,

10% to critical effect chance with healing spells,

50% to critical effect with healing spells,

10% to damage and movement speed of siege engines,

10% to durability and movement speed of siege engines.

Attention! This achievement cancels the bonuses received from the Seasoned War Chief achievement.

The morale of your party has risen by 5 points. Your party's current morale is +25 (a 25% increase to your party members' physical and magic damage).

Sweet! Now I don't even need a combat form, I pushed off the tree, rose, and inspected my valiant army. All the archers fell down right where they had stood, with the exception of Salta who was heading my way with a weary smile on her face. Ayim was the first to emerge from the ruins of the watermill. His eyes found me, and he saluted with his raised sword. Victory! I returned the salute, amplified my voice with magic, and announced.

"I cannot even begin to describe what a great feat you have accomplished. Thank you, everyone!" Seeing wan smiles on the faces of my exhausted subordinates, I added, "We will spend the night here—I'm afraid that reaching the village might be problematic in our condition. Reece, place traps along the perimeter. We'll spend tomorrow resting and doing what needs to be done about the captured village."

"Resting sounds good," Aritor looked at the numerous pieces of rusty armor jutting out of the water, scratched the back of his head, and looked at me. "I hope we don't intend to leave all the loot here?"

"You can knock yourself out diving tomorrow," I chuckled and went back to sit underneath the apple tree.

The satisfied giant nodded, found the petite Zara with his eyes, smiled warmly and wobbled toward her. I smiled in turn, noting that it seemed as though we had another couple-to-be among our ranks, watching the enormous demon take a blanket out of his inventory and gently cover his girlfriend.

How long have I been here already? Two months? It already felt like half my life was spent here. Would I want to go back to cars, Internet, and skyscrapers? Definitely not. This world was a lot more honest than that one. Besides... I looked at the beautiful archeress approaching me... I was really beginning to like it here.

Salta gave me a strange look, then sat down next to me, close enough for me to hear her breath. She asked quietly, looking right in front of her.

"Krian, do you have a woman up there? You don't have to answer, but—"

"It's all right, I can answer," I smiled, gazing into her enormous brown eyes. "But it's going to be a very long story."

"So tell me," Salta adjusted her hair with a light touch, and gave an uncertain smile in return. "I have enough time, and I'd really like to hear it."

"Well, then," I shrugged. "This is how it is. I don't have a woman I could call mine. I do have a sister and a friend. They're up there, and I really need to find them." I looked at the crimson sun setting over the treetops and sighed heavily. "This world is alien to me—I'm not from here, and I'm not even from Karn. Do you at least know what Karn is?"

I looked at the girl and smiled. Salta was sound asleep, her head resting peacefully on my shoulder...

Chapter 15

Some time ago, somewhere in the Great Forest...

"They sure are living the high life here," Luffy looked around. His eyes fell on a fountain complex framed by six tall wooden statues of elves holding drawn bows and facing outward. Inside the fountain basin, no less than forty-five feet across, there were figures of twelve elven maidens frozen in a variety of dancing postures, looking incredibly alluring to a male eye. The entire composition effervesced with jets of water of different colors, pulsing to the rhythm of a melody of some sort, so it really felt as though the wooden statues in the fountain were actually flesh-and-blood girls who had decided to jump into the water to dance their dance, half erotica and half martial art.

"It does look pretty," said Max in support of his friend, "but it definitely required magic. You can't make something that beautiful in real life."

"Have you forgotten where we are?" snickered the mage. "You should forget about all that 'real world' business already. To us, real life is here and now. Incidentally, I happen to like it a lot more."

"Could a certain 'black cat' that we know have anything to do with it?" Max returned his snicker.

"Her, too. Anyway, are we planning to get some lunch, or shall we start looking for a mailbox right away?"

"The letter comes first," Max shook his head. "Once I'm done, I'll be ready for anything—even fighting dragons."

"I had no doubts you'd opt for the latter," Luffy winked to his pal. "All right, Romeo, let's go look for the local post office."

They had entered Ellorian twenty minutes earlier, following a rather bizarre and lengthy corridor shaped by interwoven tree trunks and branches that played the part of city gates, having spent some thirty minutes standing in a long line, alongside others eager to get into the city. The part of city walls was played by an odd impenetrable thicket of some sort. They had to pay the guards a silver coin each, so their funds were as low as could be. But then, Max didn't care much about the financial side of affairs at that particular moment. All he wished was to send a message to Alyona and hear her reply. The rest would sort itself out, one way or another.

There were so many players gathered in the square behind the gates that their figures started to dance before the warrior's eyes. For the most part, the crowd consisted of noobs like themselves. Imagine a gypsy encampment over a thousand people strong. Some sat on the ground; others just slept. A group of young men and women were dancing in the bright green glade on the right, underneath a huge tree with a large number of people line up in front of it—evidently, those wishing to receive quests of some sort. The level 200 guards standing around the perimeter frowned at the turmoil in the square, but didn't act upon it in any way.

As the friends pushed through the crowd, they got asked for money four times, received two offers to buy some "mind-blowing dope," and had their feet stepped on so many times they lost count. They were lucky that players under level 20 were immune to stealing, or they would have lost their last two gold coinss, as Max realized belatedly, once they managed to break free from the crowd, ending up in a wide street lined with trees resembling lilacs, which eventually led them to a small square with a fountain. There were substantially fewer people around, but their numbers were still comparable to those found in the central streets of a major metropolitan city. They were passed by groups of high-level NPCs a few times, riding moose or deer of some sort with loud cries of "Gangway!" In general, Max spent most of his time gawking around and feeling like Dorothy upon her arrival in Emerald City.

"Hey, any idea why there's such a crowd in the square by the gate?" Max inquired of his companion, whose gaze was following a group of rather scantily-clad young women. "Will you stop staring at butts already! You're practically married, and yet you still—"

"Indeed, you have no eye for the finer things, Max," there was regret in Luffy's eyes as he looked at his friend. "Beautiful things are to be enjoyed at every opportunity! Tell me, how often did you go to museums when you lived in Moscow?"

"Well, we went with my class at the Polytechnic University," the warrior grunted.

"E-e-exactly," the mage poked the warrior's chest with his finger. "Whereas I happen to be from Kiev—but when I was in Moscow, I visited the Tretyakov Gallery, the Faceted Chamber, the Pushkin Museum..."

"All right, you culture vulture—won't you cut it out now? I asked you a perfectly reasonable question. And why the hell would I go to any of those museums, anyway, seeing as how they were all within easy reach?"

"I get it, don't exert yourself any further," Luffy made a dismissive gesture with his hand. "There are all sorts of social questlines that begin out there in the square. The 'fetch and serve' variety. Feel like standing in line?" He laughed out loud as he saw fright in his friend's eyes. "You don't, do you? Well then, keep on looking for your mailbox, and let your friend admire the local sights in peace..."

They found the mailbox about ten minutes later, near a small inn with a sign bearing three strange insects whose behinds were on fire. The inn was called The Three Fireflies—another creation of a bored developer's mind, by the sound of it. The actual mailbox looked like a rectangular wooden pillar with an opening lid. There was a stylus attached to the inner surface of the lid, which you were supposed to use to write your correspondent's address in a special field.

Mailboxes in the Realm of Arkon worked the same way as their counterparts in earlier games. That is, you could only write a letter to a zone inhabited by your own race or an allied race. An orc player, however, could not write a human player even if their reputation with the human race was favorable. There was a workaround, though. Special courier caravans carried correspondence between the lands of hostile races. The letters and packages they delivered were collected from the office of the courier service. In all other cases, the letters arrived to the player's private quarters—alternatively, the player could get them at the very first mailbox in sight, which would change in color to notify the player that they had mail.

"Any idea what the hell this could be?" Max asked his pal after three minutes of fiddling around with the box. "It requests that I enter a ten-digit code of some sort."

"Come again?" Luffy stopped contemplating his fingernails and gazed at the warrior quizzically.

"I'm trying to write Tauriel a letter, and it won't let me send it. Apparently, I need a code of some sort."

"You mean you don't know it?! Do you have any idea how many Tauriels there are among the dark elves after that movie, whatever its name was... You know, about the guy with hairy feet and an elven maiden in love with a dwarf. That was her name. Long gone are the days when the names of the players were unique—nowadays, what keeps you unique is this code. Or did you think you were the first one who wanted to be known as Max? Well, let me tell you—Maxes and Luffies are a dime a dozen in Arkon, that much you can be sure of! It's like sending it care of Grandma Judy in Bumblefu... I mean, Boondocks, Wisconsin!"

"So what do we do now?" asked Max in a voice dead with terror.

"Run around butt naked and cry out 'boo hoo,'" the mage started, but checked himself as he saw his friend lean against the lid of the ill-fated mailbox, covering his face with his hands. "I'm sorry, brother," he sighed and tapped the warrior on the shoulder. "There's always a way! You said she was level twenty one, and that she changed nothing about her appearance but her figure, didn't you? She must be barely up to twenty eight by now. And I don't think there are that many zones here. We'll go to each and we'll find the girl you're looking for. Whatever it takes, you hear me? Especially since all the zones around Ellorian are open to us on the world map."

"Of course," Max sighed. "But what if she's in the city? There must be over a hundred thousand people here now!"

"In that case, we'll go through the whole city and leave no stone unturned! Don't get droopy just yet. We'll manage everything, you'll see!"

"Thanks," the warrior chuckled and shook the hand offered by the mage.

"Thanks do not fill your belly," Luffy cracked a smile and nodded toward the inn. "How about we go in and stuff our faces with something? We have nothing in our inventory except half a box of wine—no food whatsoever. We could ponder the situation while we're at it."

"Let's go," Max gave a wave of the hand and headed toward the inn entrance.

The roomy dining hall of the inn was packed full. The air was permeated by lasting aromas of meat roasting on several spits, oil bubbling in a cauldron, to be used by cooks for deep-frying small pieces of meat, sauerkraut, cheap beer, and tobacco smoke. The World Health Organization would never get a chance to inspect this joint now, obviously enough, and as for the innkeeper, a level 35 elf playfully nicknamed Emmanuel, as well as his numerous serving girls, they didn't seem to mind the smoke at all.

"Duh, what's wrong with these programmers?" Luffy chuckled as he looked at the innkeeper. "Why did they have to skimp on another '-le' after his name, eh?"

"Someone has a one-track mind," Max shook his head, trying to find a free seat.

Incidentally, the public gathered here was just about their level—he didn't notice anyone higher than thirty. That must have been the reason for the din: the people were probably still trying to come to terms with their fortune—or misfortune, there was no consensus there—and were thus discussing their options at the top of their voices, or maybe were just seeking a shoulder to cry on.

They managed to find a seat near the bar. Sitting at a small table with enough space for no more than four people was a gruff bald-headed warrior, level 19, nicknamed Bonbon. There were a few tankards with the local swill in front of him, and a plate with what looked like unassuming fare. He was wearing a suit of chain and plate armor, and, judging by the one-handed sword on his belt and the shield leaning against the wall, played as a tank. There were no more seats to be seen anywhere in the hall, so the companions headed for that very table.

"Are the seats taken?" asked Max as he sat down at the table.

"Scram," replied the warrior, frowning at the uninvited guests.

"Look here, mate, would you believe the last thing we want is meddle in your affairs? We have enough problems of our own, let me assure you. We'd leave you to your privacy had there been any free seats available, but you'll have to excuse us—we're hungry, too," said Luffy, taking a seat opposite Max.

"Nostalgic for home, are you?" cackled the bald guy, fishing a rolled-up cigarette out of his pouch.

"Nah, we left of our own accord," sighed Max. "It's not about that. Incidentally, I suggest that we share a few bottles of wine as compensation."

"Wine is always a good idea," nodded Bonbon approvingly as he lit up.

The serving girl approached them just as Max placed a few bottles on the table. He didn't dilly-dally, ordering a roast suckling pig with vegetables and five loaves of bread. They would take whatever they couldn't finish to go—fortunately enough, the food you put in your inventory didn't spoil. He was left with a single gold coin as a result.

"Well, shall we toast to our new life?" Luffy raised his tankard.

"Screw this kind of life," the bald warrior shook his head. He did, however, drink the wine.

"What happened?" Max put his tankard on the table and raised his eyes at Bonbon. "You mean you're not happy about being immortal?"

"What's immortality got to do with it?! My wife was in Vaedarr when it all hit the fan. There's no way of getting there now—the portals are closed, and there are demons guarding the borders. I tried to coerce the Asians headed that way to let me tag along, but why the hell would they need a level 19 lowbie?"

In the meantime, the serving girl placed an enormous dish on the table. There was a whole roast suckling pig on it on a bed of local vegetables and accompanied with five loaves of bread.

"Help yourself," Max gestured invitingly to Bonbon. "You shouldn't be drinking on an empty stomach."

"No way, I can't swallow anything right now—I couldn't even finish my own meal," the man shook his head, blowing the smoke out through his teeth.

"Are you fifteen or something?" Luffy exhaled as he finished chewing his slice. "Mine dumped me altogether, but what are you going to do? Yours will wait for you in Vaedarr, if everything is really all that serious between the two of you."

"I'm forty three," Bonbon chuckled drunkenly. "And we've been married for twenty years now. Tied the knot right after graduating from a pedagogical uni. The two of us are like swans—once for a lifetime. These things happen, believe me."

"Then you needn't worry about anything," Max shrugged. "She'll definitely wait for you. As a matter of fact," he put his tankard on the table and looked at the bald man. "Do you want to come with us?"

"Nope, sorry," Bonbon shook his head. "I'll wait for the Asians to mope up those fiends, and then make straight for Vaedarr to see my Annie."

"I doubt the Asians will have much luck there. It didn't all just happen out of the blue, so it's unlikely anyone's first attempt will be successful... Besides, do you even have enough money for the portal? You'll need around ten gold coinss if I remember correctly, seeing as how humans and dark elves are hostile toward each other." Max drank from his tankard, winced, and put it on the table. "Anyway, it's up to you—all we can do is offer."

Right at that moment they heard a loud girlish scream followed by the innkeeper's loud curses.

"How dare you steal from me, you little bitch!"

Max turned around to see the innkeeper unceremoniously shake a thin dark-haired level 7 NPC girl dressed in a plain dress of homespun cloth, holding her by the shoulders. The girl's eyes were shut tight with fear, her arms limp. There was a small piece of sausage lying on the floor—she must have decided to borrow it from the innkeeper.

"I'll drag you out back, you little sow, and whip you till—"

The innkeeper's diatribe was cut short right there. Max, who all but sprang from their table, grabbed the innkeeper's shoulder roughly and spun him around. There was no way he would let some bastard torture a child over of a measly piece of sausage—he just wasn't raised that way.

"Leave the girl alone, you swine," he bellowed right into the innkeeper's face as the dining hall grew silent.

"Or else what?" the elf eyed him scornfully.

"Are duels to the death legal in Ellorian? Then let us duel—right out back where you keep so many whips," hissed Max in his face.

Level 35? So what! Let it be 100—Max didn't care, overwhelmed and shaking with anger and loathing.

The innkeeper looked like he wanted to make a repartee, but the reproving looks on the faces of the gathered patrons made him decide against it.

"Take her if you wish," he let the girl go. She didn't manage to keep her balance and fell to the floor. The innkeeper wrested himself free with a single nimble motion, picked up the piece of sausage from the floor, and headed back toward the bar, cursing half-witted idiots under his breath.

"What's your name, little wonder?" Max offered his hand to the girl with a smile. Her name was visible to him, but he decided that a proper introduction was required.

"Saté," the girl sobbed and raised her green eyes at him, still full of tears. "Those were someone's leftovers, so I thought..."

"I'm Max," the warrior introduced himself as he helped the girl up from the floor. "You must be starving, right? Come," he gave the girl a gentle push toward the table, offering her the remaining free seat, with puzzled glances of patrons following them. So what if she was an NPC? The girl looked just like any other girl—her dress was a bit tattered, and her face grimy, but what of it? Anyway, Luffy didn't seem the least bit surprised—the look in his eyes was that of approval.

"Tuck in," Max pushed the dish toward the somewhat flabbergasted girl. "You're not old enough to drink wine, I suppose," the warrior looked at Luffy. "You had some spare change left over, didn't you? Could you order her some milk?"

The mage called the waitress over, gave her about a dozen coppers and ordered a jug of milk. Then he looked at Max and laughed cheerfully.

"I don't think we'll learn to act as true gamers anytime soon, my friend. Real-life habits die hard in our case."

"Well, someone reaped pretty decent benefits from it a few days ago," Max returned the smile. "So perhaps all this gamer business is overrated, eh? Let's just stay human. Or elves, as is the case with us."

The girl was truly ravenous—even Max admired her appetite.

"Don't hurry," he smiled at her. "No one's going to take it away. You can finish the dish, if you want."

She raised her eyes at him, nodded gratefully, and resumed her meal.

"Hey," Bonbon, who had been silent all the while, finally spoke up. "Didn't you say you had problems of some sort? Maybe it's something I could help with?"

"He's looking for his lady friend," Luffy replied for his companion. "He knows her name, but he didn't realize he should have asked her for the code to be able to write to her."

"Her name is Tauriel," Max frowned at the mention of his troubles. "Her level was 21 a week ago. As for where we could find her now... She didn't change her appearance, with the exception of her figure. So I'll be able to recognize her when I see her, but there are just too many people around right now," he concluded in a vexed tone. Spreading out the map on the free part of the table, he proceeded to pore over it. His frown grew deeper by the second.

"What's the matter?" Luffy asked his friend.

"There are almost fifty zones roughly corresponding to her level! Each is sixty to two hundred and fifty square miles! Even if we search in every zone's main city, it's going to take..." the warrior finished off his tankard of wine, lit up a cigarette, shut his eyes and leaned back on the bench.

"Hold on," Luffy pulled the map toward himself, and whistled. "I had no idea the crown territories were so enormous. But damn! There must be a way! It's a freaking magical world, after all!"

"Why enormous?" Bonbon shrugged. "Everything was more or less standard up until the latest patch. If you take humans, a barony is a territory roughly thirty by thirty miles, sometimes more. A county usually consists of eight baronies and the count's own lands, which are about four times the size of a barony. Thus, a single county is just under twenty thousand square miles, which comes out to one hundred and twenty by one hundred and twenty miles. A duchy comprises eight counties and the duke's own land, so its size is around three hundred and sixty by three hundred and sixty miles. And Erantia has eight duchies and the Royal Demesne."

"So?" Max blew out the smoke, opened his eyes and fixed his gaze on the bald warrior.

"Same old thing with the elves," the man shrugged. "Only they have Great Houses instead of duchies, and princedoms or some such instead of counties. The baron's title is equivalent to their lord."

"That's some reassurance," Max exhaled. "Moscow itself, including the outlying regions, is roughly the size of an average county. That's over thirty thousand square miles! Do you realize how long the search will take? Oh, and they have highways and commuter trains over there, as opposed to the local woods and paths."

"Actually, I'm aware of that—I had a summer house near Dubna, right on the bank of the Moscow Reservoir," Bonbon sighed. "Just an hour away from Moscow by express train."

"Have you seen any express trains here?" Max sighed. "Also, the Royal Demesne is ten times bigger! Although the Great Swamp accounts for about a third of it."

"But you just said there were only fifty zones corresponding to her level," Luffy butted in. "Which is only half the size of your precious Muscovy."

"Is everyone from Kiev as smart as you?" Max chortled in response. "You should take a look at the map to see how they're scattered around before you open your mouth."

"There must be some other way!" the mage pressed on.

"Well, there might be mages capable of finding her here," suggested Bonbon.

"There might be, only they'll probably want us to complete a ton of quests before they concede to help, or demand a thousand gold coinss," Max shook his head. "Still, I like the idea... We should ask around."

In the meantime, the girl had finished eating and was now paying close attention to the conversation, taking sips of milk from the jug. Max noticed this and gave a wave of the hand, ending the discussion, which had become pointless by then.

"Right, so let's start looking for mages," he sighed, turning to Saté. The girl's grimy face looked so cute that he couldn't help cracking a huge smile.

"Now where did you come from, little wonder?" he asked her. "And where are your parents?"

"No parents," the girl's face grew sad. "I'm on my own. The debt collectors took father's house away two days ago..."

"Aren't there any shelters for the homeless?"

"None. There's nothing here for me but the Caëntine Mines or the Vaalen Woods. And it won't be easy there for someone like me," she sighed heavily. "Mining for ore or digging out roots..." she showed her tiny palms to Max. "Anyway, I shouldn't bother you with it. I thank you for your kindness, warrior," she nodded to Max and was about to rise, but he held her by the sleeve.

"Hold on, is there really no other option for you?"

"Well, Tano Listesse is looking for apprentices now. She's a fine seamstress, and provides boarding for those she takes on. I've always been good with a needle, but..."

"But what?"

"Apprenticeship with her isn't free—I'd have to pay her," Saté sighed, her shoulders drooping. "And I won't be able to earn the gold coins fee charged by Mistress Listesse even if I spend a month working in the mines. I'll be lucky if I manage to earn enough to feed myself..."

"Here, take this," Max fished out his very last gold coin and handed it to the girl. "But promise you'll enroll for apprenticeship."

Hope flashed on Saté's face. She started to reach for the coin, then jerked her hand away.

"But it's your last money, warrior..." she said in a low voice.

"No big deal," Max said to the girl. "Warriors are supposed to make money, after all."

Taking the girl by the hand, he pressed the yellow metallic piece in it, then had her make a fist.

"One day you'll become a famed seamstress—maybe you'll sew me a ribbon or something," he smiled to her.

Suddenly there were bells ringing in his ears. Incomprehensible data flashed up in his system log.

????????! ?? ???????? ?? ???? ???????? ??????? ???????? ?????? ????? ???? ????????? ? ??? ????????????

The girl looked at the gold coin in her palm, then raised her almond eyes at Max, wide with wonder.

"I was right about you, Gray One," she said in a low voice. "You are heading down the right path. I shall keep this coin, and I will definitely sew you a ribbon—more than one. I promise."

Max was taken aback—instead of a grimy-faced ten-year-old, he was looking at a beautiful young woman, her green eyes exuding wisdom mixed with irony. Most importantly, time around them appeared to have stopped. Neither Luffy, nor Bonbon, nor anyone else around them, seemed to have noticed the changes in the girl's appearance.

"You two-lived have a saying—how does it go?" she smiled. "To each their just deserts, was it? Well, let it be so! You will find your woman in Talyan—she will be there when you reach it. Good luck to you, Gray One. I'm not saying farewell, for we'll see each other again," Saté gave the warrior a sly wink, and made haste toward the exit.

Once the door had closed behind the girl, Max was buffeted by the cacophony of sounds and smells from all over around him.

"You have just given our last gold coin to an NPC beggar girl," Luffy's thoughtful voice broke the warrior's reverie. "This was pretty silly, of course, but you know, Max, I'm proud that I can call you my friend," said the mage suddenly, rising and giving his friend a hearty handshake.

"You guys... anyway, I've been thinking... Why sit and wait for the Asians to kick the demons' butts, or the other way round?" Bonbon crossed his arms and looked at the companions sitting at his table. "This is to say, count me in, boys. It sure is more fun together."

He rose, smiled drunkenly, and offered his hand for a handshake... At that very moment, the enormous cauldron of boiling oil that had hung over the fireplace crashed into the fire. The lid flew to the side, the embers scattering all across the floor from the shock, and the oil that splashed on them instantly caught fire and began to spread across the floorboards. Clouds of smoke filled the dining hall, and there were screams from every direction. Some of the patrons dashed for the exit. In the meantime, the puddle of burning oil reached the bar, slithering like a snake. The bar caught fire as if it were made of kindling sticks and not massive planks of wood. The innkeeper screamed in a high voice, trying to beat out the flames on his sleeves.

"The well in the yard! Hurry up!" one of the players shouted.

Panic gripped the hall as a stampede of players tried to reach the doors and windows of the inn.

"Max! What are you staring at? Let's split," Luffy gave him a tug on the sleeve. "By the way, where's the girl?"

"The girl left," Max shook his head as he gathered the remaining food and stuffed it into his bag. "Aren't you supposed to be a fire mage? Frightened of your own element, are you?"

"Ugh, this is pretty damn weird! The flames are black in my magic vision—this is no ordinary fire!"

At that moment, flames roared behind the bottle rack, and the bottles started to explode. The inn was clearly beyond hope now.

"Hey, do the two of you have maximum fire resistance or something?" Bonbon snorted behind their backs. "If not, let's get out of here." There wasn't a shade of worry on the bald man's face.

Emmanuel rolled out from behind the bar. He was on fire, and his health bar was halfway gone. One of the players covered him with a cloak and dragged him toward the exit. The serving girls kept on screaming. Players were running down the staircase leading to the second floor, and jumping out through the windows. Someone must have run down the upstairs hallway and alerted the resting guests.

There was but a handful of people left in the dining hall. One of the players, a mage, ran into the inn with a bucketful of water, splashing it over the flames, but it may as well have been a bucketful of gasoline. The flames burst out with such force that the young man threw the bucket away, cursed, and slipped back outside.

Max glimpsed the very piece of sausage that Saté had dropped lying on the bar, and got a sudden brainwave of the silliest sort.

"Get going, you two," he pushed his companions toward the exit, and headed for the bar right through the flames.

"Max! Have you lost your mind? Where are you going?" shouted Luffy, already near the exit.

The warrior just made a dismissive gesture with his hand. The flames that roared around him seemed to be hugging him without causing any harm, and he heard a woman's laughter ringing in his ears. He calmly took the piece of sausage—quite untouched by the fire—from the bar, and headed for the exit just as unhurriedly. As he was leaving the burning inn, something moist touched his cheek—he didn't quite understand what it was, but it felt mind-bogglingly pleasant, as if he had just received a kiss from the woman of his dreams.

"Is there something that escapes my understanding, or is your friend immune to fire?" Bonbon scratched the back of his head, looking at the unharmed warrior.

"No freaking idea—my companion is full of surprises," Luffy muttered. "What exactly did you forget back there?"

"Just got me a souvenir, that's all," Max smiled widely. "Never mind that."

They stood and stared at the burning inn for a while. The guards wasted no time chasing the gawkers away. In another minute or so, a group of five NPC mages came to the burning building. Their leader, wearing the blue cloak of a water mage, cast a transparent shield of some sort on himself, approached the burning inn and thrust his hands upward, forming a spell. A blue mist enveloped his wrists, and instantly disappeared. He froze for a few moments—you could see how much strain there was in his back—and then just turned around, facing his group, and made a helpless gesture with his hands, an expression of disappointment and surprise on his well-bred face, saying something that was rendered inaudible by the crackling sound of the blaze and the general commotion. It was nonetheless clear that something went wrong with his spell. The inn burned through in just a couple of minutes. The fire turned the whole building into a pile of ashes—there wasn't so much as a charred piece of wood in sight.

"Well, we were already done with our meal..." Luffy chortled, looking at the former innkeeper explaining something to the head mage. "And no one lost their life—that's what's important."

"Imagine the sheer amount of grub and booze that perished in the blaze," Bonbon shook his head dejectedly, turning to Max. "By the way, those are the clowns you wanted," he pointed at the mages who had come to fight the fire, all dressed in cloaks of different colors. "They might tell you where to look for your lady friend. Don't miss your chance!"

"No need," Max grunted. "I already know where to look for her."

"Did I miss something?" Luffy stared at his companion in surprise.

"You sure did. While you were boozing it up and leering at all the wenches in the inn, this girl, Saté, told me that Alyona was in Talyan. I took a look at the map—it's less than a hundred miles away."

"Yup, two grenade throw lengths," Bonbon cackled. "An hour by express train."

"Hold on," Luffy interrupted the bald warrior and looked at Max suspiciously. "How could a level 7 chit of a girl know that?"

"Well, she appears to have other talents but sewing. How should I know? The point is, that's where we're headed."

"And why the hell did you decide to take a walk to the bar?"

"I thought I noticed a glint there, so I decided to take a look—I could have found us some money," the lie rolled easily off Max's tongue. He had a distinct feeling that his new acquaintance did not want him to share certain details about their exchange with the others.

"Well, did you?"

"Nope, there was nothing there."

"All right, but how come you weren't even singed?" the mage would not relent.

"Damn, Luffy, how the hell am I supposed to know? I thought I'd grab the gold, and the two of you could wait for me at the gate for six hours if anything went wrong. Anyway, let's get going. We should find a bench, sit down, and iron out our plans."

They didn't find any benches, so they decided to sit down on the grass in a small park some fifteen hundred feet away from the charred remains of the inn. There were no signs saying "Keep Off the Grass," and there were other players around—a dozen groups or so. Alas, there was no privacy to be had anywhere in the city, and Max realized things would only keep getting worse, so they would have to leave Ellorian with as much haste as they could muster.

"So, what do we have here?" he spoke first, taking advantage of his party leader's rights. "A mage, a dps, and a tank. It's really cool that we have a tank. Inasmuch as I'm familiar with how things work around here, we're a healer and another dps short of a full set."

"The tank has a question," Bonbon raised his hand. "You guys got any munchies left?"

"Didn't you just eat?" Luffy grunted.

"I didn't eat—I drank," the bald warrior corrected him. "Now that I have reached a decision on my future, I feel ravenous all of a sudden."

"Here you go," Max took the remaining food out of the bag and gave it to Bonbon. "And enough with the 'you guys' stuff already. You're with us, so it's 'us' and not 'you guys.' Now, am I correct in understanding that we have no cash?"

"Forty seven coppers," reported Luffy.

"I have a few silver pieces, too," the bald warrior chimed in.

"So we don't have enough to join a caravan, right?"

"Indeed. Considering that Talyan zones are level twenty and on, and that it's best to have some money in your pocket once you get to your woman. You know: flowers, chocolates, condoms..." Bonbon mused in a didactic voice. "And, mind you, I still haven't uttered a single word about a white stallion and shining armor..."

"What the hell are you going on about? What condoms, what white stallion?" Max frowned. "And she isn't 'my woman' or anything like that! She's the sister of a friend of mine, who's also here, by the way. Marooned in Demon Grounds, wherever that is."

"A stallion has balls—that's the very thing that makes him different from a mare, which, characteristically, has none," explained the bald warrior in a mock-serious lecturing tone. "But yeah, I must have gotten carried away with the condoms—they haven't been invented in the game yet, that much I know for certain. But don't you try to give me that 'not-my-woman' spiel. Have you seen the look on your face when you talk about her?"

Max looked at Luffy, sitting right next to him and giggling, and spat on the grass in annoyance.

"Have either of you got anything useful to contribute? For instance, where could we make a few quick bucks and level up?"

"You know, I feel really parched all of a sudden," Bonbon sighed. "My throat has gone all dry, and you shouldn't tackle such serious issues without any lubrication whatsoever, should you now?" he looked at Luffy inquisitively.

"Have at it," the mage was still chuckling as he handed over a bottle of wine. "Where does it all go, I wonder?"

The bald warrior took the bottle and transferred its contents into his gullet in a single go, belched contentedly, lit up a cigarette with a satisfied expression, and finally spoke:

"All right, noobs, listen up! There's a small dungeon nearby, level 15-20, designed for a party of five. Toads, rats, and three bosses. We won't manage to clear it just by ourselves—we'll have to find a healer and another dps. However, those are easier to find than a tank nowadays, so you should be thankful you have me." Bonbon took a deep drag, blew out the smoke, and made a vague hand gesture in the air. "What was I talking about? Oh yes. There are four quests for that dungeon involving the spare parts from said rats and toads, and the final boss' fang. Just these quests should give you a few levels each, and I might level up to twenty myself. Then there's the experience for clearing out the dungeon. And that's not all! I happen to be a skinner—or a flayer, whichever terminology you prefer. My profession, if you please. Crafters give a gold coin for ten hides, and the dismembered corpses also drop alchemical ingredients which can either be sold or given to our friend here," the warrior nodded in Luffy's direction. "I can see how his eyes lit up. We will have to share with the guys who will join our party, of course, but I think we'll manage to raise about five gold coins altogether as a result, maybe more. So you'll be able to impress your beloved with your shining armor at least—the stallion will have to wait. As well as condoms—like I said, those haven't been invented yet. However, they say that herbalists have a special balm for that purpose..."

"Oh really now?" Max could barely hold back laughter. "How is it you've become such a fount of wisdom?"

"Duh, I spent four days boozing in that joint. I had about twenty raid offers—even for half the loot. Only I didn't care much about it then."

"Don't you start pouting again—your wife will be fine."

"I take solace in the fact that she has all the money," Bonbon sighed. "Almost fifty gold, last I counted, and we also rented a small house for six months. Her profession should keep her provided for, I hope. She kept trying to sew in real life—without much success, though. But once she got here, her business took off."

"One more reason to stop worrying. There'll surely be a working portal in six months' time," Max shrugged.

"It's not that, guys." Bonbon turned aside and frowned. "We had no kids for so long... but then... She was in her third month when it happened. Even when she was playing, she felt like she was... Well, you know. But since all of us are dead out there," he pointed his finger at the sky, "that means..."

"RP-17 transferred everything here, including your child. NPCs have kids, don't they? So your lady will give birth just fine," said Max with conviction. "We saw so many little kids with their parents in the Sunlit Forest, after all. A single capsule can take the whole family here, you see? Even husbands and wives, for some reason—probably since they were living together. Haven't you seen players' kids here? It's all a bit complicated, and I don't know for sure, but I think a kid under ten cannot choose a character class, and is simply transferred as a kid."

The expression on Bonbon's face made Max feel uneasy for a moment.

"Now where would I see anything?" he grunted. "I spent all this time getting plastered."

"I don't know whether women can conceive in this world, but if there was a child, she'll give birth for sure. So cheer up," Max smiled and patted Bonbon on the shoulder, "everything's going to be just fine."

"May your words be carried right into the Sage's ears," said the bald warrior in a more cheerful voice.

"There's something I'd like to know, Max," said Luffy, who had been listening to their conversation without saying anything. "Some of the kids we saw were really small, remember? All of them are level one, but what do they do next? How do they choose their class and their talents?"

"You shouldn't be asking me, but rather whoever had invented this whole thing. Maybe a menu will pop up for them in ten years. Who knows?"

"Nevertheless, I'll never understand how a mother or a father could put their child in a capsule," the mage shook his head.

"Are you sure they didn't have their reasons? You never know what medical condition those kids may have had. The rumors must have spread after the first successful transfers. How do we know what's happening in that world right now? For many people, coming here was the last chance. You of all people should understand that."

"Well, in that case, maybe," Luffy nodded. "But enough about sad things already. Let's get our questing on. I get the feeling we might have to spend the whole day standing in line. Come on, you glutton, show us where to go."

The scrub tree that Bonbon led them to half an hour later stood on the bank of a pond with bluff shores, covered in brown duckweed. The nearby river, which ran through the city, gave out a chill. There was a slight wind that carried the smell of mud and water vegetation.

"Wow, there's a river here, too," muttered Luffy musingly, eyeing the three-hundred-foot line to the tree entrance. "How about a swim? Bonbon can keep our place in line in the meantime."

"Of course, my dear chap, go for it," the bald warrior gave the mage's back a nudge. "Just don't forget to take your snorkel along. And ask Max to cut away the duckweed at the shore so you could take a dive."

"What are you talking about?" Max gave Bonbon an quizzical look.

"Our mage wishes to go for a swim," Bonbon pointed at Luffy with his thumb.

"In this puddle?" the warrior looked at the mage in surprise.

"Max, is your head completely in the clouds?" Luffy sounded outraged. "I just wanted to take a walk to the river."

"Yeah, but the river's just like this pond," Bonbon guffawed. "It's a thousand feet across, with maybe a hundred and fifty feet of clean water in the center. It flows into the Great Swamp, after all—that's where all the duckweed comes from. Why do you think they called it the Green River?"

"Bah, the hell with you two," Luffy waved his hand dismissively and went to join the line.

"Straw Hat! Hi there!" A red-haired priestess emerged from the group of players standing next to the line, waving to Luffy.

"Holy cannoli," Max chuckled and shook his head in surprise. "Hello, Esthera," he greeted their old acquaintance. "Where'd you leave Leeque?"

"I'm right here," an ashen-haired ranger stepped out of the same group, and waved to the companions. "Come on over."

There were six people in the group they approached. Apart from their old friends, Max was greeted by two level 33 rangers, a level 28 lady mage, and a level 34 priest. All of them wore in identical red cloaks with a black stripe in the center and three white crosses upon it. Esthera and Leeque wore the same cloaks.

"Wow, I see you have already joined a clan," Luffy smiled at the girl.

"That's right," she nodded. "Amsterdam Lions. The insignia on the cloaks is a fragment of our city's coat of arms," Esthera turned around, demonstrating the design of her cloak. "How did you fare in Maeglyn Woods? Have you survived? Did you find your straw hat?"

"Yup, it was right where I found it," Luffy looked at Max and smiled. "Nothing particularly terrible happened. We reached Yltarin, delivered the message, and split. We didn't pick up any quests there."

"Good enough," the girl smiled. "Let me introduce you. This is Alex, this is Lyssa, this is Corky, and this is Dan," she pointed at each of her companions.

"This is Max, and I'm Luffy. And this one here," the mage pointed at the tank, chewing on something as always, "is Bonbon. And what are you guys doing here? Standing in line, too?"

"Nope, we have already picked up our quests," Leeque explained. "All four of them. The locals already know who we are and spare us the long-winded speeches. We visited three rooms, collected all the quests at once, and were told to beat it."

"So what are you up to now?"

"Looking for a group. We'll need to hit up the Temple of Loaetia—I think we told you about that—to get Esthie that tattoo. But you need to be level 20 to get that quest, and the Lake Pit is a fine place to grind some levels." Leeque sighed. "Our friends completed it twenty days ago, and they cannot go back. There are lots of dps around, but tanks are in short supply," he looked in Bonbon's direction with some hope.

"So it's just the two of you?" Max asked.

"Yeah. The guys just tagged along to keep us company..."

"That's perfect! We have a tank right here, but we're a healer and another dps short. Although we haven't received the quests yet."

"That part is a piece of cake," Leeque smiled. "Send me and Esthie a party invite, and we'll share the quests with you."

"What's your toughness at?" Corky, the level 34 priest, asked Bonbon.

"Nine," replied the tank with a shrug.

"Esthie," the priest addressed the red-haired girl. "Don't let his health drop below sixty percent—better still, keep him above eighty." He turned to Bonbon and asked him, "Will you please put your helmet on?"

The warrior took the required piece of equipment out of his bag without a word, and placed it on his head, instantly becoming the spitting image of a character from a black-and-white Soviet movie Max remembered from a history lesson back in school. Those were the very knights drowned by Alexander Nevsky in Lake Peipus at the end of the movie. In other words, Bonbon's helmet looked like a simple galvanized pail with three curved slits in it. Max's iron headdress looked like a work of art in comparison. But Corky didn't seem bothered by aesthetics. After asking to join the party, he took a good look above Bonbon's head. There was surprise on his face.

"Seven rare items, fifty six percent damage absorption, and 900 HP. Not bad at all! When did you manage to collect all that?"

"We invested some money with my wife a while ago," he said gruffly, taking off the helmet. "She's in Vaedarr. Got any more questions?"

"Sorry," the priest frowned, producing a shiny metallic belt from his bag and handing it over to Bonbon. "Here, take this, friend. It will raise your constitution by eighteen, and it's a present. 180 more HP won't go amiss, I assure you."

Looking embarrassed, Bonbon sighed but took the belt he was offered. He gave Corky a firm handshake.

"Thanks. I'm the one who should be sorry. It's none of your fault..."

"Tell me, how are you sorted for potions?" asked Lyssa.

Potions were in short supply, so each of the companions instantly received ten pink lesser health potion vials. He and Bonbon also got five vials each of lesser stamina elixir, while Luffy was given ten lesser mana elixirs.

Max felt overwhelmed, but when he tried to refuse, Corky cut him short instantly.

"Look here, mate, right now experience is a lot more important than a few measly vials. We won't be able to leave Ellorian until you complete the dungeon. It is pointless to level up in the suburbs—you've got ten hunters to a single hare. Help our friends clear the instance, and we're even. What's more, I could pay you..."

"Hold it," Max said. "They're not just your friends—they're our friends, too. So, we're good."

"Esthie is my baby sister," Corky smiled. "But I hear you loud and clear, my friend. You can skip Kryass, the final boss—he's level twenty, after all. But it's up to you—just don't forget to bind yourselves to that rock," he pointed toward a mossy boulder on the shore of the overgrown pond, and gave everyone a shake goodbye. "Best of luck to you guys. We'll wait for you at the dungeon exit."

Chapter 16

In order to get to Lake Cave, they had to descend to the duckweed-covered pond, and then wade for another hundred and fifty feet knee-deep in the water along the bluff coast. The entrance leading underground looked like a badger hole in the muddy bank, round and covered in slippery brown moss.

Max pushed away the roots that stuck out from above, and became the first one to pass through the bluish glow of the entrance. He found himself in a straight wide passage. There were more roots sticking out of the walls and ceiling. Clumps of bluish moss emitted a soft glow—enough to see for about fifty yards ahead. The air smelled of mildew, seaweed and rotten leaves. The first pack of mobs could be seen about a hundred feet from the entrance, moving around in circles, shuffling their paws in an odd manner. Three level 15 frogs—or toads, the exact species classification remained unclear—about five feet in height, with brown skin with tan patches and prominent ridges on their backs. A frog is a frog is a frog, thought Max to himself, and checked his log to confirm he had all the necessary quests.

Kerptohog Hearts

Quest type: normal.

Deliver the hearts of ten Kerptohogs to Watchman Duilven in Lake Cave.

Reward: experience, 5 silver.

Spiky Rat Tails

Quest type: normal.

Deliver the tails of ten Spiky Rats to Watchman Duilven in Lake Cave.

Reward: experience, 6 silver.

Giant Rat Tails

Quest type: normal.

Deliver the tails of ten Giant Rats to Watchman Duilven in Lake Cave.

Reward: experience, 7 silver.

Kryass

Quest type: rare.

Kill Kryass in Lake Cave and deliver one of his fangs to Rin Hamiltar as proof.

Reward: experience, 1 gold, rare class-matching gauntlets.

"Do you think there were any leeches in the pond, Leeque?" Esthie squeaked behind him. "My boots are full of water."

"No leeches, just snakes," replied Bonbon, the last to enter the cave. He looked around and chortled. "Well, the place sure has a quaint ambiance. And those frogs sure look plump. Pity I ain't French... Well, doesn't matter, I suppose we'll still give them a try."

"Bonbon, will you cut out the comic routine already?" Max told the bald-headed warrior as Esthie hastily proceeded to pull off her boots.

"Sure thing," he grunted, and addressed the priestess. "Hey, if you find something, don't throw it away. Snakes are edible in many parts of the world."

"Is that his sense of humor or something?" Leeque asked Luffy.

"Yup," nodded the mage. "Remember the adage about a leopard and his spots? Pay no attention."

"A leopard? Are you saying I have spots? Why, I oughta—"

"Quit it!" Max interjected before things could escalate any further. "Bonbon, please shut it for a while, or else our friend here will be plucking leeches out of her hair when it's time for her to heal you. Did we come here to flap our gums or to clear a dungeon? If it's the latter, then put your boots on, Esthie, and let's get going."

"Sure," the priestess nodded. "Can I pick these mushrooms, by the way?" the girl pointed at the clump of toadstools growing on one of the walls.

"Help yourself," Max nodded. "Bonbon, don your bucket and let's get in position," he used a semi-transparent marker for their targets. "As you see, we begin with number one—we attack the tank's target and give him five seconds to draw aggro."

"Sounds like this isn't your first time in a dungeon," Luffy grunted behind him.

"You should really read the guidebooks," Max returned the mage's grin. "Is everyone ready? Let's go!"

They nearly lost the tank on their very first pack. It turned out that the frogs dealt double blows, first striking with their tongues, and then with their snouts. When Bonbon plunged into the rightmost toad, Esthera had stood too far from him, and her spells couldn't reach the tank. Bonbon deflected his target's blow with the shield, reducing the damage by half, but then he caught the full attacks of the two other mobs. Momentum carried him sideways, as his HP bar dropped by about a third, and was dazed for a few moments, falling down to one knee.

Max saw Esthera dash forward and realized their tank was seconds away from a deep KO. He Charged into one of the remaining toads and dealt it a mighty blow. The sword made a revolting thwacking sound as it struck the amphibian's prominent brown ridge, leaving a deep gash. The mob turned toward the warrior at once, hitting him with the bony edge of its ugly snout. The toad's maw opened, and the heavy and sticky bluish tongue made an equally unpleasant sound as it struck Max in the collarbone. Then the toad flexed the muscles in its limbs, and... Max never got kicked by horses before, but he had a feeling that now he knew what that felt like. A powerful blow in the solar plexus knocked the wind out of the warrior, and he doubled over. The information from the system log flashed in his peripheral vision.

Your Toughness skill has increased to 4%.

"You bitch!" he exhaled, striking the mob again, hard, somewhere in the area of the left eye. The toad's health registered critical damage, leaving it with no more than sixty percent. The creature started to screech hideously, and its tongue hit Max in the side, spinning him around. Then the warrior saw the mob's blurry forward motion and nearly choked with pain. His boot caught a root sticking out of the ground, and Max toppled over, hitting his right elbow hard on a rock. Luffy yelled something from behind, and Bonbon's sword made a flourish on the right, finishing off the nearby toad. With a superhuman effort to rise to his feet, Max managed to deal his opponent a third blow. At the very same moment he felt the effects of the priestess' healing spell, like a pail of ice cold water washing away the pain. Bonbon appeared on the right, uttering some strange yell that made the mob turn toward him, and blocking its retaliatory blow with his shield. A moment later, a fireball hit the toad, and the stench of burning reptilian hide filled Max's nostrils. Leek's arrow ended their very first engagement, plunging deep into the nape of the last toad's neck.

Max's hands shook a little as he put his sword back into the scabbard on his side and looked around. A smiling Luffy winked to him and blew the imaginary smoke off the top of his staff with a grand gesture out of a Western. Leeque stood bent over Esthera, who had fallen to her knees and started weeping.

"Thanks, brother," Bonbon patted him on the shoulder.

The tank's voice sounded hollow and unnatural from behind the helmet. Max imagined Bonbon yelling into a tipped-over pail once again, and ended up chuckling.

"I... I nearly got you... I'm such an idiot, I miscalculated the distance..." the red-haired priestess kept sobbing. Leeque looked about himself haggardly, unable to calm the young woman down. Then something unbelievable happened. Bonbon took the helmet off his head, approached the crying priestess, went down to one knee, removed a mesh gauntlet, and stroked the girl's head.

"Easy now, my dear. For our first time, we did just fine! It was my fault—I should have waited for you to come nearer. Do you have any idea how many more situations of this sort we will face in the future?" The warrior looked aside and frowned. "It's best to learn now, while death doesn't give us too much of a setback. So even if you drop me ten times in a row, I won't say a word."

"But—" the priestess began.

Bonbon cut her short:

"No buts! We are still learning, and the more bruises we get now, the easier it will be for us later on."

Max noticed Luffy's jaw hit the floor. As a matter of fact, Bonbon's heartfelt speech caught him by surprise as well.

"Hey, boyfriend," their bald companion proceeded to address Leeque. "Got any booze on you?"

The Dutchman nodded vigorously, visibly relieved.

"Well, why don't you offer your girl some?" Bonbon gave him a wink. "I wouldn't mind some myself. Of course, I know that you Dutch prefer to munch on shrooms or roll a fancy joint, but you'll have to count me out—I'm more used to traditional stress relief methods. Oh, and I'd be careful with the local mushrooms if I were you. Then again, you might find them agreeable, given your cultural heritage."

"Damn," muttered Luffy, choking with laughter. "And here I was thinking you got hit on the head so hard you were a goner."

While Bonbon sampled Dutch liquor, and Leeque helped his already smiling girlfriend to her feet, Max approached the amphibians, spread out on the ground picturesquely, and touched each with his hand.

Three hearts for the quest, two lesser healing potion vials, and two gallbladders were all they got for such a hard battle. He gave the gallbladders to Esthera—they had agreed in advance that she would hold all the alchemical ingredients to later share them between the group's three alchemists. Then Max waited for Luffy to get a clump of mushrooms for himself, and was about to move the party forward, when Bonbon stopped him. Leeque gave the bald warrior a bottle of his 80-proof beverage that he remembered from their Sunlit Forest encounter, and there was a blissful expression on Bonbon's mug.

"Hold on," he urged Max to stop. "We haven't finished here. I have three dames waiting for me to attend to them."

He rubbed his hands theatrically as he headed toward the amphibian corpses, then turned one of them onto its back and slashed its hide open from the snout to the short tail. Completely ignoring the entrails sliding out of the cut and the rivulets of the whitish liquid that must have served the toads as blood, Bonbon made long cuts on every limb of the creature and then started flaying it with great care, starting from the head, while singing some bizarre raucous song:

"Oh, please, let me undress you, and oh, then I will dress you, for I am a hot-blooded man..."

"Hey, what if this frog is male?" Luffy asked the bald-headed man, grimacing.

"Why don't you come up here and take a look under its tail, see what you can find there," replied the tank, still engrossed in the flaying. "If it turns out to be male, and you need its gear for some entertaining purpose, I'll be happy to cut it off and give it to you—all you need to do is ask. Anything for a friend!"

"Has anyone ever told you that you're a psycho?" the mage spat on the ground and turned away.

Bonbon just grunted as he carried on. Finally, the skin was off, and he touched the already flayed amphibian with his hand.

"There we go. Frog leg soup on the menu tonight," he cackled contentedly, placing three pieces of pinkish meat and an ingenuously folded hide. "Stop wincing, you rotten intelligentsia, I have some alchemical stuff here, too. A liver and a gland of some sort. Here you go!" he handed Luffy two brownish lumps.

Luffy sighed and, with a squeamish expression, passed the ingredients to Esthera, who looked perfectly unperturbed by this bit of theatrics.

"It pays to be a psycho sometimes," Bonbon winked at the girl, then shot a mocking glance at the mage. "Well, how about it? Need anything I might find under its tail?"

They progressed much quicker from then on. Bonbon would Charge into the rightmost amphibian and strike the ground in some clever way to stun the whole pack for a second, then quickly moved sideways and maintained a position when his target would somehow remain sandwiched between him and the two remaining mobs. Esthie would cast a healing spell on him after a few seconds, while Max, Luffy and Leeque poured all the damage they could muster into the mobs. Max would make Charge almost right after Bonbon, and copy all his movements to evade friendly fire. A pack only took them a minute to vanquish now, and another five minutes processing the corpses.

As a result, they approached the first boss mere two hours later, having fully completed the first amphibian heart collection quest and leaving sixty nine mutilated toad corpses behind them. Correspondingly, the group was sixty nine hides richer, having also obtained an enormous amount of alchemical ingredients and mage boots of the unusual class, which Luffy instantly donned, his spirits rising visibly. There were no nasty surprises of any sort like patrols appearing from out of nowhere, or elaborate traps. The dungeon was designed for beginners, after all, so they just moved from one pack to another, gathering the mushrooms from the walls along the way.

They all got their sixteenth level after the fortieth toad or so (with the exception of Bonbon), and Max called for a ten minute break so that they could distribute their stat points and rest a little.

They found the first boss in a round cavern some fifty feet across—a bull-sized brown toad by the name of Qewarr, level 17, with 24,000 health points. The monster had horns that looked like ivory, protruding five feet or so from its forehead. Qewarr's hide was dark blue, with an orange spot on its chest.

"I wonder what kind of mosquitoes it feeds on in here," chortled Bonbon as he sized up the boss, who was perfectly still. "Oh, but of course! Here we have five mosquitoes who came of their own volition. Hey, sweet cheeks, dinner is served!" he shouted at the blue toad.

At that very moment, the boss yawned loudly, baring a row of needle-sharp teeth, and then stared in front of itself again, silent.

"He heard you," Luffy patted the tank on the shoulder. "See? He's already waiting."

"Yeah, and he looks like he's missed us, too," Bonbon nodded and turned toward Max. "So, what are we doing?"

"The guys told us that each time it loses thirty three percent of its HP, its aggro resets and it lashes out with its tongue at a random target," Leeque explained. "We're lucky if it chooses the tank; less so if it goes for someone else."

"The worst-case scenario is if it chooses Esthie," Max shook his head. "So, this is what we'll do. Once its HP drops to sixteen thousand or so, the three of you approach and get within fifteen feet of it. You," he pointed at Esthera, "are to remain directly behind Leek's back. No one's canceled the laws of physics yet, so he's unlikely to be able to hit you in that case. As soon as the toad chooses its target and leaps, we instantly stop our damage. Whoever it chooses drinks a healing potion—unless it's Bonbon, of course. And no healing until the tank draws its attention again. Got it?"

"Yes," Esthera nodded.

"So, if everything's clear to everyone, let's go!"

The plan went off without a hitch. The boss' blows barely dealt five percent damage to Bonbon as he blocked them with his shield, and the healing was timely. When the boss' health was at seventy percent, Max yelled, "Fall in!" Right at that moment, the enormous toad turned toward him and opened its mouth. The warrior felt as though a sticky sledgehammer hit him in the chest. The very next second, the boss knocked him off his feet and chomped down on his right arm. Max's breath caught as he glimpsed his health bar drop by one third, and a message in the system log informed that his toughness rose to five percent. Fortunately, the nightmare ended shortly—Bonbon instantly switched the boss' attention back to himself with Provoke, pulling it off a supine Max. The monster dealt him one last blow with its hind legs, but Esthie's healing instantly took all the pain away, and the battle continued.

When the boss' HP fell to thirty three percent, the same happened to Leeque, who was shielding Esthera. Since he stood a bit further from Bonbon than Max had previously, the monster managed to bite the ranger twice, taking off about one half of his HP before the tank could re-engage. Pain made Leeque faint, and he spent about half a minute lying on the ground, even though Esthie had managed to restore his health to the maximum in just a few seconds.

But all is well that ends well. With a dying roar, Qewarr fell to the cave's slippery floor. Bonbon, having leveled up to twenty, took his helmet off, sat down on the floor next to the slain beast, breathing heavily, fished out the bottle he had received as a present, and took a few long tugs. Luffy cursed, Max reached for a cigarette, and Esthie ran to her boyfriend and hugged him tight by the neck.

"All right, kids, congratulations! That was a good start!" the bald warrior chuckled as he put the bottle back into his bag. "Popped our cherry, as it were. This was our first boss, after all."

"Never realized you were a pervert to boot," Luffy snorted. "To lose one's virginity with a blue toad... No one would ever believe us."

"What you need is a vivid description and good attention to sensual details. They will surely believe you then," grunted Bonbon, and lit a cigarette, looking satisfied. "Hey, Max, why don't you take a look what's inside that thing, while our two lovebirds are having a private moment," he nodded toward the hugging Dutch couple. "They may take all night, and I can't help my curiosity."

Max approached the dead boss and placed his hand on the toad's slimy skin. There was a chiming sound, and everyone's purse became fuller by seven silver pieces.

"Leeque," the warrior called the ranger. "Catch."

The young man caught a pair of unusual quality chainmail boots. Giving them a quick inspection, he smiled.

"Thanks."

"There's another pair of boots here. They look like they might fit me," Max shrugged. "Ten to strength, seven to constitution. Would you mind if I took them, Bonbon?"

"Go ahead," the tank waved his hand. "Mine are similar, albeit constitution only. But there's something else that I find outrageous!" he said, blowing out the smoke. "This isn't a dungeon—it's a freaking shoe store!"

"Is there nothing else there?" asked the mage.

"A bunch of viscera for you alchemists. And this thing here," Max demonstrated a small blue bead in the palm of his hand to everyone, then took a closer look and smiled. "Dance, Esthie!"

The girl looked at him in surprise.

"Why should I dance?"

"That's what they say in our parts when they give someone something important," Max smiled.

"What's that?" the priestess approached and took a closer look at the bead in Max's hand. "Oh my," she placed her hands over her mouth in excitement, raising her eyes at Max. "But it's—"

"Yup, a pearl from a relief in Loaetia's temple," the warrior winked as he gave her the item. "Give it to the priests in exchange for a rare level twenty item."

"Boots, I wager," Bonbon grunted.

"Aren't you a sharp cookie," Max grinned back. Then he turned to Luffy and Leeque. "Right, grab the viscera, and let Bonbon skin the thing. We'll take a ten minute break then, and move on."

"Guys, but I really feel awkward about this," muttered the red-haired priestess, clutching the pearl in her hand. "You get nothing, and I get a rare item."

"I'll tell you what feels awkward—putting on your pants over your head," Bonbon countered instantly. "And doing that thing on the ceiling—ask your boyfriend what exactly. That's your goddess' pearl, isn't it? Well, you take care of it, then," he cracked a good-natured smile.

"Thanks," the girl placed the pearl in her inventory, and started to whirl around the cave in an elaborate dance, eliciting smiles from the male members of the group. "How long do I have to dance?" she asked, laughing out loud.

"You're really good at it," Luffy nodded to her. "So the longer, the better."

One of the walls had crumbled after the boss' death, opening a passage to a staircase leading down, which, in turn, brought them to another corridor that was just as long, the difference being that there were no more roots sticking out of the walls, which were now made of brown sandstone. The lighting was provided by the copious amounts of mold growing on the walls.

"Now why did none of us learn mining?" Luffy gestured at the copper vein that ran through one of the walls, and gave Max an accusatory look.

"Must be because none of us had the time for it yet," he shrugged, peering deep into the passage where more mob packs awaited the party.

If described in plain terms, mobs known as spiky rats resembled hedgehogs the most. At level 17, they had a bit more HP than the toads from upstairs, so Max decided that the group should stick to the same tactic as before.

"And so we find ourselves in Hedgehog Kingdom," announced Bonbon at once. Pulling an enormous transparent slug off the wall, he offered it to Esthera.

The priestess screamed and hid behind Leek's back, and the bald man made a disappointed gesture.

"I thought you Dutch folk would be more open-minded about food. Your neighbors the French are no strangers to eating frogs and snails—perhaps a change from your mushroom diet would do you good?"

"Are you ever going to let up?" Max shook his head with a smile.

"Like something is wrong with me?" the warrior shrugged and showed the twitching slug to Max. "Look how plump it is. I always offer the best to the ladies first. It's called being a gentleman."

"Then be a gentleman and eat it yourself!" squeaked the priestess from behind the ranger's back.

"Just you watch me," Bonbon popped the slug into his mouth and started to chew on it slowly, while the others eyed him with bewilderment.

The bald warrior calmly finished chewing, took a swig from the bottle, clapped the dust from his hands, and shrugged.

"Tastes like shrimp," he snorted. "Pity we haven't got any beer, or we could party here for a while. Right on, captain, lead on—we've got us some hedgehogs to kill."

"You're full of surprises," Max chuckled. "Why don't you warn us in advance? It would be easier for us all if we knew what to expect."

"You can eat everything that moves in this game," said Bonbon, placing the helmet back on his head. "Unless, of course, it's poisonous or dead. So you can't die of hunger here."

"All right, enough already. We stick to the same tactics." Max pointed at the nearest rat pack. "Let's assume our positions."

Spiky rats did not present any problems. The only unpleasant thing about fighting them was that they could occasionally deal damage over a distance. However, their needles didn't hit for more than a couple percent of the players' HP, so it took about an hour and a half for the party to make it to the second boss, with the unsophisticated nickname of Needlebelly. There were as many hedgehogs on this level as there had been frogs on the previous one. Everybody completed the second quest, having gathered ten tails each, but they were completely out of luck loot-wise. The three ordinary items that they got—cloth gauntlets, chainmail boots, and a leather helmet—would not fetch much at any auction. Two silver coins tops, according to Leeque. They did, however, manage to gather a fair amount of alchemical reagents and spiky hides. Max could only guess at who might need them and for what purpose, but Bonbon diligently skinned each and every rat, and the warrior decided to leave him to it.

The second boss was found in a square room with walls of gray stone lit by four magical lanterns placed in every corner. The three triangular stone columns bearing indecipherable hieroglyphics formed a regular triangle and looked as apropos here as a packet of pasta on a bookstore counter. There was water dripping somewhere in the distance, and the air was filled with the same smell of rot and mildew. Needlebelly stood motionless in the center of the room, and only its sides, rising and falling as it breathed, and the accompanying rattle of the needles, gave any notion that they were looking at a living creature and not a stone effigy. It shouldn't stay alive for too long, thought Max to himself. The beast was level 18 and had 25,000 hit points—just a little bit more than the previous boss. He should go down in five minutes if there are no surprises. Up to level 30 inclusively, no bosses in the game had any resistances, and physical damage absorption was set at ten percent for each. The warrior remembered as much from the guidebooks he had read.

"A hedgehog looks neat—three... uh, heads, that is, and seven feet," Bonbon recollected the old chestnut when he saw Needlebelly.

"Why 'three heads' when I only see one?" asked a fascinated Leeque.

"It's a Russian saying," chortled the bald warrior. "And the original version does not refer to heads. However, being a well-bred freaking gentleman that I am, I cannot demonstrate the true magnitude of my Slavic character with young ladies present."

"What exactly is he talking about?" asked Esthera, looking at Max. "We are no connoisseurs of your folklore, but he totally lost us there. Why seven feet? And what about those heads?"

"Try not to pay any attention to his sayings," advised Max, and then turned to Leeque. "What are we supposed to expect of this beastie?"

"He will spin every minute, throwing needles all around. These columns are for hiding behind them when that happens. That's about the size of it."

"All right," Max nodded. "Then you, Esthera, and Luffy stay behind your columns all the time. Bonbon, when Needlebelly starts spinning, use that shield wall of yours, or whatever it was that you have just learned."

"Stalwart Defense," explained the bald warrior.

"That's it. As for me, I'll run behind the closest column. One last thing," he pointed to a deep indentation in the floor. Keep him right there. That way, the healing spells will reach you even if Esthie remains behind a column."

The battle against Needlebelly wasn't memorable in any way, except for the needle that pierced Max's cheek. The vulnerable party members hid behind columns just in time, Bonbon used his defense skill, and Max kept track of time and tried to keep close. He hid along with the others without waiting to get hit by the boss' AOE. Seven minutes later, the boss was dead, everybody but the tank leveled up, and the stone wall creaked open to reveal another passage. Bonbon plopped down on the ground in an already familiar movement, his armor creaking, and reached for the bottle in his bag in a movement just as familiar.

"Don't you get too drunk too early," Max shook his head at the tank, then touched Needlebelly's carcass with his hand.

The overgrown porcupine yielded somewhat better loot than the previous boss. Each party member received eight silver pieces, Esthie got a pretty decent unusual quality cloak, and there were similar trousers for Luffy. The boss also dropped the alchemical recipe of a lesser strength potion, and, since Esthie and Leeque already knew the recipe, the mage ended up receiving that as well.

"How are you going to sort through this bunch of offal later, I wonder?" Bonbon grunted as he handed Esthera gruesome-looking brownish lumps of meat. "This stuff is only good for making bologna. But I don't think even dogs would eat that kind of bologna."

"Oh, yeah, like dogs would eat slugs," the priestess was quick with the comeback.

"Slugs are a delicacy. Shows what you know about fine dining!" the bald warrior grinned in a good-natured way and rubbed his stomach, his armor making a clangor. "I could eat another dozen or two, but I don't see any around."

"Are you ever going to be full?" Luffy grumbled, moving toward the opened passage.

Max waved to the others and followed the mage.

The giant rats whose tails they needed for the third quest turned out to be regular oversized rats, only slightly bigger than the ones Max and Luffy had hunted in the Sunlit Forest. They were level 19, but that didn't prevent the party from easily clearing the long stone-walled corridor. The haul was the same: the hides flayed by Bonbon, a few items of ordinary quality, and even more alchemical ingredients. By the time they reached the end of the corridor, Bonbon had so much blood smeared all over him that he looked like he had taken a bath in it. The bald warrior kept singing obscene songs of some sort as he fought and skinned rats, and looked quite terrifying—not unlike a character from an old horror film.

Max was likewise covered in blood. After trying once to scrub his armor clean in a spring during one of the breaks they had taken, he quickly gave up on the idea as pointless. It helped that Leeque had told him that his gear would be cleaned automatically in six or eight hours.

An enormous gray rat lay upon a strange dais near the far wall of the hall they wound up in after vanquishing the last pack of giant rats. Kryass, the final boss of Lake Cave, was level 20 and had 35,000 hit points. He also looked like a Dachshund for some reason—a  rather sizable doggie some ten feet long. The creature's dais stood near the wall and had the shape of a rectangular block fifty feet long and seven feet high. There were cracked stone stairs leading to a landing at the top from either side. The boss lounged upon it, looking perfectly comfortable.

"That's some rat," said Esthera in a low voice, looking around the hall that was lit by magic lanterns. "Fancy it sticking its snout into your fridge..."

"Why would it even open the fridge?" asked a surprised Bonbon. "I say it would devour the fridge whole, along with all your yogurts."

"I don't eat yogurts," the girl smiled.

"Pardon me, ma'am, I completely forgot about your mushroom diet," the bald warrior chortled. "But this ferret would probably gobble up all your mushrooms, too, given half a chance."

"Silence, now," Max stopped Bonbon from elaborating further on the subject, and looked at Leeque inquisitively. "What should we expect from this oversized rodent?"

"We're best off leaving this one alone altogether," the ranger shook his head grimly. "His bites hurt a lot, and it strikes with its tail, too. You cannot block a tail strike, and it's nearly impossible to dodge. A bite accompanied by a tail strike take nearly a quarter off a tank's HP. The guys were here before the patch, when real pain was capped at ten percent. Back then you hardly felt anything until your HP dropped by about seventy percent, but now... We can exit the dungeon over there," Leeque pointed at the far corner of the hall. There was a huge crack that parted the stone wall there, from the ceiling to the floor.

"I see," Max sighed and looked at the bald warrior. "What do you say, Bonbon?"

"I say we give it a try," the tank shrugged. "Rare level twenty gauntlets will fetch at least twenty gold at the auction, and such items really come in handy, the times being what they are. Even if we wipe here, what of it? We will have at least tried."

"He's right," Luffy nodded, pointing at the rat on the dais. "There's at least a hundred gold's worth of stuff for the five of us inside this thing, so it would be stupid if we didn't at least try to bring it down. Besides, we need the gauntlets now, not later, so we definitely need to kill it."

"I also say we try," Esthera nodded. "Dying is very unpleasant, sure, but it's worth the risk. Anyway, we lose nothing in case of death."

"Leeque?" Max turned toward the ranger again.

"I go along with everyone else," the young man smiled widely.

"In that case, let's assume our positions. Bonbon, draw him away from the dais and hold him in the center." Max looked at the resolved faces of his companions. "The rest should give the tank five seconds to draw aggro, then unload on the beast with everything we've got. Everyone ready? Let's go!"

Bonbon put the helmet on his head and approached the boss.

"Rats are clever little guys, got cute ears and beady eyes..." he muttered as he walked, and this ditty of unknown provenance had an ominous ring in the silence of the cave.

When Kryass some ten yards away, Bonbon made a few tentative swings with his sword, and called out:

"Here ratty ratty..."

As soon as the tank entered the aggro zone, the gray rat sprang up onto all fours, stretched like a dog, yawned, demonstrating a set of horrifying yellow fangs, and unhurriedly trotted toward the right staircase.

That was when things started to go all wrong. With Kryass maybe seven feet away, he pounced suddenly, ramming his snout into the tank's shield. Though Bonbon was prepared for the fight, the impact made him reel and expose himself for a moment. Kryass instantly took advantage, plunging his teeth into the warrior's right shoulder and taking twenty percent off his HP. Gripping the tank with his mouth, the boss shook him like a dog a few times, then threw him on the floor and made a near-undetectable motion with the tail. Bonbon, who was scraping himself up from the stone tiles of the floor, suffered a critical hit. His sword slipped out of his right hand, and the warrior fell on his right side heavily. Esthera's healing spell did not make much of a difference. His HP was down to forty percent—no one in this world was likely to withstand that kind of pain.

The boss turned his head sharply, its yellow eyes finding the priestess. At that very moment, Max crashed into Kryass' side with a yell of "Get Bonbon up!" He knew he would die, but hoped to win them some time so that the tank could recuperate.

Max often had to take instant decisions of this sort in his previous life, and he knew right then there was no other way. A mighty blow all but took the rat's left ear off, leaving a crimson mark on the skin. Kryass uttered a muffled growl, crouching on his front paws, and jerked toward the warrior. Then something inexplicable happened. It was as if someone invisible gave Max a push, the beast's jaws snapping mere inches from his shoulder, drops of sticky yellow saliva staining his chestplate. The stench brought Max's stomach up to his throat as he dealt the boss another blow, and then someone invisible swept his right leg from behind. This made Max fall to one knee as the beast's gray tail whistled above his head. Barely managing to register a surprise, the warrior jumped to his feet and put all his anger into the next blow, catching the rat in its bared fangs. He heard the sound of breaking teeth with satisfaction. Then he turned around and ran toward the left staircase leading to the top of the dais.

"No damage!" he shouted as he ran, hearing the claws of the beast, which had missed yet another time, scratch the stone at his back. Esthera screamed something in a high voice and Luffy cursed loudly. Kryass, whose quarry had escaped him yet again, howled out in disappointment, and Max suddenly heard a woman's laughter ring like a bell in his ears. The warrior wasn't really aware of what he did as he ran thirty-something feet across the landing, and then jumped off the dais, following his invisible ally's push between his shoulder-blades. There was another frustrated roar behind him, and the boss, whose programming didn't permit him to jump off the dais, scurried on toward the right staircase, aiming to finally sink his teeth into the hated biped. Obviously enough, the warrior did not stay to wait for the giant rat, running to the left instead in order to repeat the maneuver. Having already made it on the dais when the monster was still running underneath, he waited for the distance between them to shrink within fifteen feet, then jumped off the landing again, denying the beast its prey yet again.

"Leeque, Luffy! Follow my lead! Bonbon, you just stand there and watch!" he shouted to his companions as he ran. Fortunately, they understood.

What followed was a chase that seemed interminable. The ranger, warrior and mage would run up, deal damage to the boss as it ran past, and jump down once the beast came within fifteen feet of them. When Luffy and Leeque drew a lot more aggro than Max, he would stay down, dealing mighty blows to the rat whenever it ran past.

"It doesn't get any more idiotic than this," muttered the tank, who had come to his senses by then. "No one would believe me if I told them. And thanks, by the way! This is the second time you pull my fat from the fire."

"You'll repay me yet," Max chuckled as he prepared to hit the beast that was about to run past him yet again.

It took twenty six minutes of frenzied running for Kryass, pincushioned with arrows, to ram his snout into the floor tiles and to stop moving at last.

You have gained a level! Current level: 18.

You have 1 talent point to allocate.

Racial bonus: +1% to resistance to earth magic.

Class bonus: +1 to constitution, +1 to strength.

You have 3 stat points to allocate.

Max took note of the system message, lit a cigarette, and plopped down onto the cold floor.

"Max! You... You... Boys! We have cleared the dungeon!" There were still tears in the red-haired priestess' eyes, though they also shone with joy.

"There you go," Bonbon took a pull from the bottle and handed it over to the warrior. "Finish it off, I've had my fill."

A pleasant warmth slid down his gullet, and Max felt completely happy. If only Alyona and Roman were here, he thought to himself. Everything would be perfect then.

"Were you an athlete in your past life or something?" Leeque sat down on the floor next to him, breathing heavily.

"Whatever gave you the idea?" Max looked at the ranger as he blew out the smoke.

"Well, you know... What you managed to pull off at the beginning of the fight would probably be hard even for a level 50 rogue. Dodging the attack of a boss three levels higher than you twice... that's something out of a fairy tale. No one would believe you if you told them. You're a warrior, after all, so you're not supposed to be all that agile."

"I just got lucky," Max shrugged, remembering the woman's laughter that he'd heard inside his head, and raising a wordless prayer of gratitude to his green-eyed savior.

"Ain't he the lucky one," Luffy smiled and patted his companion on the shoulder. "That's been his MO since Sunlit Forest—he had managed to find a rare quest even there."

"Look who's talking," Max laughed. "All right, let me finish my cig, and we'll take a look at what's inside this thing."

"Don't forget the hide! I intend to flay the rat, too," Bonbon took a bloodthirsty look at the carcass of Kryass. "I won't even sell it—I'll use it as a rug in my room, or hang it on the wall."

"Do whatever you like—you can even eat it!" chortled Luffy, sitting next to him. "I wouldn't put it past you."

"You're mean," the bald-headed warrior shook his head. "I'm the victim here, you know. While you three played tag and ran around like your butts were on fire, I experienced horrible suffering."

Max instantly thought of the sign with the three beetles and the name of the recently incinerated inn. He laughed, tossing the cigarette butt, and headed toward the dead boss.

"There's something here to compensate for your suffering," he grunted as he looked inside. "A tank's breastplate."

"Let's see it!"

Max produced a crude-looking piece of steel plate mounted on chain mesh, and showed it to everyone.

Steel Plate Cuirass

Chestguard: plate.

Durability: 197/200.

Rare item.

Armor: 80.

+10 to strength.

+20 to constitution.

+5% to all resistances.

Weight: 18 lbs.

"You can wear it, too," Bonbon shook his head. "Besides, you've earned it more."

"Why would I need a breastplate with extra health?" Max shrugged. "I can wear anything, including leather armor—it doesn't make a difference to me. But a properly equipped tank is vital for any group for succeed. So take it and stop making a fuss about it."

Apart from the breastplate and the gold, the boss dropped two unusual quality rings, one of which Max instantly gave to Leeque. Esthera and Luffy rolled for the second. The priestess won, but ended up giving the ring to the mage, saying that the pearl was already more than enough reward for her.

The mage didn't resist for too long, taking the ring and planting a kiss on Esthera's cheek as a sign of gratitude. The priestess blushed in a very cute manner, shooting a bashful glance at the smiling Leeque. He hugged his girlfriend's shoulders and kissed her on the other cheek, then took her in his arms and started to spin around the hall.

"All right, enough of that! You'll have plenty of time for lovemaking later," Bonbon grunted, wiping his bloodied hands on a piece of filthy cloth. "Let's get going. It's not that long until nightfall, and we still need to hand in our quest items and find a place to stay for the night."

"You can crash in our clan's house," Leeque told the bald warrior. "There's plenty of space there."

"Well, that's one thing less to worry about." Having finished wiping his hands at last, Bonbon looked at the cloth in his hands skeptically, blew his nose into it for some reason, and put it back in his bag. "In that case, all we need to find is food and drink."

"We've got plenty of supplies," Leeque reassured the tank as they headed for the exit. "Let's get going—Corky must be getting tired of waiting."

A long damp passageway brought them to the bluish film covering the exit from the dungeon—as far as Max could see, you could only pass it in one direction. They followed a narrow path around a pile of whitish boulders and found themselves on the bank of the overgrown river.

The moon was already in the sky, perched high above Ellorian, which had grown quieter. Its silvery light touched the treetops, tracing a straight white line on the surface of the water. But the city was nowhere near asleep, as numerous groups of players sat on the shore, and a woman sang nearby in a beautiful contralto. Max could not make out the words, but the melody was enthralling. Lost in his thoughts, he missed the moment when their recent acquaintances appeared. As it turned out, they had been waiting by one of the nearby trees.

"Is everyone alive?" Corky looked at his sister searchingly.

"Alive, but ravenous and despicably sober," Bonbon responded for Esthera in a distinctly tipsy voice.

"Corky, I promised the guys they could spend the night at our place. They'll be setting out tomorrow," Leeque notified the priest, adjusting the quiver on his back.

"No problem," Corky nodded. "Do you intend to hand in your quests now or tomorrow morning?"

"Now. There are fewer people in the evening, and I'm eager to try on the gauntlets," the ranger grunted.

"Gauntlets? But didn't I tell you that..." the priest suddenly cut himself short, and his eyebrows started to rise. "You mean, you've managed to take out Kryass?" he exhaled in surprise. "But how? It had taken us three attempts our first time, and we didn't even feel the pain back then!"

"We appear to have an acrobat among us," Leeque cackled. "Let's get going—I'll tell you all about it on our way."

Chapter 17

Handing in the quests didn't take them long, and they received a ton of XP. Everybody got to long-awaited level 20, while Bonbon dinged 22. Max had a little over five gold coinss now, including the money dropped by the bosses. The rare gloves he had received from a dark-haired hook-nosed elf gave 20 points to strength, 10 to constitution, and enhanced the owner's physical damage by one percent. All in all, it had been a good day.

The house of Leeque and Esthie's clan was a small two-story building in the southern outskirts of Ellorian, about a hundred and fifty feet away from what passed for a city wall here.

They were given a room for the three of them, and instantly invited to dine. However, Leeque and Esthie claimed they were too tired, and headed straight to bed. Luffy followed suit shortly; in an hour, only Bonbon, Max and Corky were still sitting at the table. Max used all his tact to decline the offer to join the clan, trying not to hurt the hospitable host's feelings, explaining that he could not participate in any events until he found his friend and his friend's sister, but promised to think about it in the future.

The priest told Max the time and place of departure of the next caravan passing through Talyan, and the shrewd Bonbon sold Esthera's brother all the skins he had gotten from the dungeon for twenty gold total—both of them looked pleased with the deal. They sat there for another half hour, talking about their earlier lives. Finally, they headed to bed, having decided to take a look at the local auction the next morning. The caravan wouldn't leave until four in the afternoon, so they had more than enough time.

"Bye-bye, Max, bye-bye, Straw Hat, bye-bye, Bonbon," Esthera gave each of them a parting kiss on the cheek, blushing, and hugged Leeque tight.

"It's a pity you can't join our clan," the ranger shook his head dejectedly as he gave each of the companions a handshake. "But remember, the Lions of Amsterdam will always give you a warm welcome."

"Looks like we're in for long lives now," Max smiled to the ranger. "We'll surely see each other again someday."

"We'll definitely see each other again," grunted Bonbon, having received five quart bottles of fifty-proof firewater as a parting gift. "I'll surely find you once I run out of giggle juice."

"Giggle juice?" Esthie echoed, bewildered.

"An old Slavonic term for alcohol," explained Max in Bonbon's stead. "And when are you guys planning to head to the temple of the goddess?"

"In two hours, leaving through the eastern gate," replied the girl. "And from there to the Thorny Coppice to level up. It's not that far, but, unfortunately, in the opposite direction from Talyan."

"See you, sister," Luffy winked to the young woman. "Looking forward to seeing your new ink when I see you next."

Max felt a wave of melancholy tugging at his heart on their way to the auction house. He always felt that way when having to part ways with people he considered dear. It was how he felt when Roman had moved to America. However, today's melancholy didn't last long. They would all live for a truly long time now, and he had a feeling they would definitely see Leeque and Esthie again.

The Ellorian auctions were held in an enormous space bordered by tall shrubs. Located in the southern part of the city, it must have spanned at least five hundred acres, and divided into a vast number of specialized sites. According to Bonbon, a few years ago the devs decided to abandon the idea of a unified auction house, making the place look more like a medieval market, with ore sold in one section, leather armor in another, ranged weapons in yet another, and so on.

Square wooden boxes lined the perimeter of each section—these were used for buying items and putting them up for sale. In order to have the corresponding menu open before you, all you needed to do was approach one of the boxes and place your hand in a special niche. Then you could choose an item, mark it in the list, make your bid or buy it at once by inserting money into the cash slot. Alternatively, you could place an item in the box and specify its price in the options—all needs were provided for. Incidentally, any purchased item would appear in the box immediately, and could only be claimed by the player who had paid for it.

Max had only seen this many people once before—at the Spartak Stadium in Moscow. An important client of his company, which had still been in business back then, had insisted that he tag along to see some international soccer match there. Max couldn't care less for soccer, but he couldn't decline the offer since he was about to sign a contract with this person, the terms of which were rather favorable. After spending almost two hours in the stands, surrounded by fans chanting unintelligible gibberish, Max vowed never to attend such events again. By the way, Spartak won that evening, much to the client's delight, and the contract was signed. Presently Max was looking at another crowd of people yelling like mad, and, once again, his only wish was to get as far away from them, as quickly as possible.

Bonbon had given all the money to Max in advance—his twentieth level made thefts from his bag impossible. They pushed their way through the crowd at the entrance and sold the five ordinary quality items from Lake Cave to some middleman for two silver pieces. Then they headed straight for the area with the shield and plate armor vendors. Disregarding Bonbon's protests, Max had insisted that the first thing they would do was buy the bald warrior a shield. The one in his possession currently could only block fifty percent of incoming damage.

They got lucky eventually. After about an hour of standing in line to one of the boxes, they managed to get an excellent rare level 22 shield for 25 gold. The shield gave 22 to constitution, 11 to strength, plus 10 to all resistances. Most importantly, it blocked sixty seven percent of all incoming physical damage.

Once they had made their purchase, Max dragged his companions toward the exit—not that they resisted much. It wasn't until they were a mile away from that crazy place that he finally felt like he could catch a breath in peace.

They departed from Ellorian around noon, heading south.

"Well, heck, we sure aren't in Moscow anymore," Bonbon jumped up, plucking a yellow fruit that looked like a large lemon from a tree along the roadside. He took a bite, winced, spat and threw the "lemon" into the bushes.

"If you stuff everything we see on our way into your cakehole, I'm not sure we'll get all that far," said Luffy pensively, watching the bald warrior spit and grimace. "And how is your Moscow relevant?"

"All the train stations are outside city limits here, you see," said Bonbon, wiping the tears from his eyes. "As for Moscow, they've been promising to do that for fifty years now, but without actually doing anything so far."

"If you ask me, I'd much rather take a caravan directly from Ellorian than schlep down the road for six miles, breathing dust," Max noted.

"Same here," Luffy nodded. "By the way, we should have left all our money in a private room," he sighed. "We only need three gold for the road, and we have eleven here. Some scoundrel is bound to steal them." Luffy gave a level 32 rogue passing by them a long stare, and shook his head.

"If we come across an inn, we can stop for half an hour," Max decided not to argue.

They found an inn about an hour into their journey. The building of the standard design stood at the very edge of a forest. Bonbon refused to come inside, plopping down on the grass nearby.

"Don't drink too much," Luffy shook a finger at him. "No one here feels like dragging your drunken carcass around afterwards."

"Yeah, like you're going to be the one doing the dragging," grunted the tank.

"Oh, not me for sure," agreed the mage. "But I'm worried about Max."

"Enough with the banter already," Max sighed, grabbing Luffy by the sleeve and pulling him towards the inn. "Let's get going."

The tall fair-haired elf with the face of a seasoned thug gave Max a room key, then poured Luffy a pint of dark ale, all for one silver coin. Then he returned to what he had been doing before being interrupted—namely, wiping a glass with a piece of cloth. The innkeeper performed this operation so meticulously that one might have thought the vessel in question to be one of the holiest relics in the whole of Great Forest.

Luffy decided against going upstairs, saying he had nothing to do in his private room, so Max went alone. He entered his room, took a quick shower, put seven gold coinss in the vault, then went downstairs and handed the keys over to the innkeeper.

"Thank you," he nodded to the owner. "The room is free, we're leaving."

"Is there anything wrong with the room, sir?" inquired the innkeeper, eyeing Max ironically.

"No, the room is fine—it's just that we have some urgent business to attend to."

"Wait a moment," said the elf. He went to the pantry, then returned with a large parcel in his hand. "Here are some supplies for your journey. On the house."

Max thanked the innkeeper. Waving at Luffy who appeared to have gotten lost in his thoughts, the two friends headed outside. The parcel contained two smoked hens and some greens—likely of the edible variety—and a round loaf of white bread. Thanking the hospitable innkeeper in his thoughts, Max vowed to visit the inn again in the future.

Ten open wagons drawn by moose, around twenty mounted guards, and ten drivers armed with bows comprised the entire caravan scheduled to pass through Talyan. Max could only guess at why the caravan had to be accompanied by twenty level 200 soldiers. Who could possibly be a menace in zones of levels 15-30? NPC brigands? That wasn't even funny—how many brigands would be needed to capture a caravan of this sort? Two hundred? Three? And why the hell would they want to mess with a caravan in the first place?

"They provide protection from PKs," explained Bonbon. "There used to be lots of assholes here who would level up to a hundred and above, and then return to starting zone on purpose to boost their kill count by ganking noobs. I don't think there are more than a handful left by now. RP-17 dyed them all blue after the patch, and few are stupid enough to risk forced labor or enormous fines. But you have to admit that it feels a lot safer with the guards."

Max paid three gold coins to the caravan driver and received his change. Passage to Talyan cost nine silver pieces, and his group was billeted in the seventh wagon. Oddly enough, there weren't too many people on the caravan. Everyone so inclined must have left the elven capital already, thought Max, eyeing the half-empty wagons—rectangular wooden boxes with benches at the sides. By the look of it, a wagon could carry around ten people at the most.

The caravan set off at four in the afternoon, covering barely twenty five miles before nightfall. The wagons dragged along like turtles, stopping for lengthy intervals at what seemed like every signpost. Max was checking out the views for a while, admiring the skill of the zone designers, but eventually grew bored and started to examine his talents. Luffy was napping on the opposite bench, and Bonbon seemed to be extremely bored. Having drunk about half a quart of the moonshine that was his present, futilely trying to get Max or Luffy involved, he then started to pester the driver. The latter had initially ignored their bald friend's questions, but as they got more and more personal, the driver turned around and gave Bonbon a gruff promise that he would rip off his ears if he carried on in that vein.

"Fine, fine. I really am attached to my ears," said the bald man in an affronted tone, falling asleep shortly afterwards.

By the morning they had about sixty more miles to go till Talyan. Bonbon had a huge hangover, and kept cursing the roads and the fools who drove their wagons like tortoises with injured butts. Having bought a bestiary of the undead from some guy riding in a nearby wagon, Luffy was engrossed in reading it.

Around noon, a fellow passenger joined them in their wagon—a fair-haired level 22 huntress nicknamed Masyanya. She pursed her lips as she eyed her traveling companions, then sat down in the corner of the wagon, took out a book, and didn't look up once she started reading.

The girl was wearing brown leather trousers tucked into low boots and green leather armor. With long fair hair, almost white in color, gray eyes and a slightly pug nose, she had an air of predatory beauty around her, yet her face remained pinched in a grimace of disgust, as if she were a purebred countess forced to endure the company of three country bumpkins in a creaky cart.

Bonbon, having dozed off about three hours ago, eventually woke up. He stretched in satisfaction and gave a yawn so wide that Max feared their bald companion might dislocate his jaw. Bonbon frowned at Luffy, still reading his book, shook his head in frustration, took out his precious bottle and made two hefty gulps. Putting the bottle back, he lit a cigarette... and that was when he noticed their fair-haired companion. His eyes lit up, he rummaged in his bag, produced the bottle again, and offered it to the huntress.

"Young lady, perhaps, at least you will share a drink with me?"

"Buzz off," said the girl without so much as looking in his direction.

"Now what have I done to offend the local gods to be cursed with two straight-edge doofuses and a malicious blonde for companions?" the bald warrior groused, taking another pull from the bottle. "Like sharing a train car with three old ladies! This is officially the worst."

Frowning at Luffy's smirk, Bonbon turned back to the huntress.

"Young lady, how about you give me your number and let me borrow a pencil to write it down with?"

"Wouldn't you like a drum, too?" the girl peered at the bald warrior.

"Why would I need a drum?"

"For you to freaking beat it while you run at the head of the caravan!" snarled the huntress, returning to her book.

The expression on the bald man's face nearly made Max burst with laughter.

"Bonbon, leave her alone, will you?" he told his companion, barely managing to hold back his grin. "You can see that the lady isn't in the mood for a conversation."

"Hold on, Max," the tank shook his head. "We have just witnessed an extraordinary feat—a miraculous display of wit from a blonde who has thus revealed herself as a potential interlocutor of interest. Even if she had written that burn down on a scrap of paper at some point and spent six months memorizing it, I'd still call that worthy of respect." Bonbon blew the smoke through his teeth and looked at the girl again. "However, I have a hunch that I know the reason behind her grumpy mood, and it isn't PMS," he chuckled.

"What, you mean she just doesn't want to talk to a boozehound?" Luffy winked to the bald warrior.

"Nope," Bonbon waved his hand at the mage, then looked at the huntress again. "Where's your pet, girl?" he asked in an oily voice, and, without waiting for her to respond, cracked one of his trademark jokes. "After all, a hunter without a pet is like a guy all smeared in shit in the middle of a library!"

Luffy couldn't restrain himself and guffawed—evidently, the scene described by Bonbon flashed quite vividly in his mind. Max bit his lip and took three deep breaths. The girl paused for a moment, then looked at the bald warrior compassionately, and said, pronouncing every word very distinctly:

"I have always been amazed by the ability of some people to cause amazement in others by the mere fact of their existence. After all, one usually assumes idiots of such magnitude cannot exist, as their existence would contradict the very laws of the universe. But here you are... A true paradox creating a cognitive dissonance in my worldview. Oddities like yourself ought to be examined and studied in depth. Unfortunately, I am no doctor, and thus cannot be of assistance. Sorry."

Luffy laughed even harder. Max joined him—his restraint could only go so far. Bonbon spent some time digesting the repartee, and then started to laugh with the others, with no discernible malice in his laughter.

"OK, you have convinced me. If you don't feel like talking, so be it," he made a dismissive gesture, having finished laughing. "You lack so much as an iota of human warmth."

"I also lack a pet. And that's the reason I'm going to Talyan," said the huntress in just as level a voice, and returned to her book.

"We're here," said the caravan driver gruffly, stopping at their wagon and halting the moose.

"So where's Talyan?" Max gave him a surprised look.

"There are no routes leading through that craphole directly—it's just a small town on the very edge of the Great Swamp. So you'll have to walk from here. It'll be about three miles along that road marked by the signpost over there," the elf pointed at a crooked pole nearby. He urged the animal forward with his heels. "You have a minute to collect your stuff and leave," he said over his shoulder. "The caravan will start moving after that."

Max hopped out of the wagon, looked at the woodland that lay to either side of the road, and whistled softly. The moon and the stars only shone brightly enough to make out the somber silhouettes of the trees, and the road that the level 50 NPC had pointed out looked more like a path leading straight through a thicket. There was a smell of pine needles and resin in the air, the canopy rustling, the trees creaking in their sleep. Glowing insects of some sort hovered over the Talyan signpost. Crossing a forest at night is hardly a very pleasant affair. The level of the zone was 21, of course, and their party was experienced enough to feel fairly safe here. Still, finding one's way in the dark might prove a chore... Luffy could conjure a light source, and they did have a map, but the journey would still take several hours.

"Right, so where are the porters and the cabs?" Bonbon demanded, looking at the last wagon of the caravan disappearing in the dark.

"There is an all-purpose answer to all questions beginning with 'where,'" Luffy grunted, and looked at Max. "So what are we going to do? I doubt we could order an Uber here."

"Make a light," asked the warrior as he unrolled the zone map. "We are about three miles to Talyan as the crow flies. The path will make it closer to four," he concluded pensively.

"Hey, are you coming? Or are you planning to spend the night here?" Masyanya looked at the forest with some trepidation, then turned to Max.

"We are," he nodded to the huntress. "But why don't you... join our party while we're crossing the forest. You can leave once we get to Talyan."

About an hour later, they noticed a speck of light to the right. As they approached, they saw a two-story wooden building with a palisade around it about a hundred feet off the path. The windows were lit, billows of black smoke coming out of the chimney. The wind blowing from the building carried the aromas of roast meat and cheap ale.

"What the hell is this thing?" Luffy turned toward Max, placing his staff in his left hand.

"An inn, by the look of it," the warrior shrugged. "Kind of weird, though."

"What is weird?" Masyanya asked him.

The huntress had an arrow nocked onto her bowstring, and gave a start at every sound. The girl's posture showed tension. Max spared no expletives in a private chat window to Bonbon to keep his mouth shut. The bald-headed warrior seemed to care not one whit about their surroundings, including the forest, the roar of the nocturnal predators, and the cawing of the birds. He didn't even look around him, absently following Luffy as he carried the magic light, and cursing occasionally when his feet got caught in holes in the ground.

"This inn isn't on the map, that's what weird," Max replied to the huntress. "Anyway, a whole bunch of new objects must have been added after the patch—perhaps they simply forgot to update the map," he conjectured.

"I believe the only inns they place on the map are those located in towns and along major roads," Luffy nodded at the path underfoot, and gave a laugh. "While this path just very barely qualifies to be called a regular road."

"In that case, I don't think there's any point in crossing the forest in the middle of the night. Let's spend the night here, and reach the town in the morning in our own time."

"I only have thirty coppers left," the huntress stared at her boots. "I spent my last money for passage here."

"And still she refused free booze," the bald warrior could not restrain his outrage. "Is that pride or stupidity, I wonder?"

"Bonbon, will you please shut up?" Max cut him short at once and looked at Masyanya. "We have money, don't worry. Hardly enough for a luxury suite at the Holiday Inn, but enough for a room of the regular sort. So come along."

The inn's massive wooden gate was closed, and the best Max could do was thump it with the handle of his sword a few times. They had to wait about five minutes. Finally, a door creaked in the yard, and there was the sound of shuffling steps.

"Who in Hart's name goes there?" a hoarse voice asked from behind the gates.

"Tourists," Bonbon answered instantly. "We were gathering mushrooms, and seem to have lost our way."

"Who?! What mushrooms?"

"Open up already," Max snapped. "The caravan stopped a few minutes ago. We need a place to spend the night. We'll be gone in the morning."

"The caravan, eh? All right, come on in. But don't bother me—I've got meat roasting that might start burning any second."

There was the metallic click of the latch from the other side, and the hinges creaked. Max pushed one of the door's wings with his shoulder and felt something sticky touch his cheek. Cobwebs? He looked at the innkeeper pensively as he shuffled toward the entrance to the inn.

"And lock the gate behind you," he yelled and disappeared inside.

The yard was lit by the dim light of a blue magic lantern swaying in the wind. The moon had vanished behind the clouds a moment ago, and the buildings were but large dark shapes in the weak magical light.

"Are you asleep, Max?" Luffy tugged on his sleeve.

"Nope. It's just weird."

"What's weird?"

"There wasn't a single cloud in the sky when we approached," Max explained. "But take a look at the sky now," he pointed up at the gathering clouds.

"What's so strange about it? Haven't you ever gotten caught in the rain?"

"All right, never mind that," the warrior gave a wave of the hand, and followed Bonbon toward the entrance to the inn.

"The owner of this joint doesn't give a rat's ass about marketing, by the looks of it," the bald warrior nodded at the crooked rotten board over the door that served as a sign. "Broken Cross, no less... I wonder if they have the same attitude toward food here..."

"Some of us always think with their bellies," Luffy shook his head. "So, what are we waiting for? Let's go in?"

"Wait a second," Max stopped him and turned toward the huntress. "Would you happen to have a mirror on you?"

"What the hell do you need a mirror for, Max? You never struck me as one of those fellows," Bonbon grunted. "Or is there anything about you that I don't know?" He turned to Luffy and winked to him conspiratorily.

"Moron," the mage exhaled glumly.

"Here you go," the huntress gave Max a small round mirror in a metallic frame. "What is it for?"

"I only need it for a couple of minutes. I'll give it back to you as soon as I check something," the warrior replied as he entered the inn.

He found himself in a large hall lit by six oil lamps. The inside design was irregular. The burning fireplace and the spit were at the far side of the hall. To the right of the entrance stood a brick stove with various pots upon it. A narrow wooden staircase led upstairs. A young level 21 elven maiden was standing by the stove, stirring the contents of one of the pots, giving the guests a welcoming look. Two men and two women in green leather armor were sitting at one of the tables in the dining hall. They were talking in low voices and taking sips from tall wooden mugs. NPCs of levels 21-22—local hunters, by the look of it. They looked at the newcomers indifferently, then resumed their unhurried conversation. An elderly level 22 elf nicknamed Thersanyl was wiping one of the tables, darkened by age, with a cloth.

"Got any dark ale, innkeeper?" Bonbon asked the elf right from the threshold.

"I'm not the innkeeper, I just work here," the elf shook his head. "The boss is in the stables—he'll get here shortly. But we do have ale. A choice of two different ales, in fact."

"I'll have the better ale," the bald warrior gave a wave of the hand as he eyed the dining hall. "Not bad," he grunted. "Not the Ritz, but ale will make everything better."

"Four ales, is it?" asked the elf, and, without waiting for an answer, addressed the hunters sitting at the table in a loud voice.

"Aunriel, Thyardis, didn't you promise you would fix that door?"

"In a moment," muttered one of the hunters grudgingly as he rose. He tapped his companion on the shoulder and started toward the entrance.

Max bent down and pretended to adjust a leather strap on his boot as he slipped out Masyana's mirror. Then, taking his time straightening out, he placed his right hand at the hilt of the sword, and started to speak hastily in the party chat channel.

"These are no elves—they are fiends of some sort. The mirror does not reflect them. I noticed that the freak behind the bar cast no shadow back in the yard. As far as I understand, those two have gone to block the exit. At my command, we will dispatch them first, and then lock the door. I have no idea what kind of boss they're expecting, but I'm not looking forward to seeing him—until we dispose of everyone inside, at least."

"Are you sure?" Luffy took the staff off his back in a casual motion, and proceeded to inspect a crack near the top.

"Just my luck," Bonbon sighed. "The instant you decide to have a pint in peace, something always happens."

"Guys, uh..." said Masyanya in a whisper. "Are you really going to—?"

"No 'uhs,'" Max cut her short. "You'd better shoot if you want to survive. Your target is the taller one. Go!"

Utter chaos ensued—the party managed to catch the fiends by surprise. Max Charged at Aunriel, who died within ten seconds. Instead of an elven corpse, a dark shapeless carcass fell to the floor, all covered in black clotted fur. Furious roars were heard all around at the moment of the attack, and Masyanya gave a loud yell. The dark elves shifted their shapes, transforming into hideous hunchbacked monsters with huge fangs and covered in black fur. The elven armor hung grotesquely on their bodies. The second ghoul—these were ghouls, judging by the red legends above their heads—only managed to strike at Bonbon twice, surviving his companion by five seconds at the most.

Max grabbed a massive metal beam leaning on the wall, nearly choking on the unbearable stench of rot mixed with burning fur, and tossed it onto the rusty metal brackets.

"Behind you!"

Luffy's warning came too late—something sticky hit him in the side, sending a burning icy sensation through his body. Max bit his lip in pain, cracked open a vial of lesser healing potion, and turned around.

Thersanyl's chest was sprouting two arrows, his life bar in the yellow. A dark flame began engulfing his hands, but Masyanya was sharp and used some fancy arrow to interrupt the the cast. Luffy's fireball threw the monster behind the bar. The huntress lost her bearings for a moment, and was simultaneously attacked by the two female ghouls that had been sitting at the table. Within seconds she lost some thirty percent of her health, but Bonbon Charged at one of them, using Provoke to draw their attention while pushing aside the huntress, who had fainted. The female ghoul that had stood near the stove pounced on Luffy with a hideous shriek, knocking him to the floor. The mage managed to twist himself free, and the thing gripping him by the arm ended up underneath him.

All of this flashed before Max's eyes in a matter of a few moments. He covered the distance to Luffy in a single leap, grabbing the hilt of the sword with both hands, and burying it in the throat of the monstrosity whose teeth had been clamped on the mage's arm with all the force he could muster. A crit! The ghoul's throat emitted a hoarse rattle, its maw opened, and Luffy finally managed to pull his arm free.

"That bitch!" hissed the mage, nursing his wounded limb.

"Help Bonbon," Max snapped at him, dealing another powerful blow that upped their lead to 4:0, and dashed to help their tank, following Luffy.

The entire building shook from a mighty bang on the door.

Here comes the boss, thought Max as he slashed at one of the beasts attacking Bonbon.

Incidentally, Bonbon performed his role brilliantly, and Max gave himself a mental pat on the back for giving the rare armor dropped by the gray rat to the tank, and then insisting on buying a rare shield. If the tank had none of those items on, the outcome of the encounter could have been rather dire without a healer.

When the last female ghoul fell to the floor, knocking the table over, and Bonbon went down to his knees, breathing heavily, another incredibly heavy blow shook the door.

"Someone's knocking on the door," Luffy managed a smile. "Shall we get it?"

"Bonbon, you'll rest later," Max clapped the bald warrior on the shoulder. "Grab Masyanya and drag her upstairs. Luffy, you follow. I'll break the stairs, and you will help me. I don't think the boss is that advanced. Let's climb upstairs and shoot it at our leisure from a safe distance. Step on it!"

Bonbon rose without saying a word, picked the huntress up off the floor, and carried her upstairs with all the speed he could muster.

Max looked at him go and shook his head in bewilderment. How could so many personalities coexist in this man was beyond him—there was the eighteen-year-old butthead, the wise man, and the cold-blooded warrior. But the fact that he was here with them in this strange world certainly was a huge stroke of luck.

When he got to the middle of the staircase, the huntress came to and started to try to break free instinctively, but Bonbon held tight and got the girl to the top of the stairs without a hitch.

"When I feel like carrying you around just for the sake of entertainment, I'll sure tell you about it in advance. Take a swig of this," he handed the bottle to the girl.

Realizing what was going on, she nodded gratefully, took a few sips, and started coughing.

"Much better than turning your nose up at the stuff," grunted the bald warrior. "You should have started back in the wagon—it would have gone down smoother now."

"Bastard!" Masyanya exhaled, wiping tears from her eyes and passing the bottle back. "I'll get you for this yet."

The inn door cracked under the blows, but still held. The burning staircase to the second floor still had twenty percent durability left. Max hacked at it as fast as he could, realizing they would never be able to take on the boss that was forcing its way into the building without a healer. Luffy helped him to the best of his ability, trying not to hit his friend with his fireballs. The staircase finally collapsed in a heap of glowing embers that scattered all across the floor. The door got kicked in with a deafening bang the very same moment.

"Hurry up!" Bonbon leaned down and offered Max a hand.

Max jumped and grabbed onto the bald warrior's hand, hearing a furious roar and the scratching of claws at his back. The tank pulled him up in an instant. There was a crash behind him, followed by the sound of wood breaking and a disappointed roar—the beast missed, slamming into the wall underneath the staircase.

I wonder how much longer this luck will hold, Max mused. He could finally see the enemy that raged in the hall below them.

The boss was called Rgharg. An enormous beast some eight feet tall, he was covered in clotted black fur and looked like a rearing bear with a hyena's snout. Nothing but muscle, with yellow fangs protruding from underneath his upper lip, and foot-long fangs...

Rgharg was level 25 and had 43,000 HP. He kept thrashing around the dining hall as they shot at him from above. There was the stench of charred flesh and burning fur in the air. Every thirty seconds the monstrosity tried to leap up to the second floor, only to crash into the wall underneath the staircase, and Max gave mental thanks to the unknown builders who had made the hall's ceiling so tall.

"Piggy, piggy, answer me..." Masyanya was singing some strange song as she kept firing one arrow after another. Max stood right behind her and tried to stay ready for anything. Bonbon, however, didn't seem to care one bit for what went on downstairs. He sat there on the floor with his legs crossed, calmly nibbling on a chicken leg. Neither the roar of the boss that raged downstairs nor the aromas that permeated the air seemed to affect the bald warrior's appetite.

Max looked in his direction, envying his tank's unique not-giving-a-shit skill. Then he looked down—and just in time! Once the beast's HP got down to twenty percent, he thrust its paws toward the ceiling, roared horrendously, and grew about one and a half his size. Rgharg made a huge leap, and the snout of the monster emerged over the edge of the landing. Max felt the stench from the open snout on his face. The warrior hit the boss right between the ears, but that didn't stop Rgharg.

Bonbon saved the day by Charging into the boss right from his sitting posture. The stunned beast started to topple backwards, and Max and the bald warrior simply pushed him over. The boss managed to leap again, but this time he didn't make it to the second floor—an arrow in the eye drew a line under tonight's adventure.

You've completed the pop-up quest: Roadside Inn!

You have gained a level! Current level: 21.

You have 1 talent point to allocate.

Racial bonus: +1% to resistance to earth magic.

Class bonus: +1 to constitution, +1 to strength.

You have 3 stat points to allocate.

"What the hell is a pop-up quest? Sheer idiocy!" Luffy plopped down on the floor heavily, right next to Bonbon, who was back to chewing something or other, and tapped him on the shoulder. "Get the booze out, will you?"

"My, the lot of you are mending your ways right before my eyes," the tank chuckled as he handed the mage a bottle.

"Well, if we completed this quest, there must be some sort of reward somewhere, right? We've been told nothing about who we have to see to hand it in," Masyanya wrested the bottle away from Luffy, drank from it, and looked expectantly at Max.

"Why are you all looking at me?" he shrugged. "Y'all know just as much as I do."

"But you were the one who saw they were no elves."

"So what? I'm telling you, that creep cast no shadow. Have you never watched any horror flicks about the undead?"

"Vampires are the ones who don't get reflected in mirrors and cast no shadow!" Masyanya started coughing, passing the bottle to the mage.

"Why don't you ask the devs, eh? How should I know?" Max all but pulled the bottle out of Luffy's hands, taking a couple of large gulps.

The mage looked at his empty hands, and chuckled.

"Give the mirror back to the girl, will you?" advised Bonbon, wiping the chicken grease from his fingers on the floor. "You said you would only keep it for five minutes, but it's been a lot longer than that. We might start suspecting something soon. Although—and I feel this has to be said—you've got a bulletproof excuse this time."

"Oh, really?" chortled Max, handing the mirror back to Masyanya. "Thanks."

"Thank you," the girl shuddered. "If it wasn't for your paranoia, we'd all be sitting by our gravestones now."

"All right, kiddos, listen to daddy now." Bonbon shifted to make himself more comfortable, and pointed his hand, which held a rolled-up cigarette, to the ceiling. "Pop-up quests were introduced by the developers around two years ago, but they were said to have been canceled later. What it boils down to is that the inn could have appeared in any realm—human, dwarf or orc lands. The mobs have to correspond to the level of the zone, and that's that. It's like a miniature dungeon, if you will—a piece of another world. That must be why the sky got suddenly overcast once we entered here. I paid no attention to it, the old idiot that I am, while Max... Well, anyway, had we gotten ourselves killed here, the inn would disappear, and our corpses would remain in the forest. The mobs would level up and relocate to some other part of the world, inn and all."

"You mean they could level up endlessly in that manner?"

"They could in theory, but that's highly unlikely." Bonbon took a pull from the bottle, puffed on his cigarette, and pointed his finger at the floor. "We almost busted our asses fighting them, granted, but players of higher levels are usually well-equipped. At around 100, three decently geared players would have sufficed to dispatch this ghoul nest. Then again, I'm just guessing..."

"What about the quest? Do we hand it in to anyone?"

"No one. There should be a chest or somesuch with our reward somewhere around here."

"How do you know all this?" Luffy rose, approached the edge of the landing, and looked down cautiously.

"Duh. I've been playing for two years now," the bald man snorted.

"And you only got up to level 21?" the mage stopped eyeing the scene of devastation downstairs, turning to Bonbon incredulously.

"This is my fourth character," the tank shrugged. "I have already played as an orc, as a drow, and as a human. But I didn't really come here to play. When you've been married for fifteen years, certain things become routine, which is why we would change races every six months," the bald warrior drew a heavy sigh and turned away.

"Come now, I won't tolerate depression," Max patted him on the shoulder and pointed down the hallway. "Let's search everything upstairs first so that we wouldn't have to go back up. Tap all the walls—we might find a secret cache of some sort, you never know. Then we go downstairs, collect the loot, and keep on looking."

"Bonbon, there is something, uh... Anyway, thanks," Masyanya tapped the bald warrior's shoulder, then sighed loudly. "You're a right bastard, make no mistake, but sometimes you're all right."

"May you live long and prosper, too," the tank winked at the girl. "Once we get to Talyan, we can dye your hair black, and you'll finally look human. Well, inasmuch as a woman can look human in the first place."

"You ass!" snorted the huntress, following Max to search through the rooms.

There were four rooms altogether, all with broken furniture and ancient layers of dust. Bonbon picked up a femur that had been cracked open by someone's teeth in the very first room, scratched his cheek pensively, and said:

"I was going to take a look at what they had been cooking in those pots. But I'll probably give it a miss now."

"Why would that be?" Luffy egged him on.

"Those freaks have already eaten the yummiest parts," the bald warrior stuck the bone in the mage's face. "Take a look—they have sucked out the marrow! How are you supposed to make proper soup without it?"

"Boys, spare me the details of your gastronomic preferences," the huntress muttered through her teeth, growing a little pale.

"Right on, you culinary geniuses. Go ahead and search here, while Masyanya and I will move on to the next room," Max touched the girl's sleeve and nodded toward the exit.

A thorough inspection of the second floor yielded two gold coins that they found in one of the chests, about a dozen potions and elixirs of different kinds up to level 30, and an unusual cloak with a bonus to agility that Max instantly gave to the huntress.

The six ghoul corpses downstairs dropped six silver coins, as well as four unusual items. Max got three of them: plate fauld, breastplate and boots. Luffy got a ring with a bonus to intellect and bluish entrails of some sort.

"A pity you can't skin them," Bonbon sighed as he kicked a ghoul corpse. "Well, maybe you can, but using traditional methods, as it were—my skill doesn't work here. Or should I give it a try?" he looked at Max with a glimmer of hope in his eyes.

"Don't even think about it," the warrior frowned, heading for Rgharg's corpse. "The rats and toads back in Lake Cave were more than enough for me."

"I was just wondering," shrugged the bald warrior. "All right, show us what's inside that ferret."

Max bent over the corpse and touched it with his hand. There was a clinking sound, and each of them got a gold coin and a half.

You've accessed the quest: Rgharg.

Quest type: unique.

Deliver Rgharg's head to Majordomo Elloise in Talyan.

Reward: experience, 4 gold. Increased reputation with the dark elves.

"Come on, Max, get on with it," Luffy got the quest and looked really antsy now.

"In a moment," Max took his hand off Rgharg's corpse and raised his eyes at the huntress. "I have to tell you something, Masyanya. We have this custom: whoever gets a rare drop has to dance."

"What does it have to do with me?"

"We-e-ell..." Max produced a small bow that looked rather ordinary from the body of the boss, demonstrating it to the party.

Yew Bow of the Wanderer

Bow. Ranged weapon.

Durability: 397/400.

Rare.

Minimum level: 22.

Damage: 30-60.

+33 to agility.

+1% to critical hit chance with a physical attack.

Weight: 5 lbs.

"You want to give it to me?" asked the huntress cautiously.

"Who else?" Max looked surprised. "Bonbon? The only thing he can shoot is shit."

"But it costs—"

"Don't try to get out of dancing now," Bonbon chortled. "And no less than a minute, mind you."

"Are you serious?"

"Serious as a heart attack," Max confirmed the bald warrior's words. "Get on with the dance already."

Masyanya was an excellent dancer, transporting Max to another plane for a while. Indeed, imagine a beautiful girl's body spinning and twisting in an enthralling dance in an inn that was completely destroyed—amid furniture debris, puddles of black blood, and enemy corpses. This was how the ancient Vikings must have imagined their Valkyries.

"So cool," Max expressed everybody's admiration as he handed the bow to the huntress.

"Thanks," nodded Masyanya, her face reddened. She pulled the bowstring back a few times, looking pleased with the result. She eyed the companions. "But you still are bastards," she concluded, shaking her head. "Mistreating a lady so—I haven't been to a club in years."

"Enough with the false modesty," the mage winked to the girl. "Any inn would hire you as a dancer at the drop of a hat."

"Thanks, I'll pass," the huntress chuckled, kicking the boss' carcass. "Was there anything else but the bow in there?"

"A ring for Bonbon," Max tossed the item to the bald warrior. "And offal of some sort—Luffy can collect it by himself."

"My alchemy skill is still at zero, but I already have enough of this filth to open a sausage factory," the mage put the reagents dropped by the boss into his bag, wincing in disgust. "It's a good thing every alchemist gets a special bag to store them."

"Did you hear?" Bonbon pointed his finger at the mage. "If this character offers you any sausage, don't take it! Well, unless you're starving."

"I'll be sure to keep it for you," the huntress snapped back, and kicked the carcass again. "What about the head?" she asked, raising her eyes at Max. "You don't just find sixteen gold coins lying about."

"I think Bonbon will solve this problem in a jiffy," chuckled the warrior.

"Finally a chance for daddy to do what he likes," Bonbon rubbed his hands together, approached the corpse, and proceeded to hack at Rgharg's head, separating it from the body with a dozen sword strikes.

"Here, take it!" he tossed the severed head to Max. "You're the leader, so you hand in the quest."

Max caught the head, the slime from the cut dribbling all over his breastplate, getting right under his neck.

"Sometimes you're too much, Bonbon," Max shook his head, rubbing away the filth with a cloth. "So, what's the plan? Shall we keep on looking for the chest? Unless that was the chest where we found those two gold coins upstairs."

"I'm sure it wasn't," replied the bald warrior, wiping his blade against the dead boss' hide. "The way these things work, once we empty that chest, the inn should disappear. This is a magical world, you see..."

Bonbon walked over to the stove, which had grown cold, opened the lid of one of the pots and smelled the contents.

"Smells good," he grunted as he looked at his companions. "What if we—"

"Eat this stuff yourself if you really want to," Luffy frowned. "Just don't get us involved. Max, let's get going already, before this guy gets any other bright ideas."

The pantries contained nothing of interest whatsoever—just rusty utensils, rotten vegetables, and mold on the walls, but Luffy did eventually find an iron-plated door in the last room. Max ordered everyone to get ready for battle, just in case, and only pulled the curved wooden handle after confirming that the party had followed his order.

The rusty hinges gave a hideous screech as they opened, and the heavy smell of blood hit them in the face. Masyanya threw up at once, and she had every reason to—the small rectangular room was where the ghouls had stored their victims' butchered corpses. There were human carcasses in various stages of disfigurement hanging on three meat hooks, and another one lay on a wooden table in the corner.

"Judging by the sight of these folks, they had worse luck than we," Bonbon walked inside and pushed one of the bodies, making it swing back and forth. "Now isn't that odd?" he mused as he turned to Luffy. "Imagine, now—you got resurrected a long time ago, and are running around meadows catching butterflies, picking daisies, and so on. And in the meantime some wench is cooking your meat, stirring it in a pot ever so sexily."

"I liked the bit about the butterflies," Max followed the bald warrior in and looked around.

The blue chest with the quest reward stood to the right of the entrance. The warrior lifted the lid, chuckled, and pulled out a rare bastard sword. At last!

Young Warrior's Runic Blade

Sword: two-handed, one-handed.

Durability: 489/500.

Rare.

Minimum level: 21.

Damage: 34-68.

+20 to strength.

+10 to constitution.

1% to critical hit chance with a physical attack.

Weight: 12 lbs.

The sword looked perfectly ordinary—a regular blade, a straight guard, and a bronze pyramid-shaped pommel. However, it was a rare sword nevertheless.

"Masyanya, why don't you just collect your reward? You can carry on later," Max addressed the huntress, gently running his hand along the blade.

"I've nothing left to carry on with," she grunted, wiping tears from her eyes before she entered the room, opened the chest, took out a pair of rare leather boots, and darted back out. Bonbon and Luffy each got a helm. The new item transformed the tank's appearance, lending him distant resemblance to a gladiator from Ancient Rome, whereas the circlet that Luffy ended up with looked more like twisted aluminum wire.

"Well?" the warrior placed the sword in his scabbard and looked at the ceiling.

The walls of the inn started to blur before his eyes, as if triggered by his speech, and in the blink of an eye they found themselves in the forest again.

"You know, Max, I think we've had enough adventures for tonight," said Luffy contemplatively, gazing up at the moon hanging over the forest. "I mean, we can keep on rushing pell-mell through the forest, but I don't think Talyan is likely to run away from us."

"Agreed," nodded the warrior. "Let's spend the night here, and head for the town in the morning. Shall we get a fire going?"

"Fire would be nice," the huntress shuddered from the night chill.

"In that case, let's start gathering firewood. Let's hope no one gets lost," Max chuckled and headed for the nearest trees.

They gathered firewood quickly, and supped just as hastily. Then Bonbon went to sleep.

The full moon still hung in the sky, the night birds calling out to each other. As Max looked at the burning campfire, he suddenly felt like everything that was happening around him was quite unreal, as if the magic forest didn't exist, and what surrounded them was a regular wood inhabited by animals of the usual sort—maybe half a mile away from a regular highway, where you could hop on a regular a bus and...

Max's skin felt clammy. He grabbed the hilt of his newly acquired sword and ran his palm down the length of it. The sensation of touching cold metal calmed him down. The warrior took a swig from the bottle that had stood nearby, pulled a burning branch out of the fire and used it to light his cigarette, then made a couple of satisfied drags.

"Where are you guys from, anyway?" asked Masyanya in a low voice. She sat staring at the fire, looking lost in thought.

"Me and Bonbon are from Moscow, and Luffy's from Kiev," replied Max. "What about you?"

"Omsk," the girl threw another branch into the fire and raised her eyes at Max. "How long have you guys been traveling together? And why are you headed to Talyan?"

"Me and Max have been together since the Sunlit Forest," Luffy replied for Max. "We logged in already after the patch. He came to find two friends of his, a man and a woman, and I had a car accident. We met Bonbon in Ellorian, and decided to stick together."

"Why Talyan?"

"A girl from the inn that burned down had told Max that his lady friend would be there."

"I see," the girl sighed. "And I got stranded here while at work. Me... and forty four other people."

"So why are you on your own?"

"Some dickhead started to hit on me back there. His level was close to a hundred. So I told everyone to piss off and left. I had no one left in the real world anyway. I never knew my father, and mom passed away a year ago. And I parted ways with my ex three days before I ended up here," the girl chuckled mirthlessly.

"Well, why don't you join us?" Max smiled to her. "We don't have much experience, but you won't get bored—that much I can promise."

"I believe you," the huntress nodded, glancing at the sleeping Bonbon. "This one must keep you entertained all the time."

"Once we find Alyona, we'll have a fully functional party of five. A tank, a healer, and three dps."

"I accept," the girl nodded. "I only managed to earn four silver coins over the last five days, and I spent them all on the journey. And in the two hours that I've been with you, I got two rares and a whopping six gold coins, including our quest reward. Unbelievable. Sata is sure keeping an eye on you."

"Who's Sata?" Luffy stopped studying his new headgear, raising his eyes at the girl.

"The Goddess of Luck," Masyanya smiled. "I've been studying the local pantheon on my way here. There were about fifty deities here before the patch, and some new ones seem to have joined their number," the girl stretched, covering a yawn with her palm. "I should turn in, or I'll be a total zombie tomorrow. Good night."

Luffy fell asleep about twenty minutes later, leaving only Max sitting awake by the campfire. He didn't feel remotely sleepy, thinking that he would finally see Alyona in just a couple of hours. How would she react to his arrival? Would she be happy to see him? What if she already had someone? Then he thought about the strange girl that he had encountered at the inn back in Ellorian, Saté. Sata? I doubt it, he smiled and took another draw from the bottle at his feet. Why would a goddess want to get involved with a lowly noob? But could it be that one of her priestesses had paid him a visit in that guise? One way or another, he was immensely grateful to his green-eyed protectress for her help, but as for trying to guess her identity... She would tell him whenever she saw fit, and he had plenty of other problems to worry about besides. These were the thoughts that went through his head as he finished the moonshine in the bottle, wrapped himself up in his cloak, and tried to fall asleep.

He dreamed of a large black fox sitting on a huge boulder—the kind found at crossroads in Russian folk tales. Max could not make out the inscription on the boulder, and so he did not know which of the three roads to choose. He just stood there, staring at the animal sitting on the boulder in silence. The fox took its time studying the warrior with its ironic eyes that seemed to have taken a good measure of him, and then jumped off and ran away, following the left road. Left-field solutions are our specialty, Max chuckled. He adjusted the scabbard with a two-handed sword on his back, which seemed to appear out of nowhere, and followed after the fox.

When morning came, they had a quick breakfast and set off in the direction of Talyan. All the while they walked, Max tried to remember what had happened next in his dream, but to no avail. All he could recollect was the stone and the black fox that had shown him the way. He could only guess at where that road might lead him.

Chapter 18

Talyan was a small town surrounded by a hedge of thorny bushes, which met them with pouring rain. The guards were trying to find shelter from the rain on the two watchtowers standing to either side of the road, paying absolutely no attention to the four soaked travelers.

"Where are we off to now?" Masyanya asked Max, shouting to be heard over the downpour.

"The village council first, to hand in the quest," the warrior pointed at a large wide-branching tree standing standing a bit off the road. "And then to the inn to dry off."

"Damn!" Luffy slipped on the wet grass and only managed to keep from falling by grabbing Bonbon's shoulder. "A decent owner wouldn't even let a dog out of the house in this weather. We're the only idiots up and about."

"Didn't I offer you to wait it out under a fir tree?" the bald warrior snorted. "You could build a hut from fallen branches and pick some mushrooms."

"You armored lot don't care," the mage continued, ignoring the tank's words. "Just wipe those cast iron pots of yours with a cloth and you're dry. But what am I supposed to do?"

"Well, isn't it obvious?" Bonbon looked at him in surprise. "You can hang your undergarments up on a line and dance a fire dance around them. Just take Masyanya with you for assistance. It's not much fun to watch you shake your as, but her..."

"Will you ever shut up?" Masyanya tried to kick Bonbon, but the tank dodged easily, catching the girl as she slipped, and put her back on her feet, quite unperturbed. Masyanya let out a disappointed sigh, shrugged, and followed him.

"Who are you and what do you want?" one of the guards at the entrance to the town's main tree moved to the right, blocking the entrance.

"Are you blind? Or do we look like orcs?" Luffy snapped, quite unexpectedly.

"Relax," Max held the mage back by the shoulder and demonstrated Rgharg's head to the elf. "We have a trophy that we must hand in to Majordomo Elloise. "We managed to take down a peculiar beastie on our way here, as you can see..."

"Where'd you find one of those?" an expression of approval lit up the elf's impassive face for a split second.

"He was hiding from the rain under a fir," Bonbon informed the guard in a deadpan voice, throwing a sideways glance at the mage. "Probably picking mushrooms, too, but I can't be completely sure."

"All right, enter," the elf chuckled, obviously having taken none of the bald warrior's words seriously. "Majordomo Elloise asked me to let none of your kind pester him, but I believe he'll make an exception in your case. You need the second tier," the elf nodded and stepped aside.

Interior-wise, the main tree resembled the one where Max and Luffy got their very first quests in this realm. Max traced the inner wall with his hand with great care, then waved to the others and headed for the makeshift staircase.

Majordomo Elloise, a dark-haired level 70 elf, sat behind a table growing out of the floor, frowning as he sorted through a pile of scrolls. When he noticed the visitors, his frown grew deeper, and he spoke in a weary tone.

"I have no idea why Riindyl let you through, but there is nothing I can do for you, young people. I don't hand out any quests—not even if you start begging. I don't need my floor swept, or my room decorated with garlands. Nor do I want you to sing me any strange songs. If you're newcomers, the best person to see about quests is Areothor, head of the guards. You'll find him in the barracks—"

"We didn't come to ask you for quests—we're here for our money," Max cut the irritated majordomo short, approached the table and placed the head of the dead boss upon it.

"Oh, so that's why you're here!" the elf took Rgharg's head in his hands with great care, as though it were an imperial Ming vase, and examined it from every side. "May I know your names?" he asked, raising his eyes at Max.

"Max, Luffy, Bonbon and Masyanya," the warrior introduced himself and each of his companions.

"You two-lived have really strange names," muttered the elf musingly. "Do they mean anything?"

"Not really—names bear no deep meanings in the world we come from."

"This is odd," the elf shook his head once again. "A week ago a warrior like you named Donkeypunch was convincing me of the opposite."

Max bit his lip to keep from exploding with laughter. He heard Luffy choke on a laugh behind him, followed by a sob from Masyanya and a grunt from Bonbon.

"Let me rephrase," Max tried to speak in a level voice. "In most cases, our names indeed possess no deep meanings. But sometimes there are exceptions."

"All right, that does not concern us much right now," the elf dismissed the matter, and placed four stacks of four gold coins on the table before him.

You've completed the quest: Rgharg.

You received 4 gold.

"On behalf of the city of Talyan, I thank you, Max, Luffy, Bonbon and Masyanya, for having disposed of a dangerous monster. Please accept my gratitude," announced the elf solemnly. "And now, please excuse me—I have work to do."

The rain had stopped, but there was still no one out in the street. Talyan seemed more like a village to Max. Three streets, a dozen watchtowers, and an unprepossessing shrub hedge around the perimeter. But what can you expect from a town located away from caravan routes?

"I wonder if you can do anything to change your name now?" said Bonbon pensively as they headed toward the inn.

"You just cannot come to terms with the fact that some people have such sweet-sounding names filled with deep wisdom, while you're just a regular run-of-the-mill Bonbon?" the mage mocked the tank, stepping around a particularly deep puddle.

"You're absolutely right," the bald warrior sighed sadly. "How do I go on..."

"It's the man that makes the name, and not the other way round," Max decided to cheer up his friend.

"That's right," the huntress agreed with the warrior. "You, Bonbon, are one of a kind—I don't think there's another one like you in this whole realm. Why would you want to advertise that further than necessary?"

"Thanks, Masyanya," replied Bonbon gratefully. "You know, I could practically learn to love you by this point. All we need to do is dye your hair and grow your brain three times its current size, and you'll be my ideal! Like Leonardo's Mona Lisa. Or, at the very least, like Bonnie was for Clyde, or like Clyde was for Bonnie. I keep forgetting which of them was the woman."

"Oh, why did I have to say anything..." muttered the huntress in a glum voice. "The only way this leopard will change his spots is they up and flee his hide in horror. What a bummer," she announced sadly.

The inn was of the standard design, and less than half-full. Talyan's remoteness apparently prevented the majority of the players from reaching it. The dining hall smelled of ale, fresh pastries and cinnamon. An elderly level 70 elf flashed a welcoming smile to the newcomers, put away the cloth he had been wiping the bar with, and arched his right eyebrow quizzically.

"Dark ale and some nosh," Bonbon spoke for everyone, wiping drops of water from his bald skull with his hand. If you have roast suckling pig, we'll take that; if not, anything you recommend. And we'll take a two-gallon barrel of ale at once," he looked at Max and chuckled. "I have a feeling we'll be stuck here for awhile."

But the warrior could no longer hear Bonbon, or the innkeeper's reply.

A red-haired elf female sat in the corner of the hall, her back to the wall. Clad in leather armor with strange angular designs embroidered on it, her hands were crossed on her chest as she studied the carved wooden cup on the table before her.

The girl was breathtakingly beautiful. Her bangs fell on her forehead, giving her a mischievously tomboyish look. She had fine, regular features, a well-defined mouth, and a slightly elongated face—just as Max remembered her from the last few years. The only difference was that now her dark skin hid the merry freckles that had been scattered across her nose, and her ears were shaped differently, but that only made her look more exquisite. She was even more beautiful and dearer to him now—so much more so that Max's breath caught in his throat.

"Go on already, Casanova, get reacquainted with your lady friend," Bonbon slapped the warrior on the shoulder, giving him a shove in the right direction. "We'll grab a nearby table. Join us once you're done talking."

Max felt his knees shake traitorously as he approached the table where his best friend's sister sat. He had so much to tell her. But...

"Hi," he said in a voice that had suddenly grown hoarse with anxiety.

"Not interested," the girl raised her eyes at him irritatedly, and was about to turn away, when her eyebrows started to rise. "Max?" she said in a low voice. "You're here? Ma-a-a-ax!"

In a single flowing motion, Alyona wrapped herself around his neck and started to cry into his shoulder.

"It's like I knew something would happen, so I wouldn't leave. It's as though something held me in this dump. The group I had been leveling up with left a few days ago. And me... I have been sitting here for three days," whispered the girl haltingly. "I had a feeling something would happen. There were also the dreams... I called you and Roman every hour, I thought... Then I had an idea—I got the local police station number and called Sergei. He said they buried you three days ago, and... I... I was so afraid I would never see you or Roman again. But look at you, you're a dark elf too! But how did you find me?!"

"Of course I found you," replied Max in a low voice, stroking the girl's back, still shaking with sobs, and feeling perfectly happy. "How could I not?"

There was a silence in the dining hall. All the heads were turned in their direction. Max felt the male patrons look at him with envy, and his friends with approval. He took the girl by the shoulders and looked into her eyes, still filled with tears.

"You and Roman can't be left unattended for so much as a second. Someone has got to look after you."

"Where is he? What happened to him?" she virtually exhaled her question, looking at him with tension in her eyes.

"He's fine," Max said. "At least that's what he told me when we last spoke on the phone. He's also in the game, stuck in Demon Grounds somewhere, but looking diligently for a way out. So don't you worry, we'll find your Loman for sure."

"Trolling me again, are you?" she smiled through her tears.

"And you have the waterworks on again, haven't you?"

"I'm done crying," Alyona sniffled, took out a handkerchief to wipe her tears, and asked:

"What about you? You never played yourself, so why are you here?"

"It's not a question of 'why,' but rather 'for whom,'" the warrior smiled to the young woman. "But it's a long story, and we've got to have a drink if I am to tell it," he took Alyona by the hand and winked at her. "Let's go, I'll introduce you to my friends."

The moon lit up in the skies above Talyan, shining its soft ghostly light over the still surface of the lake. The twilight had long drowned out the bright colors of the day, and the aroma of tall grass hovering over the water had been replaced by the spicy scents of the approaching night. Sleep enveloped the small town slowly, as it grew calmer and its sounds died down. Only the whisper of the waves lapping at the ground remained, merging with the nocturnal serenades of cicadas and the mysterious whispers of the Great Forest.

A maiden of the dark elf race sat on a root sticking out of the ground, gazing at the water in deep contemplation, hugging her knees and resting her chin on top. She had a smooth tanned skin, regular features, and a knee-long tunic. The young woman sat perfectly still, with only the light touch of the night breeze occasionally rustling her long red hair.

"How are you doing?" a tall dark-haired elf in matte plate armor and a simple bastard sworn at his waist approached from the side of the settlement, stopping to the right of the girl.

"I'm fine now," she replied softly, her gaze fixed on the surface of the water reflecting moonlight.

"I really don't understand why you need this..."

"Max, don't start! Do you want the whole group to die just because your healer cannot tolerate pain?" she said in a low voice, raising her enormous green eyes at the elf. "You think we'll keep on coming across mobs that will be just as stupid as these? You've already seen dungeons—you know what it's like down there."

"Still, this is no task for a woman," her companion continued stubbornly.

"Max, this is a game... or, rather, it was one, and women here are every bit as good as men. Besides, according to statistics, we are more resilient, so let's be done with this subject already."

"We've been here for two weeks already, and what do we have to show for it? How much has our toughness grown? Yours by eight percent, mine by eleven." The elf spat on the ground, got out a simple wooden fishing rod and a box of bait, squatted, and started to thread something onto the hook, eyes narrowed.

"Pinocchio says that if your HP drops to twenty percent or so, or if you straight up die, your toughness will grow at a faster rate," the redhead shrugged. "We might as well give it a try before we level up to thirty."

"You really intend to listen to that lunatic? All he does is hang around Talyan—I don't even understand how he managed to get level twenty," Max chuckled, stepped down to the water, and cast the line.

"Got any better ideas?" the girl responded in the same tone.

"Alyona, you're just as crazy as your brother," the young man shrugged, watching the float. "Although, there is probably something to this idea. But do you realize what dropping your HP to twenty percent feels like? You're going to faint at fifty already."

"So what do you suggest we do? Hide behind the walls of Ellorian, like everybody else? Or run around gathering flowers? It's like the central park of a major city here nowadays—everything has been picked clean! There's a hundred herbalists to a single flower. Nettle and lavender cost five copper coins a dozen, and you need to find them first," the redhead frowned. "And stop calling me that. Alyona is no more—my name is Tauriel."

"I'd like to see you tell Roman what your name is later," he chuckled. "By the way, they don't all hide behind walls—try finding any boars, wolves or gremlins in the area! We got real lucky we managed to raise half a level today." The elf pulled a silvery-scaled fish out of the water, and put it away in a special pouch. "We need to depart in the direction of Ascort. There's a small settlement along the way—I heard about it from a level 44 druid earlier today. We'll reach it in a single day."

"What kind of settlement?"

"Amané, a small village six miles off the main road to Ascort. The path to the village leads through a swamp, and it's very hard to find. But I know an oddly-shaped tree that serves as a marker—you need to turn right there."

"So what's in that village?"

"About a dozen quests from the locals, undead with levels 30 to 35, as well as frogs of some sort and a small dungeon for a party of three to five. Hey, look, here's a big one!" the elf showed a silvery fish to the girl, then placed it in the pouch. "I haven't gone fishing for about ten years in real life, you know, not since my college years. And here I go, watching the float every evening," he smiled, scratching behind his left ear. "Did you eat, by the way?"

"Is that your way of telling me to make fish chowder?" the redhead smiled, rising from her makeshift seat. "Too lazy to level up your cooking skill, eh?"

"I level it all the time, but you still make it better," Max returned her smile, dumping his catch onto the ground.

"You should have just confessed that you don't want to clean the fish," said Alyona as she sat down onto the grass next to the fish, still thrashing about on the grass. "Why don't you at least gather some firewood?"

"There you are! I was wondering why it started to smell like food all of a sudden," Bonbon said in a jolly voice, stepping out from behind a tree. "Are you dieting today, Luffy?" he asked the mage to his side. "If you are, I call dibs on your share."

"Yeah, right," the mage snorted. "Don't even think about it."

"This one lives just to stuff his face. Before anything has even been cooked, he can already sense it coming," Masyanya sighed, coming up from behind and elbowing the bald warrior in the side. She sat down on a nearby tree root. "Need any spices, Tau?"

"Better fetch some water," replied Alyona, focused on the scaling. "And the two of you go get some firewood."

Fifteen minutes later, all five of them sat around a small campfire, the wood cracking pleasantly, a large metal pot boiling over the flames.

"I wonder who invented these bug-eyed wood-things," the huntress shivered watching a patrol tree do its rounds, creaking as it went. "I nearly had a heart attack the first time I saw one."

"You're not the only one," Max chuckled. "Our great and terrifying mage Luffy also felt like running for the nearest shrink the first time he saw a treant."

"That's the normal reaction of any sensible individual!" the mage countered good-heartedly. "Those who lack it are beyond any help—even a skilled psychiatrist wouldn't be able to help!"

"Max, stop feeling up your ears, it looks silly," said the fair-haired huntress in the tone of a strict schoolmistress.

"I still can't get used to them," he shrugged. "But someone had to go and become a maiden of the dark elf race."

"Don't you give Tau that look," his companion smiled. "Every girl dreams of becoming an elven princess deep down inside."

"And there I was wondering why you named yourself after a cartoon character, Masyanya,"[1] the bald man guffawed, interrupting the conversation. "I wrote it off on your being a blonde initially, but turns out you've got your sights on becoming a princess!"

"You're an idiot, Bonbon, and there's no cure for the likes of you," the girl smiled. "When our boss decided to move our entire accounting department into cyberspace, I wasn't too pleased about it. He said operational expenses would be twice cheaper here. So I took this nickname to spite him."

"A boss in your case, and a wife in mine," the bald man sighed and shook his head. "She felt like freaking trying out something new. Well, we've been trying out something new for two whole years, and look where it got us," he frowned and looked toward the town that was falling asleep.

"Stop worrying already," the mage said. "Our race will reach the human borders, or vice versa. You already have good reputation with humans, and that's the most important thing."

"Didn't you hear what they were saying about the Night Blades after their raid?" Bonbon looked at him skeptically. "They didn't even manage to reach their castle in the Borderlands. They had to stop near the border of the House of Whispering Leaves, about a week's ride away. And there are close to two hundred more miles between the castle and the border. Or did you forget about the Rift from the Netherworld?"

"I didn't, but—"

"There were packs of fifty level 250-300 beasts dealing fire damage that gets through even max resistance," said the bald warrior in frustration. "Our guys ain't seen nothing yet. Jin Ho, whom I mentioned way back in Ellorian, is the best raid leader the Azure Dragons have, leading a force three thousand Asians' strong. Seen them anywhere lately? I hear they've lost half their army already."

"No way!" Luffy said in disbelief. "Three thousand strong, and unable to dispatch a pack of fifty mobs?!"

"Do you have any notion of the mechanics of a raid battle? Only five hundred players can fight this pack at a time. The theory sounds simple enough—use crowd control on most of the beasts and take them out one by one, but in practice the chance of your control spell landing is proportional to the difference in levels, and an unsuccessful attempt lowers it further by some percentage. So what are you going to do if the tanks cannot hold the demons' attention, while their AOE alone deals enough fire damage to dispatch a hundred of your comrades at once? Now, the Asians are nothing if not persistent, and they managed to gain some ground, but then the beasts started to respawn behind them, and they had to retreat. I think they'll come back soon to level up their toughness and look for red vine seeds."

"How are seeds of whatever sort relevant?" Masyanya joined the conversation.

"They're used to brew an elixir with a four-hour effect that raises your maximum fire resistance by ten. But those vines are so rare that they're unlikely to stock up on those elixirs any sooner than a year or too. Considering that there's no love lost between the dark elves and the humans, the likelihood of a stationary portal between Ellorian and Vaedarr is extremely low, so it will be a long time until I see my wife again," he concluded with a sigh.

"At least you know where this Vaedarr is," the redhead said gruffly. "As for those freaking Demon Grounds, no one has any idea whatsoever. No one gives a damn about that now—they're either busy surviving, or going nuts with joy at having suddenly become immortal. You've all seen what's happening in the capital.

"Right, get your bowls ready," Masyanya banged her ladle on the pot, diverting the companions' attention away from the unpleasant discussion, and started to pour the fish chowder, which emitted a heavenly aroma, into the proffered bowls. "Does anyone have any bread left?"

The silence lasted about ten minutes, occasionally interrupted by the sound of spoons hitting metallic bowls.

"If everyone's full, I'll finish it off," smiled Bonbon, looking much more cheerful.

"Where does all that food go?" Alyona smiled, rising to her feet.

"I'm a tank, and tanks need to be fed well and regularly," he countered, rubbing his hands in anticipation, and putting the pot with the remaining fish chowder in front of himself.

"Well, at least, we don't have to wash up," Luffy stretched, putting his bowl back in his inventory. "So we're headed for Amané tomorrow, yes? In that case, I suggest that we get some rest."

"I concur," Max rose from his place. "But I'm not spending another night in that bedbug-ridden hovel—open skies are much better, in my opinion. And it's not like we have a lot of money to spend."

"Hold on, guys," said Masyanya in a somber voice. Once she had everyone's attention, the huntress continued. "I suggest that we stay together from now on, no matter what happens. No one can survive in this world on their own. We'll level up, and we'll go to the human lands on our own, if we have to, and find Bonbon's wife." The woman held her hand out in front of her, visibly anxious. "And then we'll find those Demon Grounds and leave no stone unturned there," she finished, feeling her narrow palm covered by four hands in the solemn silence that ensued.

Chapter 19

"The road ends here!" the tall long-haired elf at the head the group addressed his companions, taking a good look around, with an arrow nocked.

"How's that possible?" Max, who was second in the procession, moved Rexar aside and looked in surprise at the shrubs covered in yellow flowers blocking their path.

"Why did we stop?" asked a voice from behind. "Is it time for another break?"

"Looks like we're lost," sighed a delicate-looking green-eyed priestess, bending over a small purple plant as she stepped off the path.

"Hey! It's my turn!" exclaimed an outraged mage.

"Beat it," the girl snapped back. "She who saw it, picked it!"

"Max! Tell her!"

"Be quiet, will you!" the warrior barked, turning toward the party. "Are you in kindergarten or something? Both of you will level up eventually, so what's the difference?"

"Her herbalism skill is almost forty," groused Luffy, scowling at the smiling Ellanca. "And I'm way behind. But why have we stopped?"

"This road ends here," Max shrugged. "Let's take a fifteen minute break. We need to decide where to go next."

"So, Marco Polo," a smiling Bonbon patted Rexar on the shoulder. "Where have you brought us? The swamp stretches for miles around, and you can't see nothing..." The bald warrior rounded the ranger, and plopped down onto the grass under the nearest tree, his armor clinking.

"What the hell?" Masyanya stared at Max inquisitively, scratching a large brown bear behind the ear, threads of thick white drool hanging from the animal's mouth. "Where's this Amané of yours?"

"How am I supposed to know?" Max frowned. "According to the map, there should be maybe three hundred yards left. But the road was supposed to take us right to the village. But this... I don't know what this is," he motioned at the bushes behind them.

"Could this druid have hoodwinked you?" asked Alyona, holding a hairpin in her teeth while rearranging her hair.

"Why would he? What's the point?"

"Did you forget about the PKs?" the huntress reminded him. "He can gather a dozen friends, and... Level 44, was he?"

"What would they expect to gain robbing us? Three gold coinss for eight," Max chuckled. "Besides, we are perfectly capable of biting back."

"This sucks, boss," Rexar shook his head. "This is a bad zone—it only has one exit that's all too easy to block. If they do that, we're trapped and done for."

"I wouldn't say that," the warrior squinted. "There are twenty square miles here, after all."

"But where would we go? Not the swamp, that's for sure. It stretches some two hundred and fifty miles south, and another twenty in the direction of Talyan..."

"Can you imagine how many people they would need to block the exit and send a party after us? All to rob us of three gold coinss? Don't make me laugh, and stop panicking." Max pointed at the bushes, and said to the ranger, "Why don't you take a look at what's out there? But don't go too far—four hundred yards will do it. Then return at once."

"Consider it done," Rexar nodded, slinging his bow over the shoulder, and starting a detour around the vegetation blocking their path.

"Everybody else, listen up!" Max boosted his voice with magic, and pointed at a thick tree trunk roughly sixty feet off the path. "We'll wait there for the scout to return. Keep silent, all of you! Masyanya, apply some camouflage, even the basic kind. It can't hurt."

The dark elves started toward the tree in question, talking in low voices.

"Don't worry so much," said Alyona softly, giving the warrior a pretend punch in the ribs. "Everything will work out fine."

"Sure," said Max gruffly, turning away from the girl. "I just wish I knew where the hell I've brought everyone."

"Well, we're not such easy prey," the girl shrugged. "Why would anyone risk their levels? There are hundreds of times fewer PKs in noob zones nowadays." Alyona pulled the glove off her hand with her teeth, preparing to start counting on her fingers. "Firstly, PKs feel pain, just like everybody else. Secondly, killing the subjects of the king of dark elves lowers one's reputation with the entire race, and we are all considered his subjects. Thirdly," she bent her middle finger, "should a PK bite off more than they can chew, which happens almost always, they will lose levels and wind up in the starting zone, only to be grabbed by the guards. And you know what happens next, don't you? You pay a minimum fine of five gold for every player you killed, or they send you to a forced labor camp. It might be possible to get away with killing an NPC, but when you kill a player, all they have to do is press a button in their options menu, and the information about the PK is transmitted to the administration of the nearest city. Max," the girl looked him in the eye, "it really doesn't pay to be a PK these days, and, taking the latest events into account, being that you can no longer escape into the real world, it is also really bad for your health. Unless, of course, you specialize in killing NPCs, who don't really differ from us all that much. At worst, this is someone's lousy attempt at pranking a noob."

"Alyona, if a PK belong to a strong clan that has a base somewhere in the wilderness with a bind point of their own, he doesn't give a damn about the city guards or the troops of the Great Houses," the elf sat down on the grass next to the girl, leaning against the thick black trunk. "I feel exhausted. Like we're stuck in a quagmire, shuffling our feet but not moving anywhere. Worst of all, I don't see any way out."

"Oh, come on," the elven maiden smiled to the warrior encouragingly. "Let's look around and find a spot where we could level up. If nothing else, we'll raise our herbalism and alchemy."

"Maybe we should head back to town? Take on a few social quests?" Max looked at the girl. "We'll manage to get some experience at least, no matter how puny, but it's much safer there."

"Didn't you hear what Helliona said?" Alyona picked a blade of grass and slipped it between her teeth, then looked at the elf, wearing a contemplative expression. "At the current pace, we'd be getting a level a month. Players are waiting in line for days for every NPC with a quest. Reminds me of the archival footage from the turn of the century, remember? Folks camping out days in advance for the launch of some stupid phone or sneakers."

"It's the same with mobs in starting zones," echoed the elf.

"We've only visited a handful," the redhead waved dismissively. "If we head north, there will certainly be fewer people there. When Rexar gets back, I suggest we turn back and go around Talyan. I'm sure we'll find plenty of stuff to do in the north," Alyona winked to him, and rose to her feet in a single graceful motion. "I'll go have a chat with Masyanya, and don't you dare get all mopey here," she shook a finger at him and started toward the huntress, who was combing out her bear's fur.

"As you say," Max smiled, following her slender silhouette. Then he hung his head and started thinking.

The girl was right—he was probably overreacting. Their situation was actually pretty good. Right before their departure for Amané, the party grew by three members: a priestess, a ranger and a dps druid. The trio were part of a squad that had split up—their tank and one of the melee fighters could not handle any more pain, so they threw in the towel and headed back to civilization.

Eight fighters were already a force of some worth. They could complete dungeons designed for five to ten players, and, luckily, all of them turned out to be agreeable companions. If not for the constant bickering between Luffy and Ellanca, everything would be totally perfect.

They were also enormously lucky to have tamed a brown bear who had ambushed them during a crossing. He now played the part of an alternate tank, soaking up damage nearly as well as Bonbon. Max marveled at the toughness of this bald-headed elf, formerly a physics teacher at a Moscow school. He adored his wife, so much so that he was prepared to withstand unbearable pain as a tank, i.e. a punching bag for mobs. Well, at least they can communicate through friends, thought Max with a frown. At least he knows she's fine.
As for Roman's aunt, she's still not answering her phone. Alyona is putting on a brave face, of course, but...

He had known Alyona since she was a child. She was an awkward girl with unruly hair that would always get into her eyes, always sticking her nose into affairs that were none of her concern, meddling in his and his friend's plans. By eighteen, however, she grew into a stunning young woman. Unfortunately, Max was already married... And now it somehow turned out that he had no one left but her and Roman—he didn't have so much as anyone to call... Max drew a heavy sigh and smiled, looking at the girls chatting nearby. No, he would confess nothing to her until they found her brother—it wouldn't be fair to his friend. Besides, they had more than enough on their plate as it was. He had promised Roman that he would take care of her, and he had meant it. The confession would come in due time, whatever the consequences.

"It's a dead end," a branch cracked nearby, and Rexar dropped down to the ground next to Max, pointing at the bushes. "I looked—there isn't anything remotely resembling a village here. That bastard took us in."

"So what did you find?"

"A ravine about two hundreds yards to the north. There's a fir wood, and the ruins of some hut," reported the ranger. "The good news is that I found three clearings there, right behind the ravine, with about thirty wild boars on each, levels 33 to 36. So, we're in luck," Rexar stretched, his joints popping, fished a flask out of his inventory, took a drink, and offered it to the warrior. "I didn't look any further, but there should be more clearings like that further on. We can use the hut as our base—we don't need much, do we? So gather up the party, captain. Let's give them the good news."

"Excuse me, I hope I'm not interrupting anything?" a level 36 assassin materialized out of thin air, his open-palmed hands raised toward Max and Rexar, who instantly jumped to their feet. Taking a step back, he continued. "I have some business with you. It's important."

"Donut?" Max placed his hand on the hilt of his sword, eyeing the figure swathed in dark fabric. "What the hell are you doing here? Have you been following us?"

"I have," the young man smiled, taking the hood off his head. "Fortunately for you."

"You're supposed to be our good fortune now, eh?" Rexar grunted, shifting his weight from one foot to another. Having grabbed the bow from his back, the ranger still held it in his left hand, relaxed yet looking around himself vigilantly.

"Not really," the assassin shrugged. "I mean, I could be, depends on who you ask. But that's not what I'm here." His face suddenly grew serious, and he continued calmly. "You guys are up shit creek without a paddle, and you don't even realize how deep."

"What the hell are you doing here?" Masyanya joined the conversation, the bulk of her bear pet looming behind her. "I thought I told you to leave me alone! Or are you deaf?"

"There's no deafness or any other disabilities in the game," Donut corrected her with a sigh.

"Oh, whatever! Have you been spying on us?"

"Why would anyone spy on you?" the young man chuckled. "You walk like a herd of elephants. A tractor would leave less of a trace. Some dark elves you are, wood lore and all..."

"Who are you to speak..." the huntress hissed, and the fur on the back of the bear's neck bristled. Sensing his mistress' mood, the pet was ready to pounce on the object of her fury.

"Chill, Masyanya, he isn't here for you," the warrior stopped the angry huntress with a placating gesture, then turned back the assassin, and said gruffly. "Now, explain..."

"The Red Ravens are there," Donut nodded in the direction whence he came. "They have blocked the path. There are eight of them already. They are waiting for five more rangers to join them, and then they'll start hunting you. They like your girls, and the rest of you would do as raw materials," he concluded gravely.

"Are these the ones who took out the five Night Blades?" said the huntress, growing pale in the face.

"The very ones," said Donut. Then, seeing the confused looks on the faces of the elves, he explained. "Two weeks ago, five Blades got ambushed. One of them died, and he was the lucky one, even though he got knocked back to 107. When the Blades managed to catch two of the Ravens, they questioned the bastards, and then went straight for their den. They only found twenty six captives there, half of them in a vegetable state... The guys were tortured real bad. They worship a dark god of some sort, so... And the girls..." the young man clenched his teeth, lowering his eyes to the ground. "The girls got it even worse... Fortunately, Vagabond is a stand-up guy—he paid 26 grand to an NPC from Talyan who's an expert in mind magic. The dude promised to wipe the girls' memories of captivity from their minds..."

"How do you know all this?" Rexar put his bow away, eyeing the assassin with suspicion.

"I have a friend who's been with the Blades a few years now—he's already level 160. We played D5 on a few arenas together for a few years."

"D5?"

"Diablo 5," explained Donut. "Those were the days..."

"So how did you manage to get past them? You said there were eight—your invisibility should not have worked," the ranger was unrelenting.

"Duh. Because they're lamers," the assassin chuckled. "All above 120, but no smarter for it. I even managed to eavesdrop on their conversation. Anyway, make up your mind," he raised his eyes at Max, "there isn't much time. You only have two choices. And I'd hate to see Masyanya, or any of you for that matter, end up like—"

"Which choices would those be, now?" Max looked directly into the assassin's eyes, his companions gathered around him.

"I hope you realize that fighting is useless? They don't intend to kill you—they mean to capture you and drag you far away from here through portals," said Donut, and instantly explained, staunching any objections. "One of the mages is wearing a epic Mantle of Passage, so he can stick anyone into a portal, even without making them part of their party."

"Get to get point, will you?" asked Max.

"Isn't it obvious? You have to take turns taking each other down. Or if you find that too distasteful, you can drown yourselves in the swamp," he shrugged. "But you'll lose your equipment in that case, so a sword would be preferable. I'll be able to get back the way I came, and I could take your kitty with me," he nodded in Heliona's direction. "Assuming she'd put two points into invis."

"You mean my invisibility skill?" inquired the woman. "If so, I do indeed have two points there."

"Well, that option is clear," the warrior frowned. "What is the other?"

"We might try pulling off something," the assassin pointed off in the distance. "We can try hiding out in the swamp—there's a spot I'd marked earlier."

"You believe him?" Masyanya gave Max a long stare. "What if there are no Ravens? What if he's just playing one of his usual jokes?"

"You'll have enough time to settle your differences later," Max stopped her. "Donut, join our party." He eyed the faces of his companions and added. "We move out in one minute."

"Max! He's more likely to lead us into an ambush himself!" Masyanya wouldn't stop. "How can you trust him?"

"Anyone who disagrees with me," Max sighed, "is free to leave the party. But so long as I'm the leader, I make the decisions. Do you understand?" he gave the huntress a stern look.

"Sure, whatever," she shrugged. "I'm not going off on my own."

"Rexar," Donut held the ranger by the arm, "You have group camouflage, I hope? The skill that follows Stun in the left talent branch?"

"Nope," the young man shook his head. "I dumped all my points into damage."

"Oh man," said the rogue with rebuke. "Some of you guys never cease to amaze me. Ever tried reading a guide before creating a character? Until you reach level 100 at least, all this damage you've added will do you as much good as..." he gave a wave of the hand. "Max, if you're done, let's hurry up." Donut produced a cylindrical object from his inventory that resembled a two-liter soda bottle. Tearing off the lid, he swung and threw the bottle onto the road that had led them all to this spot. "Follow me, quick!" he shouted when billows of gray smoke began to rise in every direction from the bottle that had smashed open as it hit the ground.

"What was that?" asked Luffy, his mouth agape.

"An item from my class' quest chain. It will hold the pursuers back by exactly one hour," Donut turned around and waved to the mage. "Come on, manga boy, get a move on," and started for the trees.

It took their party roughly two hours to reach the swamp. They didn't talk much along the way, everyone engrossed in their own thoughts. On a few occasions they had to fight groups of five to seven wolves, while most other animals avoided crossing paths with them. Max looked calm on the outside, but doubts kept gnawing at him all the while. He didn't know Donut at all, but there was likewise no reason to trust his words. The young man seemed fond of the huntress, but his silly prank with taming one of the farmers' cows, which resulted in Masyanya making a wide berth whenever she saw that herd, had left the assassin with no hope of ever winning the favor of the vindictive elven maiden. The blonde had quite the temper, and had been bearing a grudge ever since.

"We are here," Donut announced when the party emerged from the forest. The sight that opened before their eyes was rather gloomy.

A marshy plain sprawled as far to the south as they could see, with rare hillocks protruding from the water here and there. The swamp eventually merged with the mist, making it impossible to discern anything three hundred yards away from the shore. Areas of open water alternated with whole colonies of marsh moss that lay on the surface in a solid brown carpet. Suddenly the water started churning not thirty feet from the shore, releasing massive streams of miasma that rose from the surface with a deep muffled sound that made the whole party shudder.

"Now isn't that cute?" grunted Bonbon, sitting down on a stump sticking out of the ground. "Y'all go ahead, I forgot my swimming trunks."

"Well, what now?" Max asked the assassin. "Where exactly are we supposed to hide?"

"Look there," the assassin pointed to a crooked stick near the shore, all covered in moss and mold. "I left this mark during my previous visit. There are some stubby trees growing straight ahead, with nothing but open water between here and there—a little over a thousand feet. Trees only grow on solid soil," he continued. "Obviously, I never ventured there on my own, but I marked the site as a potential hiding place all the same, just in case."

"Do you suggest that we fly?" Rexar grunted.

"Much easier than that. Your druids have Symbiosis—a connecting talent at the fork between intellect and agility. It is a more or less useless feature with a five-minute cooldown, and you cannot transfer anything substantial with it, but it's precisely what we need in our present situation."

"Could you put that in human terms?" Max frowned. "I didn't understand a damn word you said."

"Sorry, I forgot who I was talking to," Donut grinned. "Anyway, your druids cast Symbiosis on me, refreshing it every time it comes off cooldown, and I transfer my Water Walk skill to each member of the group. This buff only works for one minute, but even a turtle could run four hundred yards before it runs out."

"What's going to stop the Ravens from resorting to the same trick? Their rangers will see us on their maps from half a mile away, won't they?" Rexar looked at the assassin with distrust.

"So what? Any damage dealt to whoever walks on the water will dispel the buff. Do you hold them for morons?"

A mournful howl rose over the swamp, heard for miles. It echoed above the water, and was shortly answered by a similar sound from the opposite direction.

"Farmers claim that the Hounds of the Baskervilles howl like that when searching for their prey," Bonbon chuckled, pointing at the swamp with his finger.

"I could do without your humor right now," Alyona shuddered. "It's bad enough as it is..."

"Decide on something already," Donut eyed the flummoxed elves over. "You can always go for the first option—what have you got to lose? Two or three levels are nothing compared to the risks—those Night Blades captives were lucky the Ravens didn't know who they were messing with. Vagabond did place a bounty of 100 gold for each Raven's head brought to him, but I doubt anyone's going to do anything if you lot disappear..."

"There is another option, a much simpler one—the possibility that you're lying through your teeth..."

"Masyanya," Donut looked at the ground. "I really didn't want it to happen that way back then... You know I—"

"Enough chitchat," Max cut him short. "Rexar, you go first. Once you reach the spot, tell us what it's like over there." Then he looked at the assassin and added, "You do realize that in case of anything funny—"

"Sure, you will hunt me down, come hell or high water," Donut finished his thought. "How about we actually stop talking? The smokescreen will only hold them back for an hour. And, believe me, level 100 rangers move twice as fast across woodland as we do. Rexar, you have to run in a perfectly straight line. Ready?"

"It's all good here," Rexar reported some twenty seconds after disappearing into the fog. "A small island sixty feet across. There's some item sticking out of the ground—a sizable two-handed sword with a droplet-shaped pommel. I'm not touching anything until the rest of you arrive."

It took all eight of them about twenty minutes to get to the islet.

"You should warn others in advance," Rexar, who had been watching the water intently, looked sideways at the enormous black panther that was the last to appear. "If you leave me stuttering for the rest of my life, who's gonna read you bedside stories?"

The cat yawned with gusto, stretched, then its silhouette blurred for a moment and transformed into a smiling Heliona. The girl winked to her boyfriend and went to explore the islet, her hips swaying deliberately.

"We don't touch the sword so far," Max commanded in the chat channel. He approached the archers, who were watching the water, and tapped Masyanya on the shoulder. "See anything yet?"

"I wouldn't want to be in your shoes, Max," said Rexar. "If this bozo fails to turn up, there's no way we can leave—we'd have to opt for his first option."

"Stop pestering me, will you?" Max snapped at the ranger, his face suddenly grave. "Silence in the channel!" he hissed, raising his left arm, and stood like that for twenty seconds or so, as if trying to discern a barely audible sound. Turning to the archers while unsheathing his sword for some reason, he bellowed, "Don't shoot!"

The ensuing developments exploded at a frenetic pace. Three figures in blue cloaks, their nicknames floating above their heads in red, emerged from the mist about a hundred yards away, barely within visibility range, and darted for the islet.

"Bastards! They have absorbing shields," whispered the huntress in a voice filled with hatred.

Suddenly the air before the Ravens running in their direction erupted in a flurry of blades. Two of the three mages were instantly sucked in the morass up to their throat. The third jumped forward and started to swim for the islet, making broad strokes with his arms. Donut, having regained visibility for a split second, faded into shadows again, and desperate wailing filled the air above the swamp. A moment later, the heads of the first two mages disappeared underwater, and a stream of choice curses erupted from the other shore.

"Luffy, Masyanya, shoot at the bastard as soon as he's in range," Max commanded briskly, pointing at the level 147 mage nicknamed Anubis swimming in their direction. The archers nocked their bows, but at that very moment the water under the swimmer started to churn. Large jaws flashed, resembling a crocodile's, as a yell of sheer terror rang out over the water, and the unidentified monster disappeared with its quarry, flashing its sides, brown with yellow fragments that looked like scales. A red blob remained on the surface of the water, slowly spreading...

"Fatality! Sub Zero wins!" Donut appeared out of thin air next to them, breathing heavily. "I had no idea they were that stupid."

"What?" Max asked absently, still overwhelmed by what he had just witnessed.

"Never mind!" the assassin lifted his hood and yelled, using his hands as a mouthpiece. "Hey! Losers! Didn't your mom tell you that an assassin's fan ignores shields? No? Go on, send more! There's a level 200 saurian swimming around, and the poor thing's hungry—says three numbskulls ain't enough..." he cracked a wide smile at the barrage of curses in response.

"Donut!" Masyanya turned to the assassin. "Listen... I still think you're a douchebag, and I'll never forget that cow, but... Well, sorry for having doubted you."

"Whoa, dudes, I got three levels for those goons," said a surprised Rexar, frowning from all the expletives flying around.

"Me too!" exclaimed Alyona happily.

"And how long do you plan to hide out there?" a mocking voice came from across the water. "We're not done with you yet, sweet piggies. Tell your women to put their makeup on..."

"Better make sure you have enough lube yourself, you nincompoop!" yelled a happy Donut, winking to Masyanya. "The Blades will be here any moment now, and they'll sure perform a colonoscopy on each of you."

"Bullshit! Where would they come from?" came a somewhat uncertain voice from the other shore.

"Your mages are noobs. They set their traps on the ground without raising their heads once—a level 30 rogue passed by them like he was strolling down an avenue. That was two hours ago, which means they'll be here any minute now!" He turned to the warrior, and continued in a low whisper. "We're real lucky they didn't have any level 150 water mages. Those could freeze water in front of them. But then, I wouldn't have offered this option if they had one."

"Thanks, bro," Max clapped a smiling Donut on the shoulder. "If it weren't for you—"

"It isn't over yet," sighed the assassin. "But they'll beat it, I think."

"Bro?" Masyanya gave Max a long look. "Whatever does that mean?"

"It's a derivative of the word 'brother,' as it turns out," the warrior chortled.

"My name's Grath!" the man from the other shore introduced himself. "Consider this your lucky day, girls."

"The one with a thousand gold coinss on his head courtesy of Vagabond?!" Donut shouted back. "Now why don't you wait a bit? I could really use—"

"You can bleat whatever you like," Grath continued. "But I promise all of you that we'll meet again. Say hi to your redhead for me," he guffawed. "She's just my type."

"Now listen here, dickhead!" Max couldn't control himself. But then, realizing there was nothing else to say, he waved his hand in frustration and fell silent.

"Do you think they'll leave?" asked Rexar, his eyes boring the surface of the water.

"They will, for the time being—they have no water mages left, and I haven't seen a single shaman or assassin, meaning they have no attackers left," Donut shrugged. "But things will be a lot more complicated for all of us from now on."

"All of us?" Masyanya recoiled, giving him a searching look.

"Well, it appears that I'm one of you now," the rogue turned toward Max. "Will you take me?"

"Do you even have to ask?" Max chuckled. "Tell me, is Vagabond the Night Blades' clan leader?"

"Yup, and he's one serious customer," nodded Donut. "A former hedge fund manager from Moscow. He transferred all his funds into cyberspace, built a castle in the Wilderness, and got everyone organized. The Blades used to be seventh in the dark elf clan rankings. I don't know what happened to the rankings since, though..."

"Why didn't you join them?" Masyanya squinted suspiciously. "You have a friend there, after all, and you're pretty skilled—much better than us noobs."

"They have crazy discipline there, like a proper army," the assassin snorted. "I'll have none of that—I'm a free spirit. I also have some differences with their leadership. Besides, Masyanya isn't with them... Incidentally, am I forgiven?"

"I'll think about it," smiled the elven maiden. "But another prank like that, and—"

"I'll behave," Donut made puppy dog eyes. "By the way, didn't you mention a sword of some kind?"

Judging by the hilt, the sword had been there for many years. The leather braiding had rotted through and fallen apart long ago, and the enormous green stone in the pommel had tarnished. Yet, the visible part of the blade, made of an unknown dark metal, had not a trace of rust upon it.

"Geez louise!" whispered a flabbergasted Donut, squatting next to the sword in the ground. "Noobs and fools are indeed lucky!"

"What is it?" Max frowned, bending over the hilt as well. "Is anything wrong?"

"Do you have any idea what this is?" the assassin pointed his finger at the black metal of the blade, and eyed the fighters gathered around him.

"Get on with it already!" Masyanya expressed what everybody felt, shuffling from foot to foot in anticipation. "Tell us."

"It's the legendary black iron! The metal of the gods! Only maybe fifty players have seen it in four years. It can hide its true nature and take on the semblance of simple steel, but here..."

"So what do we do with it?" Max asked of the assassin.

"Pull it out," Donut rose from the ground and stepped away from the protruding sword, gesturing to the warrior to go ahead. "You're the only one here who fights with a two-hander," he noted with a heavy sigh.

With a shrug, Max bent over the hilt, got a good grip on it, and gave it a sharp tug. A deafening crack was heard above their heads, and nine pairs of eyes gazed at the two-foot fragment of a gigantic black sword. The system log displayed the following information:

You've accessed the quest: Restoring the Shrine.

Quest type: hidden, chain.

Restore the shrine of Kirana, Goddess of Vengeance, destroyed by the disavowed.

Reward: experience, increased reputation with the dark elves, unknown.

You've accessed the quest: Restoring the Shrine I.

Quest type: hidden, chain.

Walk the phantom path and place the fragment of Inexorable on the altar of the destroyed shrine.

Reward: experience, increased reputation with the dark elves, unknown.

Attention! The time for completing this quest is limited. The phantom path will disappear in 12 hours.

11:59:59... 11:59:58...11:59:57...

"Bingo!" yelloed Donut, taking Masyanya in his arms and spinning her around a few times. "What a lucky son of a gun you are, Max! A hidden quest for the entire party in their thirties! I've never heard of anything like it." Putting the screaming girl back on the ground, the assassin looked about himself, and stuck a finger toward the southern end of the islet. "There's the path!"

"Donut, who's Kirana?" Alyona looked at the assassin inquisitively. "I didn't see this goddess on the list."

"Who cares if she's on the list or not?! What count is that we got a quest—we'll find out the details along the way."

"Bah, and I was just priming for a nap," Bonbon covered his yawn with a hand. "But this looks important..."

"Napping is for losers!" the assassin grunted, and gave Max, still holding on to the sword fragment in bewilderment, a tap on the shoulder. "Give your orders, captain—the countdown has begun!"

In less than two minutes, the party took their first step on the phantom path, glowing blue in the twilight that fell over the swamp, leading deep into the mist. Their spirits were high.

May-July, 2014

Moscow

[1]
Masyanya (Мася́ня) is a popular Russian adult online cartoon. The title character is a woman in her twenties who lives in an apartment in St. Petersburg. Masyanya has an oval-shaped head and always wears a miniskirt and a shirt with a bare midriff.