Date: 2014-01-02 05:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Fantasy; Science Fiction
Description: The much-anticipated second novel in the bestselling Fayroll series. Get ready for more epic battles, legendary artifacts, and incredible quests… As Harriton’s Fayroll articles spark interest and his real world career seems to pick up, he remains a low-level noob in the challenging virtual world of Fayroll. Although he is an incredibly lucky noob. Without breaking a sweat, Harry – a.k.a. Hagen the Warrior – stumbles across one of the most coveted “hidden” quests. He is to save the four Dryad sisters starting with Ogina in the East. As he haphazardly sets out on The Long Road East… He manages t
Publisher: LitWorld

The Road East

Fayroll

Book Two

Andrey Vasilyev

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

All rights reserved.

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Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter One

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re kidding! And did you?”

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

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

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

“What people?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, that won’t work.”

“And why not?”

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

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

“But what happened? What’s the rush?”

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

“And put on a clean pair of underwear?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I stared at him. “Seriously?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why every Thursday?” I asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Valyaev and Zimin exchanged a quick glance. Apparently, I’d said something I shouldn’t have.

“Or maybe an analysis of the different classes. ‘A Closer Look: Mages.’”

“Not bad. If you’re in charge, you’ll decide what you want to print and where. You’ll get good people, all graduates with honors from the best journalism programs in the country, so work them hard.”

“And who’s paying for the supplement? Where are we getting the financing?” asked Mammoth in his most choir-boy voice.

“We’re the owners, so we’re financing the project,” answered Zimin coldly. “And given that we’re the owners of the whole newspaper, if we say you’re going to finance it, that’s exactly what you’ll do. Nothing personal; it’s just business. Do you have any objections to that?”

“Of course not,” answered Mammoth. “I was just asking.”

Valyaev turned back to me. “On paper, you’ll be employed by the Capital Herald, but you’ll actually work for Raidion. One of our security officers will get in touch with you, just so you know—don’t worry about it. That’s just the procedure we have for all new employees. He’ll come see you and walk through everything you need to know and sign. Then we'll have someone stop by on the 25th of every month to drop off the money for your salary and your staff's salary. To start off, you'll be getting—”

He interrupted himself to glance quickly at Mammoth, who was obviously interested in what he was about to say next, and instead wrote a number on a business card he pulled out of his pocket. I was stunned, to say the least.

“Does that work for you?” Valyaev looked at me. “Incidentally, keep the card—my cell phone is almost always on. Kit, give him your card, too.”

“Phew,” I answered wordlessly.

“That pretty much takes care of the business side of things. We’ll mail you the main documents you need as well as information about your new staff.” Zimin looked over at Mammoth.

“Okay, Semyon Ilyich, let’s talk about what we need from you. Have your people set up an office big enough for four people to work in as well as an adjoining office for Nikiforov. Plus, everything they need: printers, scanners, and the rest. And make sure you streamline everything for them! Get that all done today so they can be at their desks working tomorrow.”

“But we don’t have enough space—” Mammoth started to respond, but was interrupted by Zimin.

“You know, this office would probably work for Nikiforov.” He looked at the ceiling pointedly.

“Oh, you know, we have three offices in the left wing.” Mammoth clapped his hand to his forehead. “They’ll be perfect—practically mansions. Harriton, buddy, you know what I’m talking about, right? I’ll go get things taken care of right now!”

“Good work, Semyon Ilyich,” said Valyaev. “Let’s do this: go ahead and personally make sure that everything gets done. That should take you ten minutes or so. Just make sure these guys have computers, pens, paper, and everything else they need to start work tomorrow. Okay?”

“Got it,” Mammoth said. “You always have to keep an eye on these things. If you don’t do it yourself, nobody will. Can I go?”

“What are you asking me for?” Zimin said with surprise. “This is your newspaper, your office. We’re just guests. Of course, you can go.”

Mammoth left, gently closing the door behind him.

Zimin walked over and made sure it was closed before pulling some kind of shiny tool out of his pocket. He moved around the room with it and listened to the cheeping sound it made.

“Oh, come on, Max. What, you think he’s CIA or FBI? It’s just a normal building with a normal newspaper,” Valyaev said lazily.

“Kit, you know me—you can never be too careful. Besides, there’s something about that Ilyich that doesn’t sit right with me. Ilyiches are all like that—you have to keep an eye on them. Okay, it’s clean.”

“I didn’t doubt it. So, Harriton, can we talk about a couple other things?”

I realized the real conversation was about to start.

“Why not?” I answered as easily as I could, wondering what I could have done wrong. The only things I could think of were stealing Andrey Mozheyko’s toy car in kindergarten and dumping carbide in the toilet at school.

“Relax, you didn’t do anything,” said Valyaev amiably. “Quite the contrary…”

“Well, sort of,” noted Zimin.

“What are you talking about?” I tried to look as thoughtful as I could.

“You weren’t the one who played the little joke in the gaming community?” asked Zimin.

“What joke?” I asked almost sincerely. It was obvious what they were talking about, though I wouldn’t have called it a joke. I just wanted to see how the community would react to something that sensational. So, I started a rumor that some noob got an epic quest accidentally, you know, just the usual… But the twins obviously knew it was me, and that wasn’t good.

“What joke? I think you know, Mr. Buzdigan,” said Valyaev with a grunt.

Zimin was right there to back him up. “Quite the screen name you picked. Wow.”

“Calm down,” Valyaev said. “You didn’t know it, but you triggered the mechanism for a project Max and I worked on for a year and a half. We’d just spent three months racking our brains trying to figure out how to do just that. Then you came along with your little joke and got it all going. You even got the right quest.”

“The one from the dryad?” I decided not to play dumb anymore, seeing as how they apparently already knew everything.

“Yes. We added the quest and the dryad a year and a half ago, back when there were just the first hints of a global game-wide event that would turn things upside down and rebalance the game world. The quest conditions were impossible, too: save the character right when she was being killed by a player, and the chances of that happening were miniscule. Then there was the choice between the three bonuses… Put it this way, in the entire history of the game, only eight people saved her when they were supposed to. Only two of them got to the second bonus, and you were the only one who got to the third. We didn’t think it was possible that someone would willingly decline the pet and the gold.”

I was taken aback. “But she told me there were a lot of people like me?”

“What did you expect? She told you what she was programmed to say,” answered Valyaev.

Zimin took over from there. “When we realized that someone had gotten the quest to save the dryad, we were shocked. And just imagine how thrilled we were to stop arguing about whether it was worth going through with the whole thing or not. The point of no return was behind us. We decided to keep tabs on you, seeing as how you’d triggered the main mechanism…and then you and your Buzdigan went and played your little joke! We never imagined that it was so simple to take five minutes and do what we’d been gradually pushing toward for so long.”

“We were planning on just having an employee start playing the game and get everything going. You know, play a role, earn some fame, and then activate the project.”

“But what’s the project?” I had to ask. “Activate what?”

“You really don’t know what we’re talking about?” My new employers looked at each other. “Come on!”

“I don’t,” I said with complete sincerity.

“The dryad quest and the dryads themselves are the triggers for another huge quest,” said Zimin slowly.

“What quest?” I had no idea what to think.

“A quest to bring the Old Gods back to the Fayroll world,” Valyaev said calmly. “And you started it, so you have to finish it. That’s the global scenario, and it has to happen one way or another.”

Chapter Two

In which the hero is astounded yet again by the variety of life.

“Wow!” was all I could think to say.

“Is that amazement, indignation, or surprise?” Zimin asked in the same friendly tone.

“I have no idea,” I answered truthfully. “To be honest, I wasn’t really planning on jumping back into Fayroll.”

“Why not?” Valyaev was taken aback. “You didn’t like it? Everything’s gone pretty well with you. You got into a good clan, you’re leveling up fairly quickly, and you’ve gotten some fun quests. Even beyond the dryads, you got the quest with the witcher—and not many players do. It isn’t completely unique, of course, but it’s rare. You got a set item from it, too, and all at Level 33.”

Zimin sat up. “Wait, really? I missed that. What did you get?”

“Lichtenshtain’s shield,” I answered.

“Ah, from the Shield and Sword set. Well, you’ll have problems with the sword. Getting it is tricky.”

“Yeah, you have to get all the way to the Skeleton Emperor on the left bank of the Crisna,” I said, carefully watching his face.

“Yeah, we did a good job with that one.” Zimin smiled, shook his head, and stared at me. “You sly dog! Kit, he got me!”

Valyaev laughed. “Nice, Nikiforov. Did you figure it out yourself?”

“Yes, as soon as I heard about the emperor’s sword,” I answered. “It was pretty simple, same as with the witcher. If a normal player who doesn’t have the shield gets it, they walk away with an elite sword. But if the player with the shield is on the raid, and he gets to the emperor, then he gets the set item. There’s a problem with that, though.”

“Oh, yes?” The pair stared at me.

“Whatever happens, the sword will be ticketed for the clan storehouse. The set will never be collected. Either that, or only the best of the best will get it, though they almost certainly won’t have the shield. And if they do, and the clan finds out, they’ll have to give both of them up. I’d say there’s a 99 percent chance of that happening— if whoever has the shield even gets to the palace. So what happens in the end?”

“We’ll have to think about that. Maybe we can change things around, add the sword as a reward for some kind of hidden quest,” said Valyaev.

“That would be better,” I said. “It would be fair, at least. Just make sure that it really is random, and not like with the landlord’s crown. A friend of mine killed him a hundred times and still never got it. He was pretty torn up about that.”

Valyaev’s eyes narrowed. “The landlord’s crown. Harriton, are you talking about the one by Mettan?”

“Exactly.”

Zimin leaned forward and asked a question of his own. “And who’s your friend?”

“Just another player,” I answered, mentally kicking myself for saying too much. “We killed some PKers together.”

“And he never got the crown?”

“Not as of then. I think he decided to give up.” I decided to cover for Wanderer.

“Got it.”

My interrogators looked at each other, and I decided to quickly change the subject before they could ask me what the player’s name was.

“Anyway, I have a request.” I looked at my new employers.

“Yes?”

“Call me Kif. I’m not a big fan of my first or last name and, this way, we both can forget about them… I think you know what I mean.”

“Kif it is,” said Zimin with a shrug. “In that case, Kif, let’s talk about what you’re going to do, what you aren’t going to do, and what you’ll be getting for all that.”

“Sounds good,” I said, wondering what he meant by “what you’ll be getting.” Was it the carrot or the stick?

“You have two very doable assignments. The first and most important is to play the game. Just imagine—that’s what you’re supposed to do. Sure, you don’t have to go crazy or anything, but still. You need to go east like all the characters have been telling you.”

“Ah-ha, so that was your doing,” I said. “And here everyone’s been telling me that it’s just the program giving me advice…”

“The game does have that functionality. But in your case, we did a little extra pushing,” admitted Valyaev modestly.

“Well, I’m already going in that direction.” I even waved my hand generally eastward.

“Yeah, and you’re off to a good start, what with your discount at the port and your new fiancée.” Valyaev grinned and smoothly switched to a more familiar tone.

Zimin turned to him in surprise. “What fiancée?”

“Seriously, Max, have you read any of the reports on him?” Valyaev was outraged. “He hooked up with a vila!”

Zimin looked at me and shook his head.

“What an idiot. A vila. Ha! A vila!”

When even the developers are telling you you’re an idiot, you start to wonder what exactly you got yourself into. You missed something, and maybe something big.

“Well, he did what he did,” Valyaev said, going back to the topic at hand. “That’s his business. Though, yes, he’s an idiot. Now, you need to go east and make sure you start really moving things along.”

“Give me some money for the boat, and I’ll be there in a couple days. Or just give me a portal,” I said. “What’s the problem?”

“If it was that simple, we’d have just sent one of our employees,” answered Zimin. “When we wrote the whole thing, we made it so that the player has to find his way between the dryads naturally.”

“What does that mean?” I asked, not quite understanding.

“How do I explain this? Okay, let’s say the player has already been to Selgar. In that case, he can port there, go find the dryad, and finish the quest at a standard difficulty level. But if he hasn’t been there, and we port him there all of a sudden outside the normal game flow, then the quest difficulty will jump by a factor of fourteen.”

“Why fourteen?”

“You think I know?” Valyaev obviously had no desire to further discuss the topic.

“Well, I do, anyway,” announced Zimin. “You shouldn’t have been drinking beer after cognac. ‘It can’t be just anyone! It isn’t a quest; it’s a legend! This will go down in the annals of online gaming!’” He was obviously having a little fun at his partner’s expense.

Paying no attention to the crestfallen Valyaev, Zimin continued.

“We had way too much to drink, and Kit wrote a spy program to ensure that the dryad quest is completed honestly. Once he was done, he imported it into the body of the game. The very core. He got it stuck in there so well,” Zimin said in a confiding tone, “that if you try to extract it or write over it, the whole thing will crash and burn. He’s a genius, that’s a fact. But thanks to that fact and our little genius here, you’ll have to march your way across the continent on your own two legs. The game will track you as you try to complete the quest. If we just give you money, the quest could very well become impossible for you to beat. Maybe not, but probably. We can’t have that, so we won’t be helping you trek east. Does that make sense?”

“Well, why don’t you give me money for beating some other quest? Or will the game see that?”

“Of course it will see it. Each quest has its standard rewards. Stop trying to look for options, and don’t try to be clever about it—just get into the capsule and start walking east.”

“So, I won’t get any help at all?”

“Not in the game. Or at least, nothing that will give you an unfair advantage. No items, gold, abilities—nothing.”

“What if I need help that doesn’t give me an unfair advantage?”

Zimin and Valyaev glanced at each other.

“For instance?”

“Well, like what if I need to quickly take care of an argument or report someone? Shouldn’t I have some kind of benefits or advantages?”

“Oh, that’s what you’re talking about. In that case, just call an admin and tell him,” Zimin said, hesitating for a second, “…mm…‘Code 33.’ We’ll assign it to you today.”

“Any admin?”

“Do you know a lot of them?”

“Some,” I answered with quiet dignity. “Number Nineteen, for example.”

“Then call Number Nineteen.”

If there was almost nothing I could get out of them, the least I could do was get that almost nothing. It was better than absolutely nothing.

“Okay, so, if I understand you correctly,” I said, wrapping up everything I’d heard, “I need to get to the East without any help, deal with the dryad there, and then go wherever she sends me.”

“Correct.” Zimin nodded.

That was that. Off you go, little boy. There’s a dryad out there crying her little eyes out.

“What if my clan ports me there? I could tell them about the quest—”

“Don’t do that,” said Valyaev seriously. “Don’t tell the clan anything. Yet, at least. Don’t tell them about anything we’ve talked about or, by the way, that you edit the Fayroll Times. Nobody needs to know that.”

“Um-m…” I said, shuffling my feet.

“What?”

“Someone already knows… Well, knows I’m associated with the articles.”

Zimin looked at me attentively. “Who?”

“Fat Willie knows. I mean, Wild Willie. In the game, his name is Wild Willie from the Messengers of the Wind clan.”

“Oh, right, you mentioned them in one of your articles. They paid you, I guess?”

“Yes, 100 gold, you know, to get their name out there…”

“I like this guy,” said Zimin. “Kit, take care of Willie.”

My eyes widened, and Zimin was quick to notice.

“We’re not going to kill him! Who do you think we are?” He laughed and glanced at Valyaev. “Kit will talk to him in the game and give him two choices. You know, like Neo. Remember the Matrix?”

“Of course.” I nodded. “It’s a classic.”

“Yup. The first option will be for him and his clan to clear out a brand new dungeon with great bonuses—we’ll take care of that. The second will be for his clan to start having lots of things go wrong for them. We’ll also put him on the blacklist for a good hundred players who used to like him, and we’ll even make sure they’re all high-level. All we’ll ask for is his silence. Which option do you think he’ll pick?”

“I don’t doubt which one he’ll go for.”

“Excellent. And nobody else knows about your job?”

“No, that’s it. But by the way, about travel, what if I just ask someone from the clan to port me over there without telling—”

“There’s an 80 percent chance the result will be the same—the quest will become impossible for you to beat.”

“Then it’s going to take me a while to get there.”

“Just get there when you can. You have six months,” said Valyaev.

“Why six months?”

“First of all, that will give us enough time to get everything ready. Second, in six months, you’re supposed to get married to the vila.”

“Well, the vila isn’t that important,” I said with a chuckle.

The twins looked at each other and shook their heads.

“That’s what you think…”

“Regardless, believe me, six months isn’t that long,” Zimin said with a smile. “When you’re working with Nikita and me, time tends to fly by. Life is one adventure after another. But you’ll see what I mean. Oh, and there’s that other assignment we need to discuss.”

“Right, the newspaper…” I didn’t notice that Zimin was shaking his head quietly.

“No, no,” he said. “The newspaper is your job. Your assignments are your assignments. Don’t mix the two up.”

I looked at him in surprise. “I thought the newspaper and the game were related?”

“Well, in a way, yes,” answered Valyaev evasively. “Still, they’re very much separate. So the second thing—”

“Right,” said Zimin, jumping in. “Since you were nice enough to agree to one service, I imagine you won’t refuse us a second. Maybe a third, too, or however many we need.”

“You want me to be your hitman?” I was clueless.

Zimin and Valyaev looked at each other and burst out laughing.

“Of course not,” said Valyaev as he wiped away a tear. “We have other people for that. No, we need you to do something else. Once in a while, we’ll ask you to do things for us in the game. You know, go somewhere, tell someone something, do something… We’ll tell you when the time comes. Obviously, it won’t be anything you can’t handle.”

“But why me?” That I couldn’t figure out. “You probably have tons of people who can go wherever they want.”

“Don’t worry about that,” said Valyaev, a frown flitting across his face. “Is it that hard to meet your employer in the middle?”

“No, of course not. I’m just worried that if you send me somewhere eastward, it’ll cause problems. You know, because of everything we just talked about.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll make sure everything is all right,” said Zimin with a wave of his hand. “Remember, the program only watches for possible cheating in terms of game progress when it comes to the dryad quest. If you port somewhere up north to have a snowball fight with some yetis, there won’t be any consequences. Don’t forget that the game tracks brain impulses.”

“Wait, so it’s in my head?” I didn’t like that sound of that.

“It’s in everyone’s head,” said Zimin coldly.

Valyaev backed him up. “What did you think?”

“Whew, boy,” I said, exhaling.

“Cutting-edge technology,” said Zimin. Valyaev pointed his index finger upward suggestively.

“Wait a second.” My inquisitive brain was having a hard time believing that it was impossible to fool the program. “What if I port north now, discover some spot, and then the next dryad happens to be there. Could I port back?”

Zimin and Valyaev exchanged a glance.

“Nice thinking, huh?” said Valyaev.

Zimin nodded.

“Technically, yes. If you’ve already been to the area due to some other reason, that will work, though it couldn’t be part of an effort to visit as many areas as possible.”

“Got it. In that case, I’m in—the more places I visit, the better.”

“We may not ask you to do anything that often, and we may never actually need you in the first place. Maybe we will. Still, we need you to agree,” said Zimin.

“At the same time, we don’t want to risk tampering with the program and missing out on the global event, so I’ll say this again, don’t expect any in-game help from the corporation. It’s all on you,” said Valyaev dramatically.

“Understood.” I fiddled with the piece of paper in my hand. The number on it was enough to have me happily pouring concrete or removing waste, not to mention playing a game.

“Then let’s discuss your compensation,” started Zimin again.

My jaw nearly hit the floor as I glanced back at the paper. Some other compensation? Weren’t they already giving me plenty?

“In addition to the number I wrote for you, you’ll get the same amount every month,” said Valyaev. “Why are you looking at me like that? You have two jobs, so you should get two salaries. We’re nothing if not fair.”

“And once you finish the quest, at least if you finish it successfully, we’ll give you a bonus, obviously,” added Zimin.

“Of course, that’s only if you work with us, do what we ask you to do, and don’t compromise the corporation,” said Valyaev.

“Phew,” I said with a long whistle. “I never thought I’d say this, but isn’t that a lot for just one person?”

“Of course not,” Zimin said amiably. “You don’t know what it’s like to be an employee—a mid-level employee, I might add—of a big corporation. These aren’t huge sums; you just aren’t used to them.”

“Sure, if you compare them to today’s newspaper salaries, they sound more impressive,” noted Valyaev.

“But believe me, if you keep your nose clean and do good work, this is just a starting point,” said Zimin, completing my amazement.

“I’m afraid to even think what the bonus could be…” I muttered.

“The bonus?” Zimin said with a smile. “We usually prefer something more meaningful and material than monetary bonuses. In your case…oh, I don’t know…maybe this newspaper?” He looked at Valyaev.

“Why not? Good idea,” the latter said approvingly.

You could have knocked me over with a feather. It was something like all the movies I’d seen and books I’d read where Satan comes to earth to tempt humans. Though that didn’t actually happen. But what would I do with a newspaper? My friend Yuri’s the one who dreamed of having his own media empire. I couldn’t have cared less.

“Well, Kif, what do you think about the newspaper? Or would you rather have something else?” Zimin asked grandly.

“Hmm,” I said, whistling again. “Can I take some time to think about that? You can’t just make decisions like that on a whim.”

“Good call,” agreed Valyaev. “You’re obviously a pragmatic, thoughtful person.”

“But is everything else good with you?” Zimin looked at me inquiringly.

“Deal?” asked Valyaev.

“Deal!” I answered. “You said it yourself—I’m a pragmatic person.”

“Excellent, we were right about you,” Zimin said with a boisterous clap. “In the next couple days, one of our people—the one I mentioned—will come by with some papers to sign. Get everything set up with your staff here, but don’t worry too much about that. We have some smart people, so they’ll pick things up themselves. Make one of them your assistant, since you’ll have more important things to do than hold people’s hands here. For instance, you can have meetings every Tuesday to go through their material and send it off to be printed. Just make sure that there’s a Fayroll Times in all the newsstands, online, and on our desks every Thursday. Again, don’t worry about the details. Your main focus needs to be the game.”

“Oh, and also,” Valyaev said, “I think I already mentioned this, but feel free to fire anyone you’re not happy with. Just call us, and we’ll find replacements. We have people lining up to come work for us, so that’s better than wasting time and energy on people you don’t like. Especially time.”

Zimin walked over to the door and opened it. “Mr. Head Editor, come on in.”

Mammoth walked into the office and flashed a haunted smile. I suddenly felt uncomfortable.

“Yes?” he asked, looking devotedly at Zimin.

“Is everything all set?” asked Zimin.

“Yes, they’ll be ready to go tomorrow,” said Mammoth helpfully (I didn’t even know that was a talent of his.)

“Great. My assistant will send you the information about your four new people. Their passes and papers will all be ready. Let them get some experience,” he said, looking at me when he added the last line.

I nodded. Sounded good to me.

“Oh, and also,” Zimin continued quietly but distinctly, making sure that every word was heard, “remember that Nikiforov is now untouchable. Not a word, not a glance—got it? He’s under our protection now. He’s with us.”

“Of course, of course,” murmured Mammoth. “Makes sense.”

“Great,” said Valyaev with a wide smile. “Then we’re off.”

They shook our hands and walked out the door.

“Oh, Kif,” said Zimin, looking back through. “What was the name of the player who kept killing the landlord? The one who couldn’t get the crown.”

Sorry, Wanderer. Nothing I can do.

“Wanderer,” I said firmly.

My new masters looked at each other, nodded, and left.

“Ooph,” said Mammoth as he collapsed into his chair, pulled out a checkered handkerchief, and started wiping the sweat off his face. “Thank God they’re gone.”

“Yup,” I said.

“‘Yup,’” repeated Mammoth. “So they hired you?”

“Yes. It’s good money. I wonder if it’s some kind of trick.”

“No, it’s definitely not a trick, but what do you have to do for them?” asked Mammoth quietly and sadly.

“Good, honest work,” I answered.

“Well, that’s good. Okay, get out of here.”

Mammoth flopped down dejectedly in his chair, and I felt sorry for him. He’d been such a strong person, and the twins went through him in all of ten minutes like he was nothing more than a paper doll.

“Semyon Ilyich, by the way, you knew you weren’t going to yell at me. So, what did you want to enjoy?”

Mammoth grunted. “Did I have you squirming?”

“Yes.”

“Then I enjoyed it.”

I walked out of the office, winked at Zhanna, and started home.

“Don’t forget to bring me a magnet,” she called at my retreating figure.

On the way home, I tried to figure out what had just happened. Either I’d gotten seriously lucky, or I was just as seriously screwed. A couple of less-than-healthy chicken sandwiches at my favorite KFC didn’t clarify anything.

“Forget it,” I said finally. “We’ll see what happens. The money is real, and it’s good for my career. Who knows what will happen?”

Once home, I had a smoke before realizing what I had to do next.

Let’s do this.

And I climbed into the capsule.

I was sitting on the same shore, though this time, it was day and Wanderer was no longer next to me. I hoped I hadn’t screwed him over too badly. Judging by how gloomy he was, all he needed was the twins making his life even more miserable.

Something flashed in the corner of my eye and I pulled up the interface to see that my inbox was frantically pulsing. Both of them, in fact.

I opened the internal messaging system and whistled—I had messages coming out my ears, and almost all of them were from Gerv. Where are you? Let me know as soon as you log in. This is ridiculous. Like some kind of girl. Maybe he was in love with me? I vowed never to visit any saunas with him just in case.

Anyway, all joking aside, I needed to write back. I opened the form.

Gerv, I’m in the game. Hagen.

My duty to the clan done, I set off for Mettan, where I wanted to count the money in my chest and get started eastward. I figured I would take the boat as far as I could, and then start walking from there. What choice did I have? Beggars can’t be choosers.

I didn’t even get to the gate before my inbox dinged.

Finally, you bastard. Port to Eiberger, to the Wild Hearts citadel.

I thought he might have been off his rocker, but he was still above me in the clan. I wrote back succinctly.

Where?

The answer was instantaneous.

Oh, right. Where are you now?

In Mettan.

Go to the square and wait for me. I’ll be there in five minutes.

Then wait I would. All I did was take a quick jaunt to Spain, and when I got back, I had everyone looking for me in real life and in the game. It was a full and varied life I was leading—everyone needed me. All I needed was someone to just up and drop something in my pocket—you know, mythical chainmail, the Sword of a Thousand Truths, Duke Nukem’s jetpack, or Gordon Freeman’s crowbar—and I’d be really set.

A portal opened up and spat out Gerv, who was obviously fighting mad.

“Where were you, moron?” He started right in on me without bothering to spend time on banalities like saying hi or shaking my hand.

He seemed to have forgotten that I’d already told him where I was and what I was doing.

Like I was going to tell him where I was and what I was doing. “I was at home, but the internet was out. The provider had some sort of glitches so I couldn’t get into the game.”

“That’s no excuse. You could have written from your phone, for example.”

“Written to whom? The man in the moon?”

“No, on our site, in the special topic.”

“Oh, Gerv, that didn’t even cross my mind. Sorry about that.”

“Apparently not. Elina and I have been looking high and low for you for four days.”

“Why?”

Gerv stared daggers at me.

“Didn’t I tell you to read the forum?”

“Yes…”

“Did you?”

“No, I didn’t have time. And then the internet went out.”

“Then that’s why you don’t know that the Hounds of Death declared war on the Wild Hearts.”

“Oh, wow. But what does that have to do with me?”

“Our clan signed an agreement with the Hounds to ally with them in the assault on the Hearts’ citadel.”

“But everyone there is probably level 60 or higher! What good will I do?”

“That’s true, but the Gray Witch had a personal request.”

“What was it?”

“She wanted you to participate in the citadel assault. So that’s what will happen.”

Chapter Three

In which the hero spends some time in high society and even benefits from his time there.

What’s going on today? I can’t catch a break!

“Come on, come on. They’re about ready to start the attack!” Gerv had no patience for my musings. “Do you have anything else you have to do here?”

“Yes,” I said, disgruntled. “I’m supposed to pack myself onto a boat and sail as far down the river as my money will take me.”

“Not funny. Okay, let’s go.”

Gerv opened a portal, and I stepped in behind him.

We walked out onto a small plain not far from the tree line. All around us were tents and pavilions, over which flew flags and pennants of different shapes and colors. Nearly all of them featured the same figure: a dog with a human skull, symbol of the Hounds of Death, I figured. On a small hill some distance off, was a huge red and brown pavilion that I assumed was the Gray Witch’s headquarters. At the other end of the plain, loomed a castle with heavily blackened walls, and behind it, a river ribboned off into the distance.

“The war camp,” said Gerv.

Yes, I got that. Players stood between the pavilions and scurried around them, and I couldn’t help but notice that they were all high-level. Some carried bundles of weapons—swords and bows—somewhere; others discussed some obviously pressing issues. A group of mages was clustered off by themselves, their robes, staffs, and beards blowing in the wind, giving them away. They were animatedly discussing something, as well.

“I figured as much,” I answered Gerv. “Where are we going?”

“Where do you think? Over there.” He pointed to the big pavilion.

“Are you sure we should? I mean, seriously, what do they need from me?”

“Are you kidding me? We’re just following orders. Come on, let’s go.”

I had the feeling that I was under guard. We were accompanied by the wondering gaze of many on either side who couldn’t figure out what someone with my miserly level could be doing walking into the Gray Witch’s pavilion.

“Hey, how did this fight between the Hearts and the Hounds even get started?” I asked Gerv. “What are they fighting over?”

“Formally, they had a disagreement over a dungeon,” Gerv said lazily. “Really, it’s all about influence.”

“What disagreement could you have over a dungeon?”

“It’s simple. What kinds of dungeons are there? Well, there are quest-related dungeons. They’re available to everyone, so the kids take their girlfriends there to level-up and show off their biceps. Those dungeons never disappear. Then there are territorial or, as I call them, entourage dungeons. You know, every good forest needs a dungeon with a legend. The legends themselves are barely worth the name, but the bosses at the end aren’t bad, and the loot is what you’d expect. There are also variable dungeons that appear and disappear whenever the developers want them to. If you find one, you’re in for a treat.”

“What kind of treat?” I was starting to understand how Zimin and Valyaev would incentivize Fat Willie to keep his mouth closed.

“You usually get something really good there, though only the clan that beats the dungeon first gets it. It isn’t just your normal extra level-up bonus, you know, like +20 percent experience or a ‘you beat it first’ badge. Nothing like that. You go there for the loot.”

“Epic or legendary?”

“You get those, too, but they’re far from the main attraction in new dungeons. You can get scrolls with new high-level abilities. Not in all of them, not even most of the time, but you can.”

“Abilities? Oh, come on. What are the instructors for?”

“The instructors are fine, of course, but they can only teach you so much. After Level 100, there’s no point in even going anymore. There are a few quests that let you learn new abilities, too, but you have to get them. Sometimes, set items get you abilities, too, though only when you have the whole set—and that’s incredibly hard to do. Plus, the abilities only work when you have the whole set with you.”

That’s for sure. I recalled how getting my hands on the sword for my set would give me three abilities. What quest will the twins add the sword to? I wondered.

“Long story short, dungeons are really the only place you can get new abilities. There, you can get them from a monster, a boss, or even a chest—but only the first time through. That’s it. You can beat them as many times as you want and get all kinds of goodies, but you won’t get scrolls. Then a little while later, the dungeon disappears, only to reappear somewhere else. Randomly.”

“Got it. So the Hounds came across a new dungeon. By the way, how do you know they’re new? I mean, besides hearing someone say, ‘Oh, hey, that wasn’t there yesterday.’”

“When you go in, you hear fanfare. That’s all. Once you kill the final boss, the dungeon is beaten, along with everything we just talked about. That’s why you always save the boss for last. First, you make sure you’ve explored every nook and cranny.”

“But what if you just don’t kill the boss? Wait for the respawn and—”

“Oh, aren’t you clever? Nope. Nothing respawns until you beat the boss. But, like I said, he doesn’t always have the scrolls. They could be in chests, barrels, piles of trash in dark corners…anywhere. It’s absolutely random.”

“How do they divvy up the scrolls they find?”

“They don’t. Scrolls belong to the clan and are given to the players the clan leadership deems worthy.”

“So, the scrolls only work once?”

“Of course.”

“I wonder what you’d get for one of them at the auction,” I said thoughtfully.

“Quite a sweet chunk of change,” answered Gerv with a nod.

I abruptly went back to the original topic. “So, what happened with the Hearts and the Hounds?”

“Well, naturally, the Hounds found a dungeon on the edge of the Fettakh Desert, so they set up a pennant and guard just like they’re supposed to,” said Gerv with some enjoyment. “Everything on the up-and-up. But then fifty Hearts showed up and claimed it was their scout who found the dungeon and therefore their right to sweep it. The Hounds’ guards told them they didn’t know what was going on, that they were just told to guard it. But they figured that the pennant flying there meant it belonged to the Hounds.”

“And they were right,” I agreed. “All fair and square.”

“Exactly. And the Hearts really should have just chewed out the scout who left without putting up a pennant.”

“If there was ever a scout, to begin with,” I noted.

“Good job. Maybe there wasn’t one. But they didn’t really appreciate the finer points of the discussion and just took out the guards.”

“Unbelievable.”

“Quite. Then they beat the dungeon and, when the Hounds lodged a complaint in keeping with the rules, they claimed they were in the right all along. And then, they added that they didn’t care who thought otherwise.”

“Almost like they were looking for a fight.”

“Could be true,” Gerv said thoughtfully. “There are a lot of people out there who aren’t comfortable with the Hounds’ growing power. That means everyone else is seeing fewer recruits, too.”

“Like us,” I said, almost in a whisper.

“Like us,” confirmed Gerv. “The days of lone wolves in the game are ending, and the game world is changing. Only idiots and the blind can’t see that. What are you staring at me for? This world is just a copy of the one we actually live in. Could a lone wolf make it in the real world? Doubtful. You have to join the system.”

“…or die?”

“Why die? That’s a bit extreme. It’s more that you’ll stagnate without anything to implement or work toward. No prospects. No money. What do they say? ‘A good artist is a starving artist.’ It’s a great phrase, but how many paintings have you seen that were done by starving artists? I imagine they were all thrown out with the trash when they cleared out the attic closets those starving artists lived in before they died. Lone wolves are yesterday’s phenomenon, really; these days it’s all about corporations and conglomerates.”

“So, the Hearts decided to provoke a fight with the Hounds while they still had a shot at beating them?”

“Yes, I think that was their plan. But things didn’t happen the way they were expecting, or, at least I imagine, according to their intelligence. They underestimated the Hounds, and that has cost them dearly. We’ve had three battles so far, and the Hounds have railroaded them every time—not without our help, I might add. After the third battle, something like 60 percent of the Wild Hearts deserted. The clans supporting them were gone after the second.”

“They just gave up?”

“Well, fighting for a successful clan, and one of the best in the world, is one thing while fighting for a clan that just keeps getting beaten is quite another. And a lot of people are in the game to beat quests, collect items, even craft things. When they make you go to war, get chopped up in battle, sit there waiting for hours… People just give up and walk away.”

“Understandable,” I said sympathetically.

We had gotten to the commander-in-chief’s pavilion by that point, but we were in no hurry to go in. Gerv obviously wanted to make sure I was up to speed, and I found the whole thing fascinating. It sounded like I would be there for a while, so I needed to know everything.

“Everyone that’s left is locked up in their main citadel.” Gerv jabbed at the castle near the river with his finger. “We hemmed them in there, and soon, the main assault will begin. They’re really good—mostly experienced veterans.”

“How many times have you attacked so far?”

“Twice. The first time was right after we pushed them back in there, and the second was yesterday.”

“Not so successful?”

“Oh, no, it’s not that. It was just a skirmish to feel out their defenses. Today, we’ll take the castle, and they’ll have nowhere else to run. Okay, let’s go inside.”

We walked into the huge pavilion, and my first impression was that it looked even larger from the inside. There were about fifteen people sitting and standing, though I only recognized Elina as I glanced around. She saw us and waved.

“Oh, you’re here. Finally! Come here, we’re about ready to start the attack.”

“Let’s go.” Gerv gave me a shove.

We walked over to Elina, who was at the far end of the pavilion. She was standing next to a modestly, even poorly, dressed woman of short stature.

“Where did you find him?” Elina asked Gerv.

“In Mettan. He just logged into the game—apparently, he didn’t have internet.”

“Oh, come on, leave the poor guy alone,” interrupted the woman I didn’t know. On the other hand, I had a good idea who I was standing next to.

“Still, orders are orders,” muttered Gerv.

“Agreed.” The unfamiliar woman stretched out her palms.

She had slightly graying hair, and she wasn’t particularly attractive though she had a highly expressive face and unusually vivid eyes. There was also a strength to her—or even the magic of power. I’m not a fan of clichés like “inner strength” or “magnetic charisma,” but it was like there was some kind of waves radiating out of her. How can I explain it? Waves of potential energy. Almost like she could have just reached out and crushed the Wild Hearts’ citadel with one sweep of her fist if she needed to.

“Have you figured it out?” She looked at me with irony.

“Your faithful servant,” I said, not without a fair bit of pathos, while getting down on one knee and bowing my head.

“Oh, come on, I don’t like any of that—and we don’t do it here.” She pulled me up onto my feet. “We’re all equals.”

I couldn’t help myself. “It’s just that some are more equal than others.”

“What’s with the attitude?” The woman looked at me reproachfully. “Bad day?”

“Something like that,” I nodded. “I was tired. I logged into the game, and there I was, thrown right into the deep end.”

“Kept you off the deep end of that boat, if nothing else,” chuckled Gerv.

“At least, we’re finally getting the chance to meet. As you no doubt have already guessed, I am the Gray Witch.” One of the most powerful women in Fayroll stretched out her hand. “Allow me to introduce my friends and clanmates. This is Cedric Sekira, battle master and coordinator.”

A knight in shimmering emerald armor nodded to me.

“This is Fredegar, he’s responsible for clan security.” A scout with completely gray hair half-bowed.

“This is Milly Re.” The Gray Witch took me over to a stunningly beautiful girl with two swords strapped to her back. “She’s our instructor.”

“Nice to meet you, I’m Hagen,” I repeated to them all, one after another, as I met the upper echelon of a clan that looked to soon join Fayroll’s top three. I could now say I knew all the Hounds of Death elders personally.

“To make sure we’re on the same page, this is the warrior who fought for our clan’s honor with three PKers who were mouthing off about us,” announced the Gray Witch.

“A-a-ah,” everyone said in unison, clapping me on the shoulder.

“Of course, we remember you.”

“I heard about that—respect.”

“Way to be a man.”

“Nice work!”

After having beaten all the dust out of me with their back-slapping, the group quickly forgot the whole thing and went back to discussing the details of the impending attack. I can’t say I was terribly upset, as I don’t particularly enjoy the limelight; you never know what to expect.

“And now you’re famous,” noted the Gray Witch, who had returned to stand next to me. “But don’t let it go to your head. It’s here today and gone tomorrow.”

“I never really cared too much about fame anyway. And don’t forget that I wasn’t the only one there. Two dwarves were with me. Are they here?”

“I remember. They probably aren’t here, since clans only take their top people with them to storm castles.”

“Not even just for the numbers?”

“What numbers? Our high-level players could withstand a few fireballs thrown at them as they charge the walls, but the kids would be toast. Who wants to be cannon fodder?”

“Then why am I here?”

“I wanted to meet you personally. You surprised me, and I enjoy the chance to clap eyes on the people who can conjure up that emotion for me.”

“How did I surprise you?”

“Your audacity, I’d say. No offense, of course, but I didn’t believe for a minute that you’d go out of your way to help our clan out of the goodness of your heart. You just needed to get rid of those three clowns, and you used us to do it for you. But it was the way you did it—cynically, on the one hand, but with grace and prudence on the other. I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to get a look at you. Oh, speaking of looking at you—Milly!”

“Yes, mistress?” The beauty with the two swords—the one the Gray Witch said was the instructor—walked over.

“Wouldn’t you agree that our friend is dressed…shall we say…a bit poorly? For his level, of course.”

“That’s for sure. That isn’t even the decent kind of poverty. You’re lazy, my friend,” Milly said with a touch of arrogance in her voice.

“What does that have to do with anything?” I asked in embarrassment. “I’m not lazy, and I have money. It’s just that I haven’t been in any of the big cities except Aegan, and there aren’t any auctions in the provinces. Just vendors. All they sell is the same kind of junk, if not worse.”

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry,” Milly said sincerely. “I guess I forgot what it was like down at the lower levels. So, what did you need, mistress?”

“Go find Fiosi, the farrier. Maybe he can think of something for our friend before the attack starts.”

Milly nodded, her light brown hair falling over her sparkling eyes, and ran off.

Beautiful, I thought.

“Beautiful indeed,” confirmed the Gray Witch.

I started at her, perplexed. Did I say that out loud?

“Calm down, it was written all over your face,” said the Witch with a laugh.

“It’s like some kind of sentimental novel.” I smiled, too.

“Is this the first time you’ll be storming a castle?”

The Gray Witch sat in her chair and motioned for me to sit next to her.

“Yep. Though I still don’t think I’ll even make it to the walls. I’m too weak.”

“That could be,” the Witch nodded. “This is all about skill, strength, and luck. Maybe luck most of all.”

“Wait a second,” I said, “what happens to my things if I die?”

“Nothing,” answered the Witch. “They’ll collect them along with everyone else’s and mail them to you. Just send your clan leader a message saying what you had. There aren’t any rats here; we’re all in the same boat. And in your case, all you have to do is say your name. You have a ring with your name on it, so they’ll know what’s yours.”

“And where will I go if I die?”

“To the spot you last linked to. Most people link to the clan castle.”

“Why?”

“Well, you kiddies might be used to running around in your underwear, but the veterans…”

“What about the people over there in the castle? If they just respawn there, this could go on forever.”

“True, and that’s why the developers added a special condition. All defenders of a castle that is officially under attack are sent to the nearest big city if they die during the battle.”

“And their things?”

“Either the castle defense is successful and they’re returned, or to the victor go the spoils.” The Gray Witch shrugged her shoulders. “It’s war. Some people like it.”

“That makes sense. But what trophies can you get in castles?”

“Not much,” the mistress replied. “In other games, you’d get the standard magic crystal or the clan emblem. Sometimes, you’d get the castle itself. But here, there’s nothing like that. Just the things you collect from the bodies and whatever’s in the clan storehouse. But there usually isn’t much there, since nobody keeps anything that unusual in their clan storehouses.”

“Wait, really?” I didn’t believe her at first.

“What’s the point of having them there? Okay, so what’s most valuable? Sets, rare scrolls, artifacts. How many sets and artifacts are there in the game? Not that many, I’d say. And clans? Oceans of them. So, let’s say there’s one item for each of them. How many would even the largest have in its storehouse? Not more than would fit in a bag. And that bag was probably sent down the river in the hands of their most skilled warrior and surrounded by a few other guards a long time ago. Best case scenario: there are a few legendary things in there, though even those were probably given out to their warriors already.”

“Then what’s the point of the attack?” I asked, confused. “Just to say you won?”

“That’s everything!” the Gray Witch said instructively. “It’s goal number one. We can get items ourselves, but twisting the neck of one of the largest clans out there is more than just honorable; it’s hugely beneficial. First of all, we get lots of new recruits. All their veterans—mages, warriors, healers—will be over here looking to talk with me tomorrow. And they’ll ask to join the clan. Then, I can have my pick of them. Plus, everyone will know that the Hounds of Death trounced the Wild Hearts. And there you go!”

“Wow,” I said with surprise. “Tough. What happens to the castle?”

“To the castle? Nothing. I mean, there won’t be a castle left. As soon as we tear the flag down from the tower, the clock will start to tick. Three hours later, the carriage will turn into a pumpkin, and the castle will turn into ruins. If the Hearts want to restore it, they’ll have to start over again. Oh, there’s Fiosi. Hey, there, my friend. Do we have anything we can use to dress up this fine young man?”

Fiosi, a dwarf in glistening chainmail and a bright blue belt with a hammer stuck into it, looked me over.

“Mmkay. I didn’t bring anything with us for his level, but I could whip up a breastplate. It won’t be that fancy, but it’ll be head and shoulders above what he’s wearing now.”

Elina had walked over in the middle of the conversation and blushed at what she heard.

“Forge it, Fiosi,” said the Gray Witch. “Forge it, my dear. Do you have everything you need?”

“Yep,” answered the dwarf. “I grabbed whatever I thought might come in handy.”

He took a few steps away before turning back to me.

“Come see me in about seven minutes. The smithy is to the left of the pavilion. Okay?”

“Sounds good,” I said with a nod.

“Our clan will pay for his work,” said Elina firmly, her face still crimson.

“Forget it,” the Gray Witch answered just as firmly. “Hagen will be fighting under the flags of my clan, and my job is to make sure he fights well. Armor is included in that. I’m sorry, I must insist. And Hagen, if we don’t see each other before the attack, we’ll talk after. Break a leg!”

She walked over to the main group.

“You’re an embarrassment,” hissed Elina. “You disgraced the entire clan!”

“Well, sorry! I didn’t know, I didn’t want to, and I don’t think I even will!” I hissed back. “Who told me that I was coming to see people like those? I just logged into the game, and Gerv grabbed me just like that. Oh, and what’s with all the snobbery? I wear what I have money to buy.”

“Fine, when we get to our castle, I’m going to—”

“Oh, your goon at the storehouse won’t give me anything, believe me,” I informed her.

“I was going to say that I’m going to kill you, you fool,” Elina said, both sadly and threateningly. “Whatever, let’s go see the dwarf.”

“Are there a lot of our guys here?”

“About seventy,” said Elina. “We’re covering the left flank, so head over there. And stay in the back if you don’t want to be killed.”

“Okay, Madam Clan Leader.” I saluted her and left the pavilion. This is all fine and dandy, but I need to keep my distance from the demigods around here.

I headed over to the smithy and saw Fiosi there. He was holding a nice-looking breastplate in his hands, though it was more than just a breastplate. There was even some kind of cuirasses, and it had a reinforced plackart and bevor.

“You’re incredible!” I effused sincerely. “That looks amazing.”

“Put it on,” the dwarf said, all business. “It may need to be altered somewhere.”

Light Steel Cuirass

Light armor

Protection: 340

+7 to strength

+8 to stamina

+11% protection from piercing and cutting weapons

+7% protection from fire

Durability: 310/310

Minimum level for use: 30

Class limitation: only warriors

“It fits like a glove!” I spun around again and broke into a satisfied smile. “That’s fantastic armor—and I got it for free!”

“May it serve you well,” the dwarf said with a smile of his own. “Craftsmen enjoy it when people like their work.”

The sound of trumpets suddenly rang out.

“Whoops, here we go,” said the dwarf, who I noticed was staring at the main pavilion. He followed my gaze.

Out walked everyone I’d seen inside, several of whom ran off in the direction of their detachments.

“Hey, do you know where the left flank is?” I asked the dwarf.

He looked back at me, apparently wondering at my thick-headedness. “On the left.”

“Oh, right,” I said before running toward the left half of the plain.

Before I got there, the trumpets blared again. I heard the voice of the Gray Witch, only amplified many times over.

“Atta-a-ack!”

Chapter Four

In which the citadel is stormed.

I wonder, I thought—not for the first time at the completely wrong moment—how the hell is she amplifying her voice? Maybe a spell? “Sonorous” or something like that?

“All archers, with the exception of the assault group, stay behind shields and wait for my command,” boomed the Gray Witch’s voice. “Fram, prepare the trebuchets. Mages, protect the battering rams and hit the walls with fireballs from time to time to keep the Hearts on their toes. Swordsmen, assault group, head over to the Mice and Dixon on the left flank. Flekis, head there with three teams of archers from the assault group as well.”

What mice? I was impressed by the full-scale siege, complete with trebuchets and battering rams. My musings were interrupted, however, by the swordsmen rushing past in what I assumed was the direction of the left flank. Our Thunderbirds were supposed to be there, too.

I joined the crowd of a hundred or so swordsmen and about sixty archers, tramping off hurriedly behind them.

I’ll get to my guys, and we’ll get this thing started, I thought as we moved along. I can stay in the back and wait everything out.

We ran along for about three minutes before coming to a halt.

“Warriors!” A voice bellowed out.

I looked up to see that it belonged to a barbarian named Dixon. He was covered in an interesting tattoo pattern and held a war hammer in his hands.

“You head into the Mouse on the left. Let’s go, let’s go, move it!”

It turned out we were running into a trench that split into three bays. The barbarian was standing at the fork, and the bays led to…Sweet mother of all that is holy! They led to siege towers. So that’s what everyone keeps calling Mice. Who came up with that name?

“But they weren’t there last I saw?” I spluttered in surprise.

“Of course not,” said a panting dwarf who was running along next to me on my left. “‘Curtains of Invisibility.’ Why did you think we have mages here?”

We kept moving forward.

“Okay,” ordered the barbarian, who by that point was right above me, “this group into the middle Mouse. Go, go!”

“Mr. Barbarian,” I said hesitantly. “I wasn’t supposed to…”

He screamed back at me. “Warrior, keep your mouth shut and don’t hold up the flow!”

“Let’s go, slowpokes!” The people behind me weren’t thrilled with me either.

“Damn it,” I hissed and sprinted after the dwarf.

It was my colossally bad luck to find myself at the beginning of the column for the Mouse. That put me on the third and topmost level in the middle of a company of swordsmen and archers. It looked very likely that I would be caught up in the first wave—a great honor, but one that would probably cost me my life.

The saving grace of the situation was that I got to see the whole battlefield laid out right in front of me.

It wasn’t that far to the citadel from our siege tower—about a kilometer. The level we were on looked right onto the fortress walls, so it was easy to see the Wild Heart soldiers running around and the archers crouched behind the battlements. They couldn’t see us, however, as it appeared Curtains of Invisibility was still working.

From the sounds I heard behind me, our tower filled and troops began loading onto the third tower, which was right next to us.

I looked down.

Everyone was hustling and bustling around the camp. The archers were crouched behind enormous wooden shields the size of gates that were covered in what I hoped was animal skin. The shields had small windows cut out of them, presumably to give the archers an opening for unexpectedly shooting at enemy targets. There were about ten of those openings in each shield, guaranteeing the defenders a hard time of things.

Further on, were a cluster of big-headed monsters fussing over an enormous battering ram. They were half-naked and knotted with muscles, while the unbelievably large ram was slung on a wheeled carriage by four huge chains. There was a roof over the carriage to protect the monsters from arrows, and the iron-clad tip of the ram was a fist giving the middle finger. Next to it, were five mages who stopped at regular intervals to cast spells on the ram and the monsters around it…probably to protect them from arrows, swords, boiling tar, and other unpleasantries.

The swordsmen were the least worried of all. They had already split into units and were now just lying on the grass relaxing. Some were checking their weapons, others were smoking pipes, and still others were counting daisy petals to see if they’d be raping and pillaging their way through the Wild Hearts’ citadel or not.

The area around the high commander’s pavilion was deserted. From what I could tell, all she had with her were a dozen bodyguards and, I thought, a gray scout—her head of intelligence.

I looked around for my own leaders and found them, but not right away. They weren’t far off, and I could see them getting my clanmates in line and craning their necks in all directions. Probably looking for me.

I really need to tell them I’m here getting ready for my great feat of valor, I thought. Later, I’ll never be able to prove that I was a heroic warrior and brave Thunderbird, and not a deserter.

I opened my mailbox to send them a message, but it was locked during ongoing military actions, as the message read. The developers thought of everything.

Around me, there wasn’t a single stone or anything else I could throw…although…

“Hey, bro,” I said to an elf named Kelossa who was sitting next to me. “Would you mind shooting an arrow for me?”

“At who? We haven’t even started yet!” His face betrayed his surprise.

“No, not that way,” I said, shaking my head. “At her.” I pointed at Elina, who was waving her arms in what looked to be a foul-mouthed rage. My clanmates were stubbornly refusing to form up into a column.

“What’s your problem with her? Yeah, she’s a strange kind of woman, and with her shaking around like that, I’d say she might have a touch of epilepsy. But still, she’s with us. If she’s such a problem, let’s take care of her after the battle. For now, we need every sword, not to mention every staff. She’s a mage, right?”

“No, no, no,” I gestured with my hands. “That’s my clan leader! I’m supposed to be there, but I got sent here completely by accident. I just need you to shoot near her so she’ll look up and I can wave to her.”

“You’re kidding.” He shook his head, apparently having just noticed my level. “How did that happen?”

The elf picked up his bow and let fly an arrow. It landed next to Elina’s feet, causing her to jump back a few steps and jerk her head up toward us. I leaned out from behind the side of the tower and waved.

Elina froze when she saw me, then jumped up and down and shook her fists at me. Her language was obviously enraged and profane to the point that three dwarves walking by stopped to listen and shake their heads in enjoyment.

“Now, she’s really mad,” said Kelossa in surprise. “What’s her issue?”

“She’s worried about me,” I guessed. “She gives her heart and soul for us.”

“A real leader,” said Kelossa with respect. He waved to her as well. “You’re lucky.”

Kelossa’s wave was the last straw for Elina, who stopped gesturing at me as if to leave me to my fate and went back to getting her column in order.

“The third tower is all set,” said a dwarf named Zherrar happily. He was the one I’d been running along the trench with. “We’ll probably move out soon. First, they’ll shell the walls with some fireballs, then we’ll get going.”

“Guys, by the way, how are they going to get us to the wall? Is somebody going to be pushing us?” I asked.

“We’ll have some mages working their chemistry down below. There’s a pulley, a belt connecting it to the axle, you know, the usual. They’ll work their magic with the pulley so it gets the wheels moving,” explained the dwarf.

“Sounds complicated,” I said.

“Seriously. They should just catch a couple trolls,” said the elf in agreement.

The dwarf disagreed. “Nah, technology is power. Oh, here we go. They’ll start the bombardment, and we’ll push out on the flank.”

Zherrar was right. He hadn’t even finished speaking before the citadel’s right wall was shaken by a heavy volley of fireballs. Blue flames licked out from behind the battlements, and someone hurtled down from them with a cry.

A dull roar filled the air as the trebuchets began to work. They rained boulders down on the left part of the citadel, doing their best to take out the battlement and clear the field of vision. That’ll make it easier for us to unload onto the wall and clear shooting lanes for the archers.

Gigantic stone blocks whistled through the air and smashed into the fortress walls, chunks of which broke off and thumped down onto the grass beneath. The defending mages did their best to shoot the boulders down, but they were largely unsuccessful. And there didn’t even appear to be many of them left judging by the fiery strokes leaping up from the besieged citadel.

A discordant “O-o-oh” wafted up to us, and I carefully peeked over the edge of the tower. The shields and the archers behind them were moving toward the citadel gates.

The Wild Hearts didn’t seem to take much care to protect their citadel. Having apparently relied on their strength and reputation, they built neither a drawbridge nor a deep moat filled with cold, dirty water. It was just an even field leading up to the gates. Sure, the gates looked to be tall and hefty, but our battering ram was more than a match.

The archers marched forward behind their shields in two columns until they were about three hundred meters from the gate, at which point they split off toward either side to enclose the road to the gate in a pincer movement. They stopped a hundred meters from the wall.

“All right,” commented the dwarf, who obviously had quite a bit of experience in similar attacks. “Time for the battering ram.”

The bearded fellow was exactly right.

The carriage and ram, its middle finger glinting in the sun, rolled toward the citadel. The beasts responsible for it had hidden their muscles under chainmail and were sheltering under the roof as they pushed the whole contraption forward at a surprisingly brisk pace. They were surrounded on every side by warriors with tall shields reminiscent of the old Roman legions—the whole thing looked like one big turtle.

As they got closer to the gate, arrows began rattling against the roof and shields, though they failed to do any damage. The shields were strong, the roof was stronger, and there was no stopping the battering ram’s relentless forward progress. Someone thought to shoot burning arrows, though they were shrugged off by the covering warriors. Even the roof was none the worse for wear, as it must have been doused in water or protected by some kind of spell. In a word, nothing caught fire.

The enemy mages had no more success against the wiles of our five mages by the battering ram.

Meanwhile, our archers were returning fire by randomly popping out of the aforementioned windows in the shields and sending waves of arrows upward. They didn’t seem to be taking much aim, shooting more in the hopes of landing a lucky strike.

The battering ram got to the gate, at which point, a scene I’d witnessed a hundred times in the movies began to play out. It pulled back on its chains and, with a prolonged roar, smashed into the doors. The latter creaked, groaned, and spluttered, but held.

I was so busy watching everything play out in front of me that I jumped when the floor we were standing on jerked forward.

“Yup, this is it,” said Zherrar drily. “Well, boys, get ready. Time to spill some Wild Heart blood.”

The bloodthirsty dwarf slapped a one-horned helmet on his head.

“Where’s the other horn?” I asked.

“Who knows?” he answered. “This is how I got it. It’s legendary, though.”

“Well, if it’s legendary, then it’s a keeper,” I agreed. “And it looks cool with one horn!”

The tower shuddered and started moving toward the fortress wall. The speed surprised me, given how big it was.

A short warrior wearing a black mantle emblazoned with the Hounds of Death emblem climbed up onto our platform.

“How’s everyone?” he asked.

“We’re good,” answered the dwarf. “Just waiting to get started. That’s when it’ll get fun.”

“That’s for sure,” smiled the warrior. He glanced quickly over the group and stopped when he got to me.

“And who are you?”

“Hagen, from the Thunderbirds, your allies,” I answered frankly. “That’s my group leader waving her fist around over there.”

Elina was looking at the tower as it moved away, and just then she stomped her foot and threatened me with her fist.

“Is she threatening us for taking you or you for getting involved?” The warrior was a bit confused. “And how are you even here? I mean, look at your level. Everyone else is clan elite, the best of the best.”

“That fist is for me, of course,” I assured him. “And I just happened to get here. I was trying to get to her when I got caught up in the crowd, and then that barbarian in the trench didn’t listen to me and sent me along with everyone else. So, now it looks like I’m fighting with you. And about my level, well, it happens.”

“Not really,” answered Kelossa philosophically. “Still, you get a ride in the Mouse, and you can see what it’s like on the walls. You won’t be there for long, of course, but you’ll get a taste.”

“The only Thunderbird to get a taste, as a matter of fact,” said Zherrar.

“I’m just afraid you won’t even have time to catch your breath,” the warrior, whose name was Valent, said reassuringly. “Stay back, keep an eye out, and maybe you’ll get lucky. Maybe, they won’t kill you right away.”

The wall was getting closer, but we obviously were still invisible.

“Okay, listen up. Our shield is going to drop soon—definitely once we get a hundred meters from the wall. Archers, as soon as it does, shoot at anything that moves. We have to jump onto the wall and attach the assault platforms,” Valent said, patting a wall of the tower that was hanging on two hooks and would be used as a bridge. “They’ll still be able to take quite a few of us out before we get across that last distance to the wall.”

“Got it, Master Valent,” answered an older archer who was apparently in charge. “We won’t let you down.”

“Excellent. And now the warriors. As soon as we drop the assault platforms, your job is to make sure they can’t destroy them until the main group unloads. Do what you have to do, but don’t let them set fire to them or knock them off. That will be about two minutes. Then, if there are any of you left over there, hold the position.”

“Understood, master,” said my one-horned dwarf friend with a nod.

I also nodded, figuring that I didn’t have much to be worried about. They’d take me out in the first clash, and I could go back to Mettan, find the hotel and mailbox that day, and set off by boat along the river the next.

“That’s it, troops. I’ll be down below leading the last group.”

Valent disappeared through a trapdoor.

Zherrar took charge.

“Listen up, you dead men walking. They haven’t given us orders, so we’ll do it like this: I and…you, Ftorin, will take care of the platform latches.” The dwarf across from him nodded.

“Then you five,” he continued, pointing at who he wanted, “and I will be the first defense group. The remaining four are the second line and support for the archers. The archers are the last line. Questions?”

“Of course not. This isn’t our first time,” said Kelossa dismissively.

He was wrong: I had a question. “What can the forty of us here in the tower, or however many there are, do to change things? They’ll take out the last line right away, and everyone on the second and third levels will be slaughtered as soon as they get there.”

“While they’re busy taking out the last line, we’ll get a huge support group in there, and everyone will start pouring out of the towers,” answered Zherrar. “The gates, the battering ram, that’s all a distraction, I think. The left wall is where the main strike will land. At least, that’s what I’d do. Although…who knows what Cedric is thinking? Not to mention the Witch.”

“And we’re the very tip of the spear. Even if they kill all of us, that’s a huge honor,” noted the elf.

“Sucks to be Valent right now,” said the dwarf with feeling.

“Why?” I asked falteringly. My hands were shaking from the adrenaline—not to mention a bit of fear.

“You think he really wants to be sitting down there while we’re all up here dying?” the dwarf answered. “I know him, we were at Klatornakh together, and we fought a man-eater in Tirgol. He’s never one to hide behind other people.”

“Oh, that’s not what I meant,” I said, crossing myself. “I wouldn’t even think that!”

“Okay, okay, he wasn’t thinking,” noted the elf. “Don’t worry about it—anyone might have thought that.”

“Arche-e-ers!” The old archer’s voice rang out. “Twenty seconds!”

Kelossa shuffled his feet, apparently checking to see if his boots would slip, and fiddled with a ring he was wearing on his finger. Unslinging his quiver, he rested it up against the wall before pulling out six arrows and leaning them against the wall next to it.

“Fifteen seconds!”

Zherrar pulled out his axe, breathed on the blade, and polished it with his sleeve. The rest of the warriors unsheathed their weapons as well. I gripped my sword, noticed that my hands were slick with sweat, and hurriedly wiped them on my pants.

“Ten seconds!”

I thought my heart was about to beat out of my chest. Damn the emotions…I was almost ready to believe that killing me right there would end me forever.

“Five seconds!”

The archers strung arrows and crouched down, prepared to unleash a volley. I pressed up against the side of the tower and looked out a crack I’d noticed earlier. The wall, the battlements atop which were pockmarked by the trebuchet fire, were almost on top of us.

“Fi-i-ire!”

The archers leaped up, arrows sizzled through the air, and almost immediately, they cut loose a second volley. The arrow fire continued unrelentingly.

We could hear screams from the wall, and I watched from my crack as a warrior with two arrows sticking out of his chest plummeted to the ground.

“Swords at the ready,” barked Zherrar. “Ten seconds!”

I tensed and relaxed my muscles, noting with surprise that the fear and uncertainty were gone. The stress was apparently so intense that I’d given up caring whether I died in battle or not. There was just me and a very specific goal: hold the assault platform—no matter the odds!

“Ftorin, let it go!” bellowed Zherrar, and there was a creak and a boom, followed by a cloud of stone dust rising and settling. Six pairs of legs beat their way forward.

“Forwa-a-ard!” I recognized the dwarf’s voice. Steel clashed against steel, muffled cries rang out, and I heard snatches of cursing.

My sword drawn, I climbed up onto the platform and looked at the slaughter going on at the other end. One person fell, followed by another, each fading into a cocoon filled with their belongings.

Our archers did their level best to cut down the Heart soldiers before they got close, but there were too many of them. The shock of seeing the siege towers had also worn off, and the Heart archers were taking aim at our archers. Only six were left out of every ten.

“Let’s go, boys, forward!” Ftorin creaked and fell, melting into the assault platform.

My three comrades at the tower exit jumped forward, and there was nothing else for me to do but follow suit. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw motion on the ladder leading up from the second level.

Ah, there’s the cavalry! I thought right before my sword clanged up against someone’s saber.

The saber blow was so strong that I was flung back onto the platform, a large chunk of my health gone. My opponent, a warrior in chainmail with a huge and, for some reason, green heart on it, leaped toward me only to catch two arrows in the chest.

“I’ll kill every last one of you,” he said, and appeared to be about ready to continue his story when an arrow thudded into his mouth and nearly killed him. I don’t tend to lose my wits in similar situations, and so I sprang up and sank my sword into his throat. He looked at me with hate in his eyes and collapsed.

“Nice work,” a warrior running by me from the second platform said, “but keep going. There are plenty more of them!”

More warriors rushed by me. I looked back at the platform to see that there were almost no archers left, though Kelossa was still alive.

“A-a-ah!” A cry rang out from the stairs that appeared to lead down to the courtyard inside the walls, and a mob of warriors wielding swords, axes, and every other weapon you could imagine split into three groups and poured toward us.

So, that was just the prelude, I realized. Let’s do this.

Chapter Five

In which we discover how victory is achieved and what comes next.

All that was left from the troops in our tower finished off the remainder of the enemy’s first line of defense and tried to straggle into a defensive formation. There weren’t many of us—around a dozen swordsmen and seven archers, and some of them had perilously low health. The horde sprinting toward us was made up of maybe thirty or thirty-five ugly mugs, and that was just who we could see. All in all, they were poised to smash through our defensive line without breaking a sweat. I ran across the platform to take up position behind Valent, figuring that he would be killed last, if at all.

“Hold the line!” ordered Valent. “To the sword! Live forever!”

“Live forever!” our group shouted back.

I’m not overly given to reflection, and so I had no problem joining in their chorus. But I had to tip my cap to Valent. We were already wavering in fear of the onrushing and sword-brandishing mob, regardless of the fact that there was no such thing as death in the game.

Suddenly, the spell was broken. Two small fireballs slammed into the charging crowd one after another, right when they got within fifteen strides of us. The Heart warriors were thrown in every direction.

It was the mages who, up until that point, had been busy churning the towers forward with their wizardry. They had climbed up the ladders from the lower level and finally joined the battle right when it looked like all was lost. With that said, the damage they did, while substantial, was less than critical. The twenty or so Wild Hearts that were remaining crashed into our line.

Sword against crossed sword.

“Ah, you bitch!”

“Get him!”

“A-A-AH!”

“Mages, heal who you can!” That was Valent.

He was locked in combat with a hefty opponent in a breastplate and didn’t notice a small enemy soldier with a glaive sneaking up from his right-hand side—almost from behind him. I wasn’t about to get involved in the main fight, but I saw the little weasel, realized that he was about to break our forces by assassinating our leader, and decided to pull out my trusty trick. Just as he was about to thrust his glaive upward under Valent’s armor, I threw myself at his legs and knocked him down. My maneuver worked just as well as it always did, though I didn’t do much damage. He crunched down onto the stone and found himself on his back with his legs resting on my stomach. The glaive clattered off to the side out of his reach. I gripped my sword tightly and was more than happy to drive it straight into the opening between his appendages, which was protected by nothing more than his pants. He howled, and it was obvious that the pain was not the only reason. There was some surprise in his scream, and probably some indignation—it wasn’t the most honorable spot to be stabbed. Taking advantage of the reprieve his horrified yelling gave me, I quickly crawled out from under him and had time to run my sword into his low back as well. I added injury to insult with Bloodletting.

I should note that the damage I was doing was far from mortal but starting to add up. In comparison with my health, he was a raging bull.

My opponent got up and looked at me with rage in his eyes, leaving me with no doubt in my mind that he was about to finish me with pleasure and ease. And that would probably have happened if new members of our grand alliance hadn’t appeared from the Mouse in that instant. The first to come charging across the platform was my old friend Gorotul. He was, at that moment, a god of war, his red-bearded face (Did he have a beard the last time? I couldn’t remember. Maybe he grew one?) roaring a challenge.

“Who’s first to die?”

There was some kind of amulets bouncing around on his chest, his bare arms were covered in tattoos, and his armless chainmail glistened like the sun.

“RA-A-A!” His bellow shook the earth as his hands shook his double-bladed axe. “Time for wa-a-ar!”

The first to feel his wrath was my erstwhile foe, and in the process, his enormous body bowled into me. I flew several steps backward and smacked into the wall. One after another my clanmates popped out of the Mouse’s hatch.

I guess Zherrar was right about this being the target for the main attack, I thought before leaping to my feet and running over to the little and still-breathing Wild Heart.

“Go ahead, finish me, you dog,” he hissed.

“I’m just a guest in this little citadel of yours, so if that’s what the host wants…” I sliced twice into his head.

And I didn’t feel the slightest compunction about it. I hazarded that, if it hadn’t been for the dull-witted, if immensely brave Gorotul, I would have been a goner. War is dirty. It’s you or the guy across from you, and you leave the chivalry and honor to romance novels.

In the meantime, Gorotul and my clanmates cleared out the rest of the Hearts from around our platform and started toward the stairs leading downward into the courtyard. I looked around to see similar scripts playing out all over the wall. Our assault groups had done their job and held the three platforms until the Hounds’ many brigades could make their way into the citadel.

There were only five of us remaining from our original group. Zherrar and his one-horned helmet had fallen in the very first attack, and the imperturbable Kelossa, who made it all the way to the final assault, was apparently unable to last any longer. The last archer eased his way down to the stones from the platform. One mage was also killed, and the second had been hit: he pulled an arrow out of himself, squeamishly grimacing as he did.

“You did good work,” said Valent with feeling. “Nice job—all of you.”

“And a special thank you to you, little one,” he said to me, walking over. “As far as I’m concerned, you went above and beyond. You didn’t get too involved, which was the right decision for your level, but you still picked off that one guy.”

“Well, I had a little help,” I said modestly.

A friendly laugh broke out, and with it, all spent adrenaline, exhaustion, and acknowledgment of how close we all came to dying. We could have died, but we didn’t. And since we were alive, it was right to laugh, even if we were laughing at a dumb joke, and even if none of it was actually real.

Just then, we heard a crash from below us. Valent cocked his head and held up a finger.

“Ah, sounds like they finally took down the gate. Let’s go, what are we all standing around for? This is the fun part!”

Our small detachment, reinforced by the remnants of the other Mouse groups (they had suffered the same losses we had), rushed down the stairs. I decided my debt of honor had been paid and fell back.

“You guys go on ahead. I’ll cover you from the rear.”

They joined the ongoing battle below while I carefully (I’m afraid of heights) looked over the edge to watch. It was an impressive sight.

The internal courtyard was enormous, as it looked like the same laws of physics I’d noticed at the Thunderbird clan fortress were in effect. Everything was much larger on the inside than it looked on the outside. The courtyard itself, I thought, was at least as big as Palace Square,[4] and maybe even as big as Red Square.[5] Or maybe, it was the other way around. One way or another, it was massive. All across it, was a mass of cutting, slicing, and chopping, as the general battle disintegrated into hundreds of smaller duels. The gates had indeed fallen. It looked like a dozen defenders had been crushed when it did, and Hound warriors were pouring into the newly opened gateway wielding swords and axes. The Wild Hearts tried to stop them, but their cause was lost.

Suddenly, I heard a voice behind me. “Well, you little Hound louse, want to party?”

I wheeled around to see a Heart warrior covered in stone dust running at me. His mouth was gaping, and a sword was whirling around his head. Judging by the looks of things, he had been knocked senseless at some point in the battle before coming to and seeing me standing there staring at the carnage below. He wasn’t happy.

Obviously, I had no intention of fighting him, and so, I stepped deftly to the side and stuck out my foot. He apparently hadn’t quite regained his senses and, still somewhat uncoordinated, tripped over my leg and flew over the wall without making a sound. I looked over to see how his flight went and was less than surprised to see a cocoon at the bottom. What did you expect? It was at least three stories to the bottom, with five long flights of stairs. And he went over the wall head-first.

“Icarus,” I said in amusement, “sprouted wings!”

The battle in the courtyard intensified. It was a mass of surging flesh and inarticulate cries, with Gorotul taking breaths in between strokes to call out and ask anyone who was listening to immortalize his great feats of valor on their internal cameras. He, I suspected, was either unable to turn his camera on or did not know how.

As I looked around, I saw something I didn’t like in the least. Not far from me, and right up against the wall near where the Mouse was parked, were three Hearts. They had pinned Milly Re—who I’d met in the pavilion right before the battle started—into a corner. She was clearly an expert swordsman, at least judging by how her two swords fluttered in and out like butterflies, and she was doing a good job defending herself, but her defeat was a matter of time. She was unable to go on the offensive, as her time was completely monopolized defending herself from the three big soldiers who were going to work on her. Realizing what was going on, I tried to think how I could help her. There was no point joining the battle himself because that wouldn’t help in the least—that much was clear. A few strikes and I’d be history. She might have been able to use the twenty or thirty seconds I could buy her, but, then again, she very well might not have been able to. I had to think of something else. But what?

I glanced around the wall until my eyes stopped on a fairly long chunk of the battlement that had been knocked off by our mages’ fireball barrage.

Eureka! I jabbed a jubilant finger in the air.

I ran over to the boulder and tried to lift it. It was monstrously heavy, but I was able to drag it over, choking on the dust it kicked up.

I swear I did my best to hurry, but by the time I got the monstrosity over to where I needed it and looked over to judge the exact angle I needed, Milly was just about finished. She was on her last leg and, I thought, had already let a couple blows through. There was no time left. I set the rock on the very edge and yelled down at the group below.

“Hey, losers! Yeah, you three picking on the girl!”

I wasn’t sure they heard me over the din, but the acoustics were especially good there, or I yelled especially loudly, because two of the three looked up, perhaps based solely on instinct.

“Eat a grenade, you fascists!” I shoved the rock right at the watching and confused Hearts. It tumbled down too fast for them to jump out of the way, though I think their shock had something to do with that as well. They were warriors, and warriors aren’t used to things crashing down on top of them. Whatever the case, I was right on target. Both sides of the rock clipped their targets, flinging them in opposite directions.

Milly made good use of the reprieve that gave her. In seconds, with the last remnants of strength she had left, she attacked the third opponent with a set of impressive maneuvers and finished him off with a sword to the throat. It was a pretty sight. Well, as pretty a sight as death can be.

That done, she ran over to one of the two who had been stunned by the boulder and started hacking away with what sounded like a flurry of curses. His head spun around, and he tried to reach for his sword; he was not about to die quickly.

The last of the trio groggily shook his head and tried to stand up.

Oh no, she’s distracted, and he’s about to take her down. And I don’t think I can get her attention. I sprinted down the stairs, crossing my fingers that no one would kill me before I got to where she was.

How no one took me out, I still don’t know. Right at the bottom of the stairs, I nearly fell victim to a wild swing by a barbarian who was simply thrashing his club around right and left. I got on all fours and crawled back to the wall hoping that the barbarian hadn’t noticed me. He hadn’t, apparently. Figuring that, while I cut a less conspicuous figure crawling along the wall, I was much slower that way, I stood up and jogged along toward the sound of a woman’s voice cussing. Happily, I made it in time.

The third Heart had gotten up, though he didn’t look good. The boulder had smacked into his head and had also done a number on his shoulder. Half his body was disfigured, he held his sword tightly in his left hand, and a livid scowl was plastered across his face. He wobbled zombie-like toward Milly, who was almost finished dispatching her victim.

It’s like Chip and Dale around here today—I’m saving everyone, one after another, I thought as I sliced into the back of his knees with Sword of Retribution.

He collapsed, but immediately started to pull himself back up. I saw that his health was already dropping into the red zone. He was far from dead, however.

“Oh, I’ll get you,” I muttered as he stood.

It was insulting how little attention he paid to the strikes I was landing. They had no chance of sending a Level 102 player to Valhalla.

“Don’t even think about running; I’ll catch you regardless,” he said, baring his teeth.

I knew I’d be able to get away from him, but I also knew that he’d be able to turn his attention on Milly if I did. “Why won’t you die, you brute!” The girl was practically foaming at the mouth.

“Why should I run away from dead meat like you?” I asked in an effort to antagonize him still further.

“Dead meat? Dead meat?” The Wild Heart yowled and tried to throw himself at me.

Needless to say, he was in no condition to try a maneuver like that, and I was able to dodge his attempt easily. I was even able to slice into his arm and was surprised to see him drop his sword.

“What? How…?” The Heart stared at me in surprise.

“Just like that,” I answered, no less surprised.

“Ooph.” Some dwarf with a Hound of Death emblazoned on his chest broke into and finished our conversation with one swift stroke of his battle-axe.

“What are you standing there talking for?” he yelled at me. “To wa-a-ar!”

Off he ran back into the thick of the battle, which had gone from covering the entire courtyard to being focused at its very center. It appeared the Wild Hearts had simply ceased to exist.

“Thanks,” I heard from behind me.

I turned around to see a battered Milly Re standing next to the cocoon that had replaced her former adversary.

“Ah, no worries,” I said with a face that made it clear how very ordinary it was for me to go around saving beautiful, battle master women. “You’re alive, so thank God for that. Though, seriously, you were incredible… Right in the Adam’s apple.”

“Yeah, he got me all worked up. Some of the stuff he said when they were pressing me… You guys are horrible sometimes!”

“It’s true,” I said. “Especially, when we’re drunk.”

“Well, we routed them,” said Milly, confirming my own thoughts. “Another five minutes and they’ll be finished.”

The courtyard was littered with innumerable cocoons. That was all that was left of the incredible number of players who’d been slaughtered in the meat grinder.

“The Apotheosis of War,” I said softly.

Milly heard me and nodded.

“It’s always like that after a siege. An eerie sight. Once the last few of them are dead, our people will start collecting everything. They’ll mail our guys’ things to them and then send everything else to the clan storehouse to be appraised.”

“Appraised?”

“Yeah. All the loot from the dead bodies and the castle is counted, then they send the equivalent in gold between everyone involved in the assault and capture.”

“Oh, I thought you could go do some scavenging after the battle,” I said, visibly deflated.

“What’s stopping you?” asked Milly with surprise. “There’ll be time for that. You can’t take anything from the bodies, since that’s against the rules, and you can’t rob the clan storehouse either. But if you can find anything in the rooms or anywhere else, like in the vaults, you’re welcome to it. And they have huge vaults here. Not even vaults; dungeons. That’s how it always is after battles.”

I perked up. Fighting was good, but looting was even better.

“I haven’t seen Gedron. And I only saw Diord at the very beginning,” said Milly.

“Who are they?”

“Gedron the Elder is the Wild Hearts’ clan leader, Diord is their clan master. I’m surprised they aren’t here. Maybe they decided to slink off somewhere?”

“Oh, they probably just took a portal to who knows where,” I supposed.

“Nobody can port anywhere during assaults—it’s against the rules. Not from inside the castle, not from outside it. You have to get about three miles away before you can. It’s a year before anyone can port from citadels, at least, if they fall. If they withstand the attack, of course, you’re good. So they’re here or somewhere nearby. I need to go tell the Witch.” Milly ran toward the citadel exit.

A little ways off, she turned and called back to me.

“Thanks again. I owe you one.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” I mumbled as I walked toward the wall, sat down next to it, and looked back to see what was going on in the center of the courtyard.

The battle was no longer a battle; it had turned into a massacre. The best warriors were mercilessly cleaning up the remains of the Hearts without even noticing that the latter were no longer putting up much resistance.

Five minutes later the Wild Hearts formally ceased to exist.

“Well, what have we here?” I heard the Gray Witch’s voice and jumped up. The clan leader walked through the gate and looked around. “Thank you, my trusted warriors, and you, valiant allies. This was a glorious battle, and one that will go down in the annals of the Hounds of Death.”

A friendly roar broke out and shook the walls of the citadel.

“Cedric, my friend,” the Gray Witch said to the clan master. “Take down the flag of the defeated clan.”

“Your will is my command, mistress,” answered the warrior with a bow. He ran up the stairs toward the entrance to the main tower, above which flew a banner with an enormous green heart.

“Go with him,” the Witch ordered three more warriors. “The Hearts may not all be dead. They probably have someone guarding the banner, too.”

The trio hurried after Cedric, armor clanging.

“Look at this,” said the Gray Witch as she looked around once more. “Theirs not to reason why… Fredegar, sweetie, are you here?”

“Yes, mistress.” A scout walked over to her.

“Hurry up and take care of the remains. Quite a few people died, we only have three hours. Oh, and the clan storehouse…”

“Already taken care of, mistress. They’ve probably broken in already,” answered the scout.

“Excellent. Ah, and there goes the flag.” The Witch shaded her eyes from the evening sun setting behind the tower and watched the flag flutter its way down the pole.

Shouts and the clang of sword on shield rang out once more across the courtyard.

The flag slipped lower, and a ringing sound boomed out, almost as if someone had struck a gigantic bell.

“Well, warriors,” said the Witch, “the Wild Hearts have fallen. You have three hours to loot, so I give you this castle to loot and pillage—well, except for what’s forbidden. Don’t touch the remains of the dead or the clan storehouse. And whoever can tell me where the leaders of the Wild Hearts are can have their pick of our clan storehouse. If you can kill them, the same is true.”

“What, did they run?” asked a voice from the crowd.

“Yes,” the Gray Witch said with a wave of her hand. “Anyway, let’s go. Time’s ticking!”

One more shout gripped the courtyard as the crowd poured into the castle, though it was short and sweet. Pillage, and, if they were lucky, violence. Why else had they shed blood?

I watched them go and realized I didn’t stand much chance of getting in. Nobody, on the other hand, seemed that interested in the vaults. They did hold some risk: there could be enemy forces holed up down there, and it would have been embarrassing to die after victory had been secured. It would have been especially bad if nobody happened across my remains before they were entombed. As I stood there lost in thought and trying to figure out what to do, Valent came up to me.

“Good work, Thunderbird,” he said, clapping me on the shoulder. “You were incredible…”

Valent wants to add you as a friend.

Accept?

“It would be an honor,” I said, bowing to the warrior. “Why aren’t you off looting?”

“Oh, I’m not a fan. And what are you doing standing here?”

“I’m more interested in checking out the vaults since I haven’t spent too much time in castles. I’m thinking about heading down, but I’m a bit nervous about it.”

“Worried there’s someone down there?”

“Yeah.”

“There probably isn’t. They know that everything’s going to collapse in three hours, and they’d be stuck down there forever. No respawns.”

“Why not?”

“Simple. There’s no suicide in the game, so you can’t just fall on your sword. You won’t die of hunger or thirst. And there isn’t anyone down there to kill you. So, it ends up being a prison. You either wait until the citadel is restored or make a new account.”

“Wow.”

“Wow is right. Much better to just die in battle. If you’re still worried, though, let’s do this: I’ll be waiting here anyway, so I’ll come down and find you if you aren’t back in a couple hours. If someone does catch you, I’ll collect your things and mail them to you. Sound good?”

“That’s great!” I was thrilled. “Thanks so much!”

“Which vault are you going into?”

I glanced around and liked the look of an opening on the left side of the courtyard.

“Over there.”

“Okay, just don’t get lost. There are all kinds of passages underground, so be careful.”

“I’ll do my best.”

His words made me think of something—where were we?

I opened my map and looked to see where I’d been dragged off to.

It turned out we were on the northern part of the continent, which was awfully fortunate.

I called after the warrior, who was already walking away. “Hey, Valent?”

“Yes?”

“Are we in the North?”

“Well, not exactly,” he said, coming back over. “We’re a little ways from the North. Look.”

Valent pulled out the same map Reineke Lis had shown me.

“We’re here. There’s that river, the Belyanka, and on the other side, is Kroytsen. Beyond the city, are the Rina Mountains, and beyond the tundra, is the North.”

“Is it far to the city? And can you sail down the river?”

“Sure. There are boatmen, and three or four hours walk that way is one of the wonders of Fayroll—the Three Kings Bridge. Go check it out, it’s pretty incredible. Then it’s another two hours to Kroytsen.”

“Are the mountains passable?”

“The mountains? Why not? In Kroytsen, you can find smugglers to take you through the pass. They’re NPCs, so you don’t have to worry about them betraying you, and there are always enough people looking to go for you to get a group together. It isn’t cheap, though. And it’s dangerous, what with the yetis, the ice devils, and everything else up there. You should probably wait a bit before making the trip. You can go under the mountains, too, through the old mines, but that’s definitely not for everyone.”

“What level should you be to cross the mountains?” That question was key for me.

“Fifty or fifty-five, I’d say,” said Valent with a scratch of his head, “or something like that.”

“Thank you,” I said with complete sincerity.

“You got it.” Valent waved and walked off toward a group of warriors who were standing around discussing the attack. They didn’t look too eager to get in on the plunder either.

Well, that was that. The North was looking even better than the East. At least, it wasn’t that far away.

I walked over to the entrance to the vault and paused to wonder one more time if it was worth going in. Definitely. Greed won over, and I started down the steps.

Chapter Six

In which we learn the finer points of deal-making.

Once underground, I craned my neck looking for a torch. If it was like all the other games I’d played, it should have had a torch hanging on the wall—and it should definitely have been lit. I was wrong. There was no torch, though to be fair, there wasn’t much need for one. It was pretty easy to see in the vault thanks to the light provided by glowing moss covering the walls. I imagined the developers had put it there for just such a reason.

That was a happy development, as torches were fickle. You carry them around and just hope they don’t burn out at exactly the worst moment. Here was everything Michurin[6] could have ever wished for—your everyday glowing mold illuminating the path to riches. And I was more than ready for some riches! They’d help me pay my way to Selgar, most importantly, seeing as how I had no desire to walk the whole way. I set off in search of the stashes, sure I’d find at least a few.

An hour and a half of wandering around later, I was about to admit that I had made a mistake. I’d been down any number of passages, most of which sloped up or down. In the process, I’d seen niches with some kind of rusty chains, bats, spider webs, and an incredible figure of some kind of strange half-bird, half-bear figure holding a torch. It was artfully cut into the wall there at the lowest point in the vaults. I couldn’t go any further, as my path was blocked by a ruined gate that somehow smelled like strawberries. I have no idea what the gate was or what kind of strange creature created it, but it captured my imagination.

I was starting to worry that I might get lost and be unable to find my way out. And I wasn’t even sure that I’d be in the castle if I did find a way out—I’d covered quite a distance. On the other hand, I was sure that if I gave up the ghost down there, my belongings would be gone for good. Even I wouldn’t have been able to find them, to say nothing of Valent.

Speaking of lost things, I was under the impression that the only way to lose something was by dying. It turned out, you could lose things just in the regular course of the game, for instance, if you got drunk or went tumbling down a mountain slope. There was a small chance, something like one or two percent, that something you had with you would go missing from your inventory, never to be found again. Social realism in practice.

At some point, I came to the conclusion that I had no idea which way to go. I pulled up my map. Needless to say, it had no intention of showing me the vaults and surrounding areas.

Twenty steps later, I stumbled across an underground intersection. Behind me, was the path I’d been on, and in front of me, it forked off into three different tunnels. I had to pick one—but which?

I crouched down by the wall and stared at the three choices. The one on the left was ruled out right away because it sloped downward and exuded a nasty smell. As Gandalf always said, “Follow your nose.” Or something like that.

The one in the middle didn’t look too bad. It wasn’t sloped, and it smelled fine, though there was still something about it that I didn’t like. The same was true of the one on the right. I sat there for a good five minutes and was already finding myself leaning toward more out-of-the-box thinking. One thought was to go against my intuition and take the left-hand path; another was to just use a children’s rhyme to pick between the center and right-hand tunnels—eeny, meeny, miny, moe. But just then, a flash of light in the tunnel on the right caught my eye, and I was intrigued to notice that it was the light of a fire. A few seconds later, I heard some unintelligible voices as well.

The chances of an encounter with other players in that darkness ending in a pleasant surprise or a tombstone were about equal. Coming toward me in the right-hand tunnel could have been allies or even clanmates, or they could have been Heart remnants. Although, what was the difference? If they were friendlies, they’d tell me how to get out, so long as they weren’t lost themselves. And if they weren’t, at least I’d die like a man. I wouldn’t have to spend weeks wandering around for an exit that might not even be there in the first place. The official entrances and exits to and from the citadel would be collapsing in an hour.

And so, I headed down the tunnel on the right without bothering to be too surreptitious about it. As I got closer, I heard what the mysterious underground dwellers I was walking toward were talking about, and my fears were allayed.

“Stupid elf! I told you there wouldn’t be anything down here. And now, there’s no point heading back, since everything’s long gone by now,” said a deep voice.

“Oh, give it a rest! You think there was a lot up there? And it’s nice down here.” His friend disagreed.

“You think this is the first time I’m seeing something like this? I’ve been through a few caves in my time.”

“This is a vault, Fram. Which of us, by the way, is supposed to like being underground?”

I sped up and, coming around the corner, saw the speakers. They were a dwarf holding a torch and an elf, something that didn’t surprise me in the least. They had heard footfalls approaching and prepared for battle as soon as they saw me.

“Whoa!” I held up my hands. The dwarf had some ground to cover before he could get at me with his axe, but the elf had an arrow strung and ready. “Friendly! From the Thunderbirds clan!”

“Ah, all right,” said the dwarf, relaxing his grip on the axe. “Find anything good?”

“Nothing whatsoever,” I admitted. “It’s completely bare. Plenty of passages and stairs, and even some little corners, but there isn’t anything in them. Just dust and bat droppings.”

“Oh, I can’t stand bats,” said the elf prissily.

“I knew there wouldn’t be anything,” the dwarf said with a clap. “Just like in the forest; if you can’t smell the mushrooms, that means they aren’t there. Screw you, Fally.”

“My name is Falialin,” the elf answered with resentment in his voice. “And this stubborn mule insists on calling me ‘Fally.’”

“It’s simpler,” muttered the dwarf. “That’s what names are for. I’m Fram.”

The dwarf clapped his fist over his heart, his armor clanging from the blow.

“I’m Hagen. Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you, too. Okay, Fally, let’s get out of here,” said the dwarf imperiously.

“Time to head back?” the elf asked.

“Why? We have another half hour, so let’s see what we can find around here,” answered the dwarf. “Hey, man, by the way, you’re welcome to come with us.”

“No, I’m tired of it down here,” I said. “I’m looking for the exit.”

“Oh, come on,” said the elf. “It’ll be more fun with three of us. Let’s wander around a little more and then head up. After the citadel collapses, if you want, you can port with us to Madjonta.”

“Where’s Madjonta?” I asked.

“In the South, obviously,” said the dwarf in surprise. He looked up and apparently noticed my level. “Ah, got it. Still, you can check it out. It’s great down there.”

“No, I don’t need to go south yet,” I said demurely. “But could you tell me where the exit is? Honestly, I—”

“No worries,” said the dwarf. “Look. Go straight, and then turn left when this tunnel ends. Then turn left again when that tunnel ends. You won’t miss it—there’s a small open area leading to another tunnel and a secret passage. There are also stairs going up, and they take you to the courtyard. There isn’t much light, but don’t worry. That’s just because the exit is covered up and it’s already getting dark outside.”

“How far is that?”

“A bit less than ten minutes. Are you sure you don’t want to come with us?”

“No, I need to head up. I’m sick and tired of it down here,” I answered.

“Up to you. See you!” The dwarf waved and kept walking in the direction I’d just come from.

“Have a good one,” purred the elf. He pranced off behind the dwarf.

“See you,” I said to their receding figures. “Watch the time!”

The echo boomed back. “Not our first rodeo.”

I kept up a brisk pace to make sure I made it to the exit before I forgot the dwarf’s instructions. Left, and left again. Ah-ha—the open area. Thank the heavens! I could see why the dwarf had been carrying a torch; there wasn’t any moss, and it was really dark. I started up the stairs and could already hear friends and allies buzzing around the courtyard.

“Hurry,” said a thin voice from behind me that could only have belonged to a halfling. “We’re almost out of time, and we still have to open the door. The mechanism is tough, there are a lot of locks.”

Footfalls shuffled toward me, and I saw three shadows crossing the open space.

“Well, isn’t this interesting,” I said, surprising even myself. Did I say that out loud? Damn.

“Who’s there?” asked a voice. A small light flashed, apparently from a mage’s staff.

“Me.” What’s the point in hiding now? “And if you aren’t smart, I’ll have a few dozen Hounds down here to back me up, too.

Judging by their names, they were in no hurry to encounter Hounds. The halfling, whose name was Mato, I didn’t know, but, thanks to Milly Re, I had already heard of Gedron the Elder and Diord.

“Ah, a brave, if foolhardy warrior,” said Mato, taking a step sideways and pulling an arm out from behind his back.

“Keep your hands where I can see them,” I told him quickly. “Actually, I apologize, but that goes for everyone.”

“Watch your mouth,” said Diord sharply, shrugging a sack off his shoulder. “I could finish you with one shot.”

“I don’t doubt it,” I said in agreement. “But I’ll have time to yell before you can get here. I’m loud, and the entire courtyard will hear that Gedron is here. You have a nice sum on your heads, and half of Fayroll will rush in to collect it. And you, hairy legs, don’t even think about throwing a knife at me. I’ll still be able to yell.”

“Really? What’s the reward?” asked Gedron with interest as he leaned on his staff.

“One item from the Hounds’ clan storehouse. The big one. Anything you want.”

“Impressive. The old toad likes me,” Gedron said, referencing the head of the Hounds with unexpected warmth.

“Hey now, that’s a lady we’re talking about,” I said sharply. “And the head of a clan that’s friendly with mine.”

Diord had had enough.

“Gedron, come on. You could snap your fingers and finish him. What are you waiting for? We have to go!”

“They’ll see a fireball or fire arrow from the courtyard. Somebody will probably notice, and what if they decide to come see what’s going on?”

“And it still may not be quiet,” I said, backing him up. “If I don’t die right away, I’ll still be able to raise a ruckus.”

“Absolutely right,” agreed Gedron.

“Well, let him. You’ll still be able to get out,” said Diord angrily. “I’ll hold them here.”

“Just a second,” I tut-tutted. “There are fifty high-level warriors out there, and you still have to get that door open. That’ll take time, and don’t forget the sack.”

“Come on, Mato,” said the Hearts’ clan leader, shaking his head. “That tongue of yours will be the death of me.”

Mato’s shoulders slumped dejectedly.

“Listen, my friend… What is it?” Gedron was clearly stalling for time. “Ah, yes, Hagen. What do you want?”

“I’m not sure,” I answered. “I’m still trying to figure out what I should do with you.”

“Don’t make this harder than it has to be,” answered Gedron. “We’re all people of means, so just say what you want. Gold? Items?”

Mato jerked at the word “gold.” I couldn’t tell if he was being stingy or if it was something else.

“What do I need gold for?” I thought hard. “Or items, for that matter. That’s all just here one minute, gone the next. There are more important things.”

“Stop it with your riddles,” said Mato angrily. “Say what you want so we can go. We’re—”

“Let him be,” Gedron cut in. “He has every right to think. Right now, at least. Still, time is running out, so let me offer you something that isn’t gold or an item.”

I perked up. “And what would that be?”

“The one-time assistance of the Wild Hearts. You’ll have the right to ask for help once, and we’ll be obligated to do whatever you ask.”

“That’s too general to be true,” I answered lazily. “Plus, you don’t even really have a clan. No offense, but that’s the truth.”

“I wouldn’t count us out yet,” answered Gedron. “And about generalities, let me give you collateral. Here.”

The mage tossed me something that glistened in the light cast by the staff.

It was a ring. I peered closely at it.

Signet Ring from Rist Empty-eyed’s Left Hand

Belonged to one of history’s most powerful mages, a founder of the Hourglass Order and ruler of the Great Karta

From the Heritage of the Holy Secret Order set

Set includes:

Tiara of Alchmerius

Signet Ring from Rist Empty-eyed’s Left Hand

Signet Ring from Rist Empty-eyed’s Right Hand

Medallion of Ryan Tamerisk

Staff of Fregot

Mantle of Flerius Flavius

Protection: 340

+36 to wisdom

+30 to intellect

+36% chance of doing maximum fire damage

+9% gold looted from dead enemies

+26% life energy restoration speed

+18% chance of turning damage received into mana

Durability: 1320/1470

Minimum level for use: 75

For class: mage

Cannot be stolen, lost, or broken.

Can be given as a gift

Does not disappear from the holder’s inventory after dying

The following bonuses are unlocked by using the complete set:

5 random mage abilities

+45% chance of looting a magical item from dead enemies

+30% life energy boost

+30% life mana boost

“Oh, wow,” I said with a respectful whistle. “That’s quite the little gadget! Old, and probably would get you a pretty price, no?”

“I’d say so,” nodded the mage. “And you’ll give it back to me when we fulfill our promise.”

“Maybe you meant that you’re giving it to me as a gift?” I hinted.

“Yeah, right,” laughed the mage. “And then you’d disappear, never to be heard from again. I’m giving it to you as a gift, but without the right to use it as your personal possession. I can do that within the rules of the game.”

“Fine.” It was worth a try. Still, not a bad deal. “All right, agreed. Though I doubt you trust me, and I think I need some security as well. You don’t mind?”

“Of course not,” agreed Gedron. “What’s your idea?”

“Excellent.” I rubbed my hands. “Number Nineteen, would you mind joining us? I have a question for the game admin.”

The trio’s eyes all popped out of their skulls. At least, that was true of Gedron and Diord. The little one had been lost in shock ever since he turned on his internal camera to record the negotiations. But those two…their eyes popped out like crabs!

“You called?” My black-suited friend with the briefcase walked right out of the wall.

“Yes,” I answered, praying that the twins had added the option to my account as promised. “Could you come closer?”

“Certainly.” Number Nineteen walked over.

“Code 33,” I quietly whispered to him before freezing in anticipation of his response.

“I am aware of certain preferences that affect you,” Number Nineteen informed me just as quietly. “But they only affect situations unrelated to nonlinear player development and violations of game progress.”

I didn’t think the three Hearts, who were watching the conversation I was having with Number Nineteen, could possibly have been more surprised—even if the Gray Witch herself had walked over and done a striptease for them.

“Of course,” I answered. “There’s nothing like that here. We have everybody’s mutual consent.”

“What’s going on? Who is that?” mumbled the halfling.

“I second that question,” said Gedron less animatedly. “What’s going on and who is that? I mean, I know who it is, but why is he here?”

“Him?” I pointed at Number Nineteen. “He’s our notary public, so to speak, and he’s going to seal the deal. We aren’t just some guys, so we can’t just give each other our word. We’re respectable people. You’re the heads of your clan, even if it’s going through some dark days, and I’m… Well, I’m well-known in Fayroll, also.”

“Who knows you?” asked Diord, more out of principle than curiosity.

“Lots of people.” Nobody really knew me, but I had to say something. “The Supreme Vila, for example.”

“The Supreme?” Gedron shook his head. “You’re not planning on marrying a vila, are you?”

“Yep,” I nodded sheepishly.

“You idiot,” the three said in unison.

Seriously, what’s the problem? I really needed to read the forums.

“Anyway,” I said, maneuvering the conversation back toward the issue at hand and away from more sensitive issues, “we’re about to finalize an important deal complete with collateral, responsibilities, and all the rest. I’d like the game admin to bear witness to it and apply penalties if the conditions aren’t fulfilled.”

“Ooph.” Gedron sort of cleared his throat.

“What did you think?” I addressed the remainder of the Wild Hearts. “You thought you could let me hold the ring, catch me on camera, and then nail me to the wall? And come out ahead in the end? Right. Number Nineteen, are you able to verify a voluntary transaction between players?”

“That is not against the rules of the game,” answered Number Nineteen dispassionately.

“All right, then let’s review.” I rubbed my hands. “Gedron, are you willing to come to an agreement with me on behalf of the Wild Hearts as attested to by the game admin?”

“Hagen, how would you like to join our clan? This is just a setback—you can bet we’ll be back stronger than ever. I’d even offer you a nice spot in the clan hierarchy,” said Gedron. He was obviously having second thoughts about our dubious deal. Making promises was one thing, but following through on them was quite another.

“No, I don’t think so.” I shook my head. “I already have a clan, and I’m not planning on leaving for the time being. So what do you say? Time’s ticking, and soon this whole place will come crashing down.”

“Name your conditions first,” said Gedron.

“All right. I pledge not to make any noise and let you leave unhindered, and with all the possessions you have with you. I imagine they’re pretty important to you, seeing as how otherwise you’d probably rather die than make this deal.”

“Obviously,” muttered the halfling.

“You pledge to provide me with the one-time assistance of your clan in the manner I request, be that military, financial, or anything else. You and any other members of your clan who learn about this deal are obligated to keep everything that has transpired here secret, including the conditions of the deal itself. If anything gets out, penalties will be applied, the deal will be annulled, and your security will be mine to keep. Also, the Wild Hearts pledge to not follow me or impede my game process, either here in the game or in real life either through violence or moral threats and to not involve third parties for that purpose. How does that sound?”

“Done,” said Gedron unwillingly. “What are the penalties?”

“It’s simply. Anyone who violates the conditions of the agreement drops down to Level 10 and loses all their attributes and abilities. In your case, that’s the whole clan. Number Nineteen, can you do that?”

“Technically, yes,” confirmed the admin emotionlessly. “If the deal is completed voluntarily with no objections from either party.”

“Don’t you think that’s a bit much?” said Diord with a whistle.

“What’s the problem?” I asked. “Don’t go wagging your tongues or hurting me, and you’ll be fine. Come on, let’s make a decision.”

“We agree,” said Gedron. “As a gesture of our good faith, I am officially giving you this signet ring as security, with the condition that you return the favor once the conditions of the deal have been met. If the deal is fulfilled, and the ring isn’t returned, you will be subject to the penalties we discussed in addition to the details of the deal being published.”

“Agreed. But you three need to erase your recordings of all of this,” I noted separately. “Okay?”

“Okay,” answered Gedron.

I walked down the stairs, and we shook hands.

“Done,” pronounced Number Nineteen. “Will that be all?”

“Just a second,” I said, stopping him. “Could you check to see that everyone erased their recordings?”

Number Nineteen froze for a second and then looked at the halfling. The latter dropped his gaze. Gedron shook his head.

“That’s already a violation of the agreement,” I said evenly, “but we’ll let it go.”

“All recordings have now been erased,” said Number Nineteen.

“Excellent,” I answered. “Then off we go.”

The trio set off in the direction of the secret passage, while I turned around and walked back up the stairs.

“Hagen,” called Gedron.

“Yes?”

“I’m going to leave my offer to join the clan open indefinitely. You’re a pain, but you’re lucky, and you like taking risks. We need people like that, so think about it.”

“I will,” I promised.

Out in the courtyard, it was already dark. Stars were shining in the sky, people were lighting torches as they walked by, and the atmosphere was nothing if not romantic.

“Is everything almost ready?” I asked a dwarf walking by. He was carrying some kind of cask.

“Yep, another twenty minutes or so until the show starts,” he answered with a sniffle.

“By the way, do you know where the Thunderbirds are? Your allies?”

“They should be over there.” The dwarf put the cask down and pointed in the direction of the gate. “Although, they may not be.”

“Thanks.”

I slapped him on the back.

“What did you find?”

“I went down to the kitchen and found this cask of wine. And some lousy mutton…”

Off he went with his wine.

“They sure are thrifty.” I shook my head and headed toward the gate.

There were all kinds of people crowded around the gate and not just my clan. Most of them were leaving the castle and finding spots nearby to watch the collapse.

The Hound officers were standing off by themselves, and I waved to Valent, who I noticed was among them. He nodded in reply.

Gerv popped up next to me from out of nowhere. “Where were you?”

“I was exploring the vaults,” I answered melancholically.

“Why?”

“I thought I’d check to see if I could find anything.”

“And did you?”

“No, not much,” I answered, thinking back on the events of the past few minutes. “What’s going on here?”

“Nothing, we’re just waiting for the collapse.”

“Where’s Elina?”

“Over there by the Gray Witch.” Gerv gestured with his head.

I looked and saw that our leader was over chatting about something with the Hound leader in a fairly amiable manner. The gray scout and Milly Re were there, too.

The Gray Witch obviously felt me looking at them and glanced over in my direction. She saw me, smiled, and waved me over.

“Go, go,” said Gerv with a shove. “She’s calling you—go!”

I headed over to see the high command.

“I heard you did good work today,” gushed the Witch. “You were right in the middle of things?”

“Yeah, it turned out that way,” I answered modestly. “I mean, I wasn’t planning on doing anything heroic.”

“As if you had a plan…” Elina muttered to herself.

“Hey, hey, there’s no judging winners,” said the Witch calmly. “They should be rewarded. I’ll think about how to do that.”

“He saved my skin, by the way,” added Milly Re. “I won’t forget that!”

Milly Re wants to add you as a friend.

Accept?

“Well, aren’t you just the hero of the day!” said the Gray Witch with a smile. “It’s just a shame that Gedron got away. Not a trace of him, although we looked everywhere. There was apparently a very secret passageway somewhere in the vaults.”

“Yes, actually,” I said, confirming her suspicion. “They got away through an underground passage. They’re probably on the other side of the river by now.”

“What are you talking about?” The Gray Witch looked closely at me.

I didn’t answer, instead pulling out and showing her the signet ring I’d gotten from Gedron.

Chapter Seven

In which everyone does a lot of talking.

“I wouldn’t mind an explanation.” The Gray Witch was clearly very familiar with the ring.

I didn’t notice a change in her voice, but Milly Re appeared to understand her leader’s intonation much better. She quickly regrouped and came close enough to reach me if need be. Is friendship always that cutthroat?

“Are you sure you want all the details here and now?” I asked as calmly as I could.

“If you don’t mind.” The Gray Witch cast her eyes around the plain, which was full of life. Some people were discussing the attack, others, who died in it, had just arrived and were noisily demanding to know where their things were, and everyone was waiting for the grand collapse of the citadel.

“Fredegar,” the Witch called to the gray scout. “How much time do we have left before the demolition?”

“Twelve minutes, mistress,” he answered.

“Excellent, we still have time. Let’s go into the pavilion. Elina, please come with us; Milly, make sure we aren’t disturbed for any reason.”

She looked at me.

“Let’s go, my little bag of surprises. I want to hear what you have to say.”

We walked into the pavilion, where I decided to jump right in.

“What’s there to tell? I went down into the vaults to see if I could find any gold or other valuables. There wasn’t anything there, though I came across those three when I was leaving.” I waved in the direction of the doomed citadel.

“Gedron, Diord, and who was the third? Plaur?” asked Fredegar.

“No, a halfling named Mato,” I answered. “I have no idea what he was there for.”

“Their treasurer,” the scout said, having seen the Witch’s raised eyebrows. “So that’s why we couldn’t find some twenty of the things we knew were supposed to be in their clan storehouse. It was mostly little things that were missing. And maybe there was even more there that we didn’t know about.”

“Yeah, the sack they were carrying wasn’t that big,” I said.

“And look how calm he is about the whole thing,” Elina said with an exasperated gesture. “I’m so tired of you today. Why can’t you just be like everyone else? Why do you have to shame our clan? What am I going to do with you? Call your parents, like a kid with a bad report card?”

“Elina, it’s fine. Let’s listen—I imagine Hagen has a good explanation for everything he did,” said the Witch easily. She turned back to me. “Continue.”

“Well, that’s about it. Gedron offered money or some toy in exchange for my soul and silence. Obviously, I declined. Then he offered me that set item. I thought about it for a little while and took it. If I hadn’t, he might have changed his mind. And if he had changed his mind, then he would have tried to kill me, I would have yelled, and everyone would have come running to take him out.”

“Why did you think we were looking for him?” asked Elina in some surprise. “You didn’t know we wanted to kill him? Although, of course, there are other options.”

My adorable leader stood lost in thought.

“There are plenty of other options,” I said with a grin.

“Fredegar, you didn’t talk with him, did you?” asked the Gray Witch.

“Of course not. Today, was the first time I ever laid eyes on him,” answered the scout.

“So, what did you decide to do for us?” asked the Witch gently.

“I kept you from having to make a choice,” I answered.

“What choice?”

“The choice between the different ways everything could play out.”

“And which ways are those?”

I realized she already understood the whole picture and was just playing along. She was like a gray cat letting the rat run around the room for a bit before pouncing. Well, nothing for it but to keep going. Either they’d kill me or reward me. I was hoping for the latter.

“The different ways you could deal with the Wild Hearts leadership,” I said, announcing the obvious.

“And why did you think there were options?”

“Weren’t there?” I smiled slightly. “This is a game where you can’t actually kill anyone. Set up a show execution? An interesting option, but one that could make you look like blood-thirsty butchers and them innocent victims. And who would let you do that? You can’t lock them up, either, since there aren’t any maximum-security prisons around. I mean, you could throw them in a hole and slap a boulder on top of them, but they could still send messages. So, really, there was nothing you could do.”

“I can see your logic,” said the Witch softly, “but it doesn’t explain what you did.”

“Why not?” I looked at her in surprise. “It’s all completely logical. I saw your friends, thought about calling for help and decided to let them go.”

Elina jumped up and was about to say something when the Gray Witch stopped her with her hand.

“And?”

“And off they ran. In disgrace, turning their backs on their fallen clan and worried more about saving their stuff than the blood of their warriors. A dishonor, no?”

“A dishonor,” nodded the Witch, glancing at Fredegar. “So?”

“Well, if you tell that to the gaming community, for example, on the forums, it’ll be perfect. The three of them will still be on the run, hiding in forests and mountains. Nobody will want to join them, and their old clanmates will abandon them.”

“And?”

“Well, and there’s nothing tying that back to you, thanks to me,” I said.

Elina looked at me, obviously turning something over in her mind. Fredegar smiled, and the Gray Witch sat down and crossed her legs.

“Fredegar, that’s even more elegant than what we had planned, wouldn’t you say? Similar, but more elegant.” She finally gave her verdict.

“Good improvising,” agreed the scout. “That was some good work.”

“We thought of something similar, though we were just going to arrange an escape for them,” Fredegar explained to me and Elina. “Our thoughts regarding the future were the same, though your way turned out much better. Spontaneity is always better since it’s more believable. That old fox Gedron might not have fallen for the faked escape. Plus, as you mentioned, this way nobody has anything tying us to what happened.”

“I think he would have preferred death if it weren’t for his greed,” said Elina. “He didn’t want to lose his things.”

Fredegar nodded.

“Agreed.”

“Really well done,” said the Witch. “I’m just surprised he gave you the signet ring. It’s quite the little ring, and he values it highly.”

“Oh, he thinks he’ll be getting it right back,” I said casually. “They were probably recording the conversation. Soon they’ll try to blackmail me into sabotaging something or leaking secrets to them, I imagine. Or they’ll make me an offer I can’t refuse.”

“And what are your plans? I mean, about betraying us?” asked Fredegar inquisitively.

“Why not?” I shrugged. “We’ll see what they want and make a decision. Together, I imagine. We’re allies, after all.”

“Quite. Send me a message as soon as they come after you,” requested the Gray Witch. “We’ll think about what to give them.”

“But what about the ring?” asked Elina. “Maybe, we should keep it in the clan storehouse?”

“No, bad idea,” I said, shaking my head. “Who knows when I’ll need it? It’ll be better if I hang onto it.”

Ha, right. I can just imagine the interrogation you’ll put me through when I try to get it back…

“All right, let’s go watch the citadel collapse,” said the Gray Witch. “It’s time.”

As we were walking out of the pavilion, she took hold of my arm and spoke softly into my ear.

“Well done—I’ll think about a good reward for you. But enough of your games. Do what I tell you to do—and don’t forget that.”

“Understood,” I replied.

Damn. She could be scary.

The citadel crumbled, kicking up a stinking cloud of dust. I stood watching it, thought back over everything I’d done, and decided I’d made the right decision. Even if the Hearts decided they wanted revenge more than their entire clan’s high levels and leaked the information—something I doubted would happen—I was clean. I’d already confessed everything of my own free will. Well, except for the favor the Hearts owed me, but that could be my little secret. Most importantly, I’d told the truth. I didn’t lie, and therefore I wouldn’t have to somehow prove that I wasn’t involved. Especially with the truth spell, or whatever it’s called, involved. And about the possibility of future espionage, “we’ll see” were the key words. My dad always told me that if you don’t know what to say, you should tell the truth or keep your mouth shut. I think he was right. Why think up something complex when you can just be honest?

The show ended, and the crowd headed toward the forest to put enough distance between them and the castle to port out. I realized that I was about to get left there if I didn’t do something quickly, and so I ran across the field shouting at the top of my lungs.

“Ge-e-erv! Ge-e-erv!”

“What are you yelling for?” Someone grabbed me by the arm.

That “someone” turned out to be Elina.

“Where are you going?” she asked me severely.

She asked me so severely, in fact, that I nearly stood at attention. When your own sergeant is scarier than the enemy general…

“I’d like to go back to Mettan, which is where I was before this.”

“Sounds good,” said Elina with a nod and a command. “You’re coming with me.”

“And Gerv?”

“Gerv will be fine. Come on, hurry up—I have a lot to do in real life, and it’s already almost nighttime.”

Elina strode quickly, almost running, and so it only took us about ten minutes to get to a small hollow lit up by a number of portal flashes. Another one flashed next to us as Elina added hers to the mix, and a second later, my nostrils were met with the familiar, fresh, and pleasant smell of the Great River.

“Phew,” I said, sighing. “What a day.”

“You’re telling me, hero. Could you explain to me why you always have to do things the hard way? Let’s go sit over there so you can explain everything to me, and we’re not sticking out like a pair of sore thumbs.”

Just then, Elina reminded me less of a brutal, smart, calculating, and sometimes even merciless leader of a major clan, and more of a school teacher I once had. It was hard to say which iteration I was afraid of more. I wondered who she actually was in real life.

We walked over to a secluded corner not far from the gate, leaving a square that at that time of night was completely empty, and Elina turned her blue eyes to stare at me.

“I have no idea,” I said, shrugging sincerely. “The worst part is that I didn’t really get anything out of it.”

“He wants a reward,” snorted Elina. “So, becoming part of the Gray Witch’s inner circle—if not one of her favorites—holding a set ring in your pocket, and looking forward to a nice bonus on top of your share from the attack doesn’t mean anything. You, my dear, might be biting off a bit too much.”

“What? I’m sorry, I don’t understand that last part.”

“I mean, you’re being greedy!”

“But what about a bonus?”

“The Gray Witch punishes severely, but she always rewards generously—everyone knows that. And so, you can be expecting something awfully nice on top of your fair share. I think I can guarantee you that what you’ll be getting will be worth much more than your share, in fact.”

“Oh, I don’t know…” I hadn’t thought of that.

“I do, believe me. I already got a bonus for our clan as a thank-you for the aid we gave the Hounds. And let me tell you, it’s worth much more than whatever we did for them.”

“She’s going to include us in the convoy?”

“Yes. She’s willing to include our three ships in their convoy.”

“I hope I’ve earned myself a spot on one of them?”

“If you stop playing with fire.” Elina looked at me seriously. “Playing games with the Gray Witch is like toying with a viper. She may never actually bite you, but if she does, her bite will almost certainly be mortal. And you’ll never know when it’s coming.”

“And you don’t want that to happen?”

“No, I don’t. You’re a smart and lucky guy, and you can do a lot of good for our clan. I remember how we accepted you, let’s say, due to extenuating circumstances, but I don’t regret that. Just don’t make me regret it, okay?”

“Of course.”

We stood there quietly for a few minutes, basking in the quiet Fayroll night. The moon shone down on us. Frogs croaked somewhere off by the river.

“Do you not like this, too?” asked Elina suddenly.

“Like what?”

“Awkward pauses.”

I coughed.

“Okay, I’m off. Will you be here tomorrow?” asked Elina.

“No, I have work in the morning, and then I’m going to jump into a local boat with the proud name of Firefly and head down the river. At our pace, I’ll have enough money for a few days.”

“Then don’t wait until the morning; get started now.”

“Why?”

“Because the Firefly sails in real time.”

“What do you mean?”

“Exactly that. You pay, you climb on board, and it sets off. Then it goes off real time. Speed multiplied by time, basically.”

“Seriously? Why?” I was taken aback. “Why does it take so much time?”

“Because they want you to walk, do quests, visit cities. If you want to go quickly, they put restrictions on you—and the simplest way isn’t always the shortest. Although the river is still faster than going by foot. Plus, even if you leave the game, the process continues, and you keep sailing.”

“Well, that’s something, at least.”

“Do you need some money?” Elina’s offer was surprisingly casual. “You probably don’t have much, and the Firefly is pretty expensive, as far as I remember.”

The money would have been nice, and you can never have too much, but…

“Real men don’t accept money,” I answered ironically. “Thanks, but I’m good—they’re giving me a really good discount. I want to get off at Montrig, so I should have enough to get me there.”

“Montrig? Yeah, that’s a good city. There’s a fun entourage quest there that has to do with the old temple. And you’ll sail past Snakeville, thank God—with your long nose, you’d probably go check it out.”

“What’s the quest? And what’s wrong with Snakeville?”

“The quest was great, but it was a long time ago, and I don’t remember the details. I think you start by talking to some trader in the market. Go find it, it’s a good quest. About Snakeville…everyone knows that it’s a bad place. That’s enough for you to keep your distance.”

“So, you haven’t seen it for yourself?”

“No, and I’m not in a hurry to check it out either. Don’t pull one of your tricks like you did today. When I saw you on the tower, I think I turned white I was so angry!”

“Nervous?”

“That you’d disgrace the clan? Very. You’re a loose cannon. Although, I didn’t look great today myself.”

“Oh, please.” I decided to go with the polite and honorable thing to say.

“Not really. I spent half the day making myself look like a moron. It’s better when you-know-who thinks you’re an idiot—life’s easier that way. All right, you need to get on the boat, and I need to go back to real life. See you later.”

She opened a portal and had almost stepped into it when she turned back to me with a question.

“Are you really engaged to a vila? Or is that just a rumor?”

“It’s true,” I said, looking her in the eye.

“You’re crazy.”

And she walked through the portal.

For some reason, I stood for a full minute looking at the spot where the portal had just been before shaking my head and heading for the hotel.

The city was asleep, and the adorable little hotel girl named Jacqueline was also asleep. I stopped to gaze at her blonde head, her tiny nose scrunching even in her sleep, before quietly calling her name.

“Jacqueline, sweetie, can I have a key?”

The beautiful girl woke up just enough to automatically reach out her hand.

I didn’t take too much time in my room—just enough to see how much money I had left. There was enough for two days, but that was it. I had to make sure I still had three thousand or so saved up for a rainy day. I tossed the signet ring in the chest as well, figuring there was no point carrying it around. If I needed it, they could wait.”

I left the key on the desk and walked toward the port.

The old tub was just as I’d left it, the only difference being that the entire valiant crew was sprawled all over it fast asleep. A snoring Captain Gul was among them.

There was no point in getting sentimental, so I stepped over and started shaking the captain.

“Hey, Captain! Wake up! It’s almost midnight!”

“What are you talking about?” howled Gul groggily. “This is a passenger vessel, not an eel barge.”

“Then take me down the river,” I said. “To meet the dawn.”

“You adventurers need to relax,” grumbled Gul, waking up the crew. “Why can’t you just wait till the morning like a normal person? No, it has to be the middle of the night…”

“Oh, stop it, Captain,” I said. “Just tell me how far I can get for four thousand. As I’m sure you’re aware, I have a discount. Can I get to Montrig?”

“Yes, you should be able to,” said Gul, scratching his shaggy head, “unless something happens. You know, a storm or something like that.”

“How does that make a difference?”

“The crew tires out faster—we do everything to keep you alive, of course. And they get a bonus for that, which comes out of your pocket. So if you run out of money and don’t pay us in half an hour, we dump you right there on the bank.”

So, that’s how this works. Just whoops—and you’re on the bank. They weren’t that patient.

“Let’s go, you old sea dog,” I nodded to Gul. “We’ll hope for clear sailing and seven feet under the keel. Here’s the money.”

The clinking gold transformed the captain.

“In that case, let’s go!” he said compliantly before barking out orders. “Get to your stations! Up anchor!”

I sat down near the port side, listened to the evening waves, and thought about the first thing that came to mind, Why is the boat always by the pier, and why am I sailing alone if there are so many people looking to take the boat down the river? Whole groups could go through the mountains with the smugglers, after all. It wasn’t logical; walking with people was fine, but sailing with them was not.

But then I figured it didn’t matter and left it to the developers. I logged out.

Night reigned in Moscow as well. I smoked a cigarette, watched the city that never sleeps, and mulled everything over in my head. Four new rug rats to deal with tomorrow. What’s going on with Snakeville? And who is Elina in real life?

I finished the cigarette, flicked the butt off the balcony, and lay down to sleep. The next day’s problems were better saved for the next day. I’d had enough.

Chapter Eight

In which we meet new characters and new problems.

I started awake to the sound of my phone ringing. My first thought was that I was still dreaming, but it slowly dawned on me that the phone was actually ringing.

“Hi, Kif,” said the unfamiliar voice at the other end of the line. “It’s Nikita.”

“Nikita who?” I asked sleepily.

“Nikita Valyaev. You’re not still sleeping, are you? Wake up, sleepyhead. Up and at them!”

“What? Yes, I mean, no, I’m awake. Did something happen?”

“Morning happened, and you’re still sleeping. Although, after your adventures yesterday…”

“What adventures?”

“If you don’t think getting a free wish from the head of a fallen, if still strong clan, is a big deal, let me be the first to congratulate you on your impressive ambitions.”

“That’s just how things played out. I got lucky.”

“We make our own luck. But enough about that; I’m calling to talk about the weekly supplement.”

Here we go. I braced myself for something like, “I’m sorry, but we decided the release isn’t exactly what we’re looking for and might lose us money, so everything we talked about…”

“So,” continued Valyaev, “I’m about to send you the phone number of a wonderful person named Diana. Just note that she prefers ‘Di.’ Anyway, Di is going to help you collect interesting facts for each day: who beat what record, who killed what exotic beast, and so on. She’ll email all that to you or whoever you name every morning, and you can pick out what you think is worth printing. Will that make your job easier?”

“You have no idea,” I said with complete sincerity. “I’ve been trying to figure out how we can keep track of all that. I was going to call you to see what we could come up with, and there you go putting it all right there on a silver platter. Complete with a cherry on top.”

“Well, this isn’t exactly altruism here. We just realized that you need access to general information about the game to do your job, and we can’t give you access to classified servers; you don’t have the right clearance for that. Well, you don’t have any clearance for the moment. We figured this would be the best option.”

“Can I ask you for one more thing?” I decided to push my luck.

“Of course. Especially, if it doesn’t affect your non-linear game progress.”

I realized he was joking and did my best to laugh sincerely and nonchalantly.

“I was thinking about using a big map of Fayroll for the centerpiece. Is there any way I can get a scan of it?”

“Interesting idea. You mean, without labels for dungeons and all of that, right?”

“Of course. More a geographical map. You know, like they had at school.”

“Talk with Di about that. I’ll let her know what’s going on. Okay, wait for my text message and good luck.”

“Thanks!” I answered before hanging up and rubbing my eyes.

A good idea? Of course it was a good idea. It was Friday, and I had nothing so far; with the map, I’d knock out the centerfold in one fell swoop. Plus, having a map would be handy for me. There was one on the site, of course, but it wasn’t easy to see the different locations and it was a bit too small. Anyway, beggars couldn’t be choosers. Speaking of the site, though…

I turned on my computer and did a quick workout while it was loading. Details aside, I was back in front of the monitor fifteen minutes later. The stir Buzdigan’s provocation had caused had died down completely. The community was unanimous in its opinion that the whole thing had been much ado about nothing and moved on in search of greener pastures. That day, as I might have expected, the headlines were all about the attack of the Wild Hearts’ castle, its collapse, and what that all meant for the clans jostling for control. The Hounds of Death already carried quite a bit of weight in the community, and their victory had only heaped on new laurels.

Overnight, the leaders of several other major clans had pledged loyalty to the Hounds. They even wanted to create alliances. The Hounds themselves hadn’t said anything besides a press release discussing their win over the Hearts. I was particularly tickled by the fact that they hadn’t forgotten my clan. “…joined forces with their sister clan the Thunderbirds to storm the main citadel…” Sister clan! It looked like they’d taken a five-step leap up the leaderboard. Elina and Gerv would be happy, that much was certain.

There wasn’t any other real news, and I was about to turn off my computer and head in to the office when I remembered that I wanted to check out why everyone thought I was such an idiot. It didn’t take long to find the answer, and five minutes later, I pushed back my chair.

“Ah, I’m an idiot!”

It was true. I realized why the Supreme Vila had smiled the way she did when she mentioned the powerful curse I’d trigger if I didn’t fulfill my obligations to Elmilora. She wasn’t wrong, the old hag. It was powerful. Incredibly powerful. There was only one effect, but it was a doozy: -95% to luck. In other words, no matter what I did, I’d only have a five percent chance of it ending well. If there was just one single group of goblins in the forest, it was almost guaranteed to find me. All enemy blows aimed at me had a 95% chance of being critical. I probably wouldn’t be able to do a single quest, not even the simplest of them, because I just wouldn’t be able to complete whatever their task was.

And, that wasn’t all. Next to my name, would be the title I’d been promised: Betrayer. For players with even the least bit of experience, that was the mark of the beast. I wouldn’t be able to join any groups since the curse would extend to everyone in them as long as they included me. And who needs that? NPCs wouldn’t have anything to do with me either, so completing quests was the least of my worries; I most likely wouldn’t be able to even get them.

But the story didn’t end there. The curse would go into effect if I didn’t present myself to the bright gaze of the Supreme Vila within six months. And, if I did, and then got married, things wouldn’t get any better. Vilas make for fantastic, even ideal wives. They’re faithful, kind, homey, caring, and extremely economical. They care deeply about having order in their homes. But, what order could there be if their husbands were off with unsavory characters or even by themselves roaming the four corners of the world in search of adventure? No, they need to be at home. So, vilas put a spell on their husbands that is impossible to resist. Nobody knew what it was called, though some people on the forums referred to it as the Ball and Chain.

In short, vila husbands weren’t allowed to go more than two miles away from their homes. If they tried, the road they were taking would inconspicuously change to lead right back to their front door and loving wife. How’s that for a happy ending? Wherever you go, you find yourself back home. Home, sweet home. And, there was no way to lift either of those spells. The only option you had left if you married a vila was to delete your account and start a new one. Judging by the number of censored words people were writing, it was an option many people took. It was untenable for me, however.

I was feeling more and more depressed, as I kept readying, I realized that I’d been smart enough to put things off for six months. Maybe I can go back then and ask the Supreme for another six. Who knows what could happen in that time? Then, I had an idea. It seemed crazy at first, but, on second thought…that could work.

I played everything over in my mind on my way to work and, on autopilot, walked into my usual office.

“What are you doing here?” the Rat asked with unbelievable spite. “You’re management, so you have your own wing now.”

“Oh, I just stopped by to see who would be sailing on with us and who’d be walking the plank,” I said importantly. “Maybe they’re too old, or maybe it’s something else. It comes with the position.”

I walked out without bothering to even look at her. Let her stew, the old witch. That may have been rude of me, but I couldn’t stand that…whatever it was…mix of insolence and envy.

To be fair, I had completely forgotten that I had my own wing. There were also four little chicks waiting for me there, presumably, with fire in their eyes and reverence on their faces.

Either I’d overestimated myself or thought too highly of the younger generation; either way, there was no reverence anywhere to be found. They weren’t rude, of course. It was just that most kids these days act like princes sentenced to exile in some godforsaken village. That was exactly the impression I got from the three young men dressed in sharp suits and sitting in the first of the three offices we’d been assigned. They didn’t even bother to stand when I walked in, not to mention even the most casual of hellos. The exception was a girl, and a quite attractive one, who stood up and addressed me.

“My name is Vika, Vika Travnikova. I’m hoping I can become a real journalist under your leadership.”

What eyes. A man could drown in them.

“I can’t promise that,” I answered, “since it depends entirely on you. If you want to be one, go for it. But, I guess, these gentlemen aren’t looking to be real journalists? Or at least they don’t want that here and now.”

I gestured toward the still-seated trio with my head. “We can probably forget about them in that case, right, Vika?”

She blinked, unsure of what she was supposed to do. She was still young and hadn’t yet learned to read intonation enough to play along.

The trio stood up, and one of them, a tall, sleek blond with fish-like eyes, had something to say. “Are you sure we don’t want to be journalists? Why would you think that?”

“Did I say they didn’t want to be journalists at all? Hmm, Vika?” I asked the girl with a touch of surprise.

Vika nodded, still unsure of what I was getting at.

“I said they don’t want to be journalists here,” I emphasized, turning to them. “And, to be honest, since you don’t want to be journalists here, why don’t you just go ahead and walk out the door? Don’t forget to hand in your badges.”

“We didn’t say that, either,” said the second member of the trio, a tubby guy with funny-looking bangs hanging over a large, round head.

“No? But do you always have to say it?” I raised my tone slightly.

The trio tensed. Just you wait, kittens. I’m not done with you yet.

What did you expect? “If you love your kid, you have to crush a rib now and again,” was what my dad sad when I was little, and it was an expression he followed to the letter. Well, maybe not to the letter, though I could remember getting the belt several times. Still, I grew up to be a man. More or less. But I had to get those pipsqueaks in line right off the bat, or I’d spend all my time coddling them. That was why I started off by cutting their legs out from under them. Plus, you always need to be upfront with people, letting them know exactly who you are and showing them that you’re the boss. If worst came to worst, I’d fire the fish-eyed one—I couldn’t stand him. The girl wasn’t bad, though. She had a tall forehead, she behaved herself, and she had intelligent eyes.

“And that’s even forgetting the fact that you ignored me, your boss,” I told them harshly. “But that’s not the most important thing. A person who also works at your publication walked into the office where you work, and you three couldn’t be bothered to peel your asses off your chairs and say hello.”

“We didn’t know that you were our supervisor,” said the fish-eyed one in an attempt to defend their behavior. “And saying hello to everyone—”

“Would make your tongue fall out? Or your legs fall off your ass?” I interrupted. “How are you going to work with people, my friend? You’re a journalist. Your tongue, the way you look, and how you act are all you have in this game. Knowing how to put words in a sentence comes later. So you made a terrible impression on me, your boss, and I have no idea how you’re possibly going to interact with other people. Get out of here—I don’t need you.”

I’ll be honest, the four of them, or at least three of the four, expected a very different beginning. They’d obviously been all set to tell me what an honor they and their honors diplomas were doing me by agreeing to work at such a two-bit establishment. And, here I was throwing them out the door. It was a bit of a curveball.

“What are you standing there for?” My tone jumped another half-octave. “I told you to get out of here. Don’t forget to hand in your badge.”

“Hey, you weren’t the one who hired us,” muttered Fish Eyes.

“Oh no?” I was prepared for just such an objection. Valyaev and I had already talked that day, so it was time to have a chat with Zimin.

“Hi, Maxim? It’s Kif. Yes. These graduates you sent me are all upset and throwing a tantrum, and, really, they aren’t even journalists. They’re nothing but trash. Well, except for the girl. I’m here trying to throw them out the door, and they informed me that I don’t have the right to fire them since I didn’t hire them. I’m going to put you on speaker; would you mind setting them straight?”

I turned on the speakerphone just in time for Zimin’s voice to boom through. “Are you kidding me? You were each clearly informed, as far as I know, who you report to. You’re all fired! Get out!”

I quickly turned off the speakerphone and spoke into it. “Thank you.”

To be honest, I was wondering if I’d overdone it. Asking my new employer for help like that on the very first day… I had to make sure I steered clear of any backlash.

“Giving them hell? Good job,” Zimin said approvingly. “Kids are always like that—I certainly was.”

“Absolutely,” I said, throwing a bloodthirsty glance at the pale trio in front of me. I hope nobody faints.

“Oh, and nice work with Gedron yesterday,” he continued. “I enjoyed watching the recording today. All right, that’s it, talk to you later.”

So they’re recording me. Good to know.

“Any other questions?” I asked Fish Eyes and pushed him toward the door. “Let’s go, let’s go! Get out of here!”

I turned my back to stare at the others, trying not to blink. They stood there just as unblinkingly, though probably for a different reason. I don’t think they even breathed. They were scared stiff.

“Nobody has any more problems with me? Or questions?”

“No questions, everything is clear,” said the third, a short, resilient guy with an enormous nose.

“Is it clear what you’re supposed to do now?”

Their poor brains churned, trying to guess what I wanted. Trying not to slip up again.

“Tell him your names,” said Vika quietly.

Bravo. She was on the ball.

“Dmitry Samoshnikov,” said the one with the bangs.

“Vadim Yushkov,” said the one with the nose.

“Stroynikov, Gennady,” I heard from the door behind me.

“Gennady, you’re still here? Go!” I reminded Fish Eyes. “I already told you.”

“I understand,” he muttered. “I was wrong, I’m sorry.”

“Fine,” I relented. “But try one more trick like that, and I’ll make sure you never work again. That goes for everyone, by the way.”

The mutiny put down, I got down to work with the team. As my sergeant once said, “Soldiers who go for three minutes without doing anything start to think. And, that’s bad for me, the army, and themselves.”

“Listen up. I’ll say this one more time. I’m in charge. I don’t mind hearing your opinions, but my word goes. If I’m not here, then decisions are made by my assistant.”

“And, who’s your assistant?” asked the one with the nose.

“That’s her.” I pointed at Vika. “At least, for now.”

“Me?” Emotions, from surprise to excitement, chased each other over Vika’s face. “Why me?”

“For a number of reasons. You’ve proven yourself better than everyone else; you think better, or at least faster; and I know for a fact that women are much better than men at a number of things. I’ll be gone a lot, so you’ll stand in and do what I tell you to do. I need to know that everything will be perfect without me. Also, you probably won’t show up drunk.”

“That I can promise,” Vika said with a smile.

“Great. Oh, and it’ll be easier for me to get you into bed this way.”

Vika started, lightning flashing in her eyes. The three guys grinned.

“Ah-ah.” I clapped once. “You still don’t have control over your temper. And you can’t take a hit. Remember this—you need to be ready for people to throw all kinds of crap at you because they always will.”

Vika understood that I’d apparently been joking or testing her yet again and calmed down. “They didn’t teach us that,” she said.

“They didn’t teach you anything,” I answered. “There’s a Grand Canyon of difference between what they teach you at university and what it’s like here in the real world. Anyway, we’ll come back to that later.”

I looked at my troops. “Okay, our job is to publish a six-page—well, twelve-page, really—insert called the Fayroll Times. I hope everyone knows what Fayroll is?”

They all nodded, which made me feel better. Next, I moved on to a five-minute speech about what I wanted to see and who would do what.

“All right, let’s talk about who’s responsible for what. Who liked history and geography at school?”

“I did.” The Tuft raised his hand.

“Excellent. You get two articles in every issue: one about the history of Fayroll and the other about a geographical look at a location. Where it is, what’s nearby, who lives there, how to kill them. You can find everything you need on the forums. If you’re having a problem with that, let me know.”

“Got it.” It didn’t look like the Tuft was terribly pleased with his assignment.

“Who’s game for facts and analysis?” I asked.

“Probably me,” said the Nose, who raised his hand as well. “What should I write about?”

“You’ll describe the classes. Make sure you’re detailed, and that will be a ton of material. Mages and everything about them, from A to Z, you know what I mean. And so on. You’ll also be responsible for the Guide section. Each release should include information about a dungeon or something else like that. You’ll figure it out.”

“And then I have something different for you two,” I said, turning to Fish Eyes and Vika. “Well, let me tell you, Vika. You can tell him later.”

Fish Eyes was hurt, though he didn’t show it. You’re just going to have to wait it out. It’ll get worse before it gets better. What can I say? I don’t like you…

“Okay, Vika, I’m going to write down the number of a girl named Diana, but you should call her Di. Give her your email address, and she’ll send you a ton of information. What I want you and your friend to do is go through it every week and find what you think is most interesting. Don’t worry too much about it—pick out everything you think is even just a little interesting. Every Tuesday we three—you, me, and that goblin—will sit down and sort through what you have. Okay?”

“I think so.” The girl nodded, all business.

“I’m going to give you my number, too, so call me whenever you need to—for work, of course. You give it to everyone else, and then have everyone exchange numbers and give them to me. All right, let’s go.”

“Where?” Vika blinked, not understanding.

“That’s a strange question. Am I not your boss?”

“You are.”

“Well, then,” I said with an oily smile, “let’s go to the next office. I want to use you!”

The girl did a good job that time. She reddened a little, but she reacted much better and waved me off.

“Oh, come on. You’re nothing but talk.”

“Ten points for you. Let’s head over to the main office so I can introduce you to everyone. You’ll also be handling the technical side of things, so you need to know all the more or less important people around here.”

Everyone stood there quietly listening to me.

“You.” I walked over to Stroynikov and poked him in the chest.

“I have a name. Or a last name,” he answered, frowning.

“Perhaps, if you’d behaved yourself at the beginning…” I looked at him narrowly. “Now, you have to earn them. If you don’t like that, the door is still open and waiting for you.”

Fish Eyes was quiet, and his silence marked his consent. Sure, I was being harsh, but I was only doing things the way I’d been taught, and I turned out fine. There was no point reinventing the wheel.

“Okay, while we’re gone, make sure all the equipment works well, get the office supplies you need, and see what else you’re missing. Questions?”

“We’ll help,” said the Tuft. “There’s nothing else to do since the computers haven’t been hooked up yet.”

“Go,” I said approvingly. “IT’s extension is 126. Bother them until they give you what you need—that’s the only way to get anything out of them.”

I won’t describe the next day and a half, as it was spent going around, unpacking everything, moving things around, and introducing people. By the time Saturday evening rolled around, everything had mostly calmed down. My team was working late, and I headed home. They were young and still had plenty of energy; I was not. I needed to sleep and eat once in a while.

I walked into my apartment, my phone ringing right when I stepped over the threshold.

“Hi, Kif, this is Zimin.”

“Good evening!” When the boss calls, you drop everything.

“Yep. Kif, make sure you’re at work on Monday by noon.” Sure. They didn’t ask me, they gave orders.

“Got it. What’s up?”

“Nothing, just the security guy we talked about may drop by. Remember?”

“Okay, I’ll be there,” I answered clearly and concisely.

“How are the kiddies?” asked Zimin when I didn’t say anything else.

“Fine so far,” I said. “I pushed them hard, and they got in line.”

“Good job. Okay, talk to you later.”

I put my phone in my pocket and realized I’d lost my desire to eat or sleep. The clock read 9 p.m., and I decided that I might as well see how my trip down the river was going. Was I lying on the river bed with crayfish clawing at my legs?

I was not on the river bed, and there was no seaweed draped over my legs. Instead, I was standing on the bank of the Great River watching the sun set behind its waves. Behind me was a forest, in front of me was the water. The Firefly was nowhere to be seen.

“Nice.” I whistled and opened my map.

The Firefly had dropped me off well short of Montrig—maybe a day’s walk. I looked to see what was nearby, hoping there would at least be a headstone to link to. Dying, after all, would have sent me all the way back to the beginning of my journey and made the whole thing a waste of time and money. As it turned out, there was one settlement about an hour away from where I was. Its name was Snakeville.

Chapter Nine

In which our hero finds himself somewhere less than enjoyable.

With my luck, it would have been stupid to think I’d find myself anywhere else. If it were possible to wind up exactly where no one wanted me to go, that was what would happen.

I checked my map again. The next settlement looked to be half a day’s walk away, while it was only an hour to Snakeville. There was an hour and a half of daylight left.

Snakeville it is, I decided. At least, I’ll head there and log out. Everything there comes out at night, or at least that’s what everyone said.

The forest there was not what I was used to. It was almost impassable. In comparison with, say, Fladridge and its elegant birches and aspens, it was the Krasnoyarsk taiga[7] and a forest somewhere in Germany. I clambered over debris, crawled under fallen trees, pushed my way through bushes. I wasn’t thrilled with my latest tourist venture.

Why do people pay money to go places like that? I mean, more power to them, but I don’t get it. Every once in a while, I’ll see one of them in the metro. They’re walking along with an enormous backpack as majestic as mammoths walking among the cavemen, and they always have something rubbery to sit on tied to the back of their backpacks. Everything is worn and singed by all the campfires they’ve sat around, and on their head, is invariably some kind of knitted contraption or a fisherman’s hat with strings hanging down from it. The look on their faces is ethereal, as if us city people can’t understand the children of the forest. Forest children—ha! You can just take the train eighty kilometers outside the city to somewhere like Vereya,[8] light a fire, open a bottle of vodka, and sing your lungs out until midnight. Ah well, we all relax in our own ways. I still don’t get it, though.

And so that forest drove me crazy, too. I’m just not a fan. Though what stood out to me was that I’d been making my way along for half an hour already and hadn’t come across a single enemy. Not a goblin, not a wild, snarling wolf, nothing. It was like the entire forest had gone extinct.

That thought had no sooner struck me than I heard a grunt as I crawled out from under yet another fallen tree.

I stood up and looked around to see who was grunting at me.

There, looking back at me, was an enormous red boar. He was a meter-and-a-half high and had an ugly, tusked face.

A small clearing separated the two of us. He stared at me with deep-set eyes, and I could feel him tensing to attack.

I looked closer. Phew boy. He even had a name: Erimanf. Apparently, he had something to do with a quest, which I found equal parts interesting and illogical. After all, there weren’t any villages nearby. Why would a quest require you to burn half a day trudging across the known world to do it? Or maybe he’s left over from Snakeville?

As I stood there thinking, the boar had had his fill of looking at me and started shuffling his legs.

“Okay, listen, fangs,” I said to him. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

The boar tilted his head slightly as if listening to me.

“Let’s say we go ahead and have this fight,” I said, continuing my admonishment. “You may kill me—I won’t argue there. But I might kill you, too. And there’s no reason for us to pick a fight. I’m not on your turf, and I don’t have a quest for you. So, why don’t you go dig up some oaks while I keep on walking toward Snakeville? What do you say?”

I’m not sure if my voice soothed him or if he was actually intelligent—they say boars in real life actually are very smart, and who knows what they could be like in the game? Either way, this one turned tail and ran, grunting as he did.

What do you know? I noted to myself. You can always come to an agreement with nature! Not like people at all.

The little victory wit scored over weaponry cheered me up, as did the fact that the forest was becoming more and more open. I’m not sure I was enjoying the whole thing anymore, but it was at least easier. Ten minutes later, the forest had thinned to the point that I could move quickly without the risk of tripping over some bush or rotten tree trunk.

My brisk walk, interspersed once in a while with a quick jog, took me another ten minutes. I regularly checked my map—I really wanted to make it out of the forest by nightfall.

Happily, I made it. The first stars were twinkling in the sky when I broke out of the forest and into a meadow that ended on a tall hill. I could see half-destroyed buildings on the hill—the notorious Snakeville itself. After a few moments’ thought about whether it was worth continuing toward the city, my curiosity got the better of me, and I decided to go for it. Maybe there’s a headstone there. The village was gone, but its headstone may have remained.

As it always did in Fayroll, the distance turned out to be farther than I thought. The sky was completely dark and featured an enormous moon by the time I walked up the hill and into the village. Everything was quiet and empty. No ghouls flew down to drink my hot blood. No zombies creaked and stank as they meandered up to eat my brains. No ghosts circled my head, trying to suck my soul out of my mortal body. Everything was peaceful and grand, marred only by a lonely shutter creaking rhythmically somewhere in the darkness. A light breeze chased dust down the ragged road and into the houses lining it.

I walked along Snakeville’s main road (I wasn’t positive that’s what it was, but I was pretty sure) and realized that it had actually been a decent-sized village in its day. There were something like forty buildings from what I could see—buildings in which fires once burned in hearths, buildings which once rang with song, laughter, and conversation. But it was now an open-air museum of human folly that worked only when someone living wandered in.

That thought surprised me, as I could have sworn someone had put it in my head against my will. What museum? What hearths?

“This museum,” a voice hissed smoothly in my ear. “See for yourself!”

A whistle gathered in my ears and went ultrasound, causing me to instinctively cover them and scrunch up my eyes. I felt someone tugging at my sleeve.

“Mister, are you a warrior?” I heard someone say.

I opened my eyes and let my hands fall away from my ears.

In front of me, stood a tiny barefoot girl. She was all of seven and dressed in a calico sundress. Her blue eyes danced, and her hair hung down simply from her head. She was clutching a rag doll with button eyes and a mouth drawn on with charcoal.

“What?” I asked, not sure where she’d come from. It was brightly lit—wasn’t it just night?

“Are you a warrior?” she patiently asked again.

“Yes,” I nodded. “Where am I?”

“This is my village, Snakeville. I live here with my mommy, daddy, and brother,” she said cheerfully. “My name is Marika. This is Dizzy.”

She held up the button-eyed doll.

“And I’m Hagen,” I said, looking around.

Where did the empty, ruined village go? It wasn’t exactly that scary even in the moonlight. But where did the moonlight go?

From what I could tell, it was some time around noon, and I was in a completely different village. Well, the same one, but different. There was life in the homes, people walked in and out of them, and chickens mixed with cows on the street.

“This is Snakeville?” I asked Marika in disbelief.

“Yep,” she nodded. “But why did you say that your name is Hagen?”

I looked at her, surprised. “What do you think my name is?”

“Well, I’m not good at reading. My brother’s teaching me—he’s really good. There’s something above you that says your name is W-…Wi-…Winkle.”

I pulled up the interface to find that I really was no longer myself. The whole thing becoming more scary than fun. From what I could tell, my name really was Winkle. I was a warrior from the Heirs of the Gods Clan, and I was proudly up at Level 122. That was impressive, of course, but I was more worried about what would happen if I tried to log out.

Something exploded over the village, and I crouched, instinctively covering the girl with my body. It sounded like a fireball.

“What was that?” I asked rhetorically.

“You’re the ones fighting.” Marika’s voice came from under me. “It’s been like that all day. Dizzy and I wanted to ask, are you almost done? It’s so scary, and mommy’s crying—she’s scared, too. Daddy isn’t home, so who will protect us?”

“If there’s a war going on, why did your mom let you leave the house?” I muttered, picking the girl up off the road and brushing her off. I’d knocked her down when I covered her.

“She didn’t,” admitted Marika. “I ran away.”

“You shouldn’t do that,” I said. “When there’s a war, children should stay at home. Really, you should be in the cellar just to be safe.”

Another explosion rocked the area, though this one was a bit farther from the village.

“Winkle, damn it!” I heard someone yelling from behind me. “What are you doing standing there? Why did they send us here?”

I turned around. The person yelling at me was named Denny Lorien, and he was pretty high-level, too.

“Why did they send us here?” I bellowed back, hoping he’d give me the answer. Why did they send us? How should I know?

“To make sure the Chaos Riders weren’t pulling apart the houses so they could make boats and cross the river,” said Lorien, waving his hands. “But they aren’t here—they didn’t come into the village. Our people are all over by the river already, and you’re the only one left here. Come on, move your ass!”

I glanced at Marika. She was holding her doll and looking up at me.

“Fly home,” I told her. “Everything will be over soon. And if you hear metal and swearing, like from that guy over there, don’t leave the house. Don’t let your mom or brother leave either, okay?”

Marika nodded, waved her doll’s hand at me, and headed off in the direction of a squat house next to the main square.

“Come see us when it’s over!” she said, turning when she got to her house. “Dizzy and I will be waiting for you!”

“Are you done teaching your little lesson?” asked Lorien sarcastically. “Maybe we can actually do our job now. There’s a war, you know!”

We ran off, me behind Denny Lorien.

“Stop yelling—you’re scaring the villagers,” I said as we went.

“What villagers? They’re NPCs,” said Denny, glancing at me. “Who cares? Now we just need to worry about taking out their mages. We’ve gotten almost all of them, and we even killed Fistius. It’s just their leader Magnor… He can give us some trouble if he wants to.”

Mages, mages… Thoughts spun in my head. How did things end here? How did Snakeville get the way it is? I can’t remember what Kro said…or was it Lis?

“They’re just about done. Oh, there are our guys.” Denny waved.

On the bank of the river, running around the base of the hill, was a group of maybe ten warriors dressed in chainmail and carrying swords.

“Why here?” I asked Denny. “Couldn’t they just cross the river?”

“How?” Lorien stared at me. “There’s something wrong with you today; it’s like you’re a completely different person. They can’t cross from over there since it’s too wide and deep. The ford is right here, so if they come anywhere, it’s here.”

“That’s true,” I confirmed. “But wait, how are just the few of us going to hold back their attack? What if fifty of them come charging at us, for example?”

“Let them come,” shrugged Denny Lorien. “Look, our mages are coming. They’ll help us out if we have problems with them.”

Three mages walked over to our group.

“All right,” said one named Kart, who was obviously the senior of the three. “We’ll heal you, and we can support with fire if need be. Two of you should cover us, though, so take charge, Lorien.”

“Okay, Hewitt, Connel, you protect the mages like you’re keeping the neighbor off your wife. Oh, here comes our first little flight of birds.”

He pointed to the left, where a group of warriors was rounding the hill. There were about eight or nine of them, and they were sprinting toward the river.

“Here they come, kiddies. Hold the line!” barked Denny.

I took up position on the left flank and watched as they came closer. They didn’t look that great—their chainmail was hacked and sliced, some were holding wounds, and others were limping. None of them was very high level.

“Forward!” ordered Lorien. “What are we waiting for? We can take these guys out in no time.”

We ran out to meet our attackers. Steel clashed against steel. I whaled away at some poor soul who was hiding behind his shield, sending him flying to the ground. There was no need to go after him from the looks of things, and so I caught someone else’s sword with my own, shoved him backward, and thrust straight through his chest. His chainmail parted as my blade cut through it.

“Well, that’s that,” grunted a swordsman next to me by the name of Montag, swinging his sword in a circle.

Cocoons lay at our feet, marking the place where our enemies had fallen.

“Like taking candy from a baby,” he chuckled.

“Yeah, right,” said another warrior named Veselchak. “Have you tried actually doing that? Go try to get some candy from my little sister. That I would love to watch.”

“Well, that depends on how old your sister is…” grinned Monteg.

“What are you relaxing for? Now’s not the time.” Lorien’s voice rang out. “Here come more of them.”

We spent the next hour and a half wiping out groups of Chaos Rider warriors we caught retreating from the field of battle. I hacked away with my sword, trying as I did to figure one thing out—what was I doing there? This isn’t my war. Oh, and another thing—how was Snakeville destroyed? I knew I’d been told just recently. So why can’t I remember?

Our twelve-man force shrank to seven, and one of our mages was killed, as well. Their last group had pretty high-level players with mages to back them up. Things must have been going very poorly for them if even their veterans were turning tail and running.

The crash of battle heard from the other side of the hill had almost ceased.

“Well, that’s it,” said Lorien with satisfaction. “It looks like victory is ours.”

“Why were we even fighting in the first place?” I asked, no longer worried in the least that a question like that could blow my cover. The constant skirmishes had me exhausted to the point that I didn’t care anymore.

Lorien looked at me and shook his head. “You’re crazy, my pale friend. In Faymort, their mage leader told ours to go screw himself. One thing led to another, and here we are.”

“Why didn’t they just settle it themselves? What’s the point of all this slaughter?”

“You seriously need to drink less.” Lorien couldn’t believe his ears. “What’s with all the stupid questions? Wait, what is that?”

Someone appeared at the top of the hill. Judging by the staff in his hand and the enormous beard blowing in the wind, it was a mage.

“Oh, boy,” said Kart, who came over to Lorien and me with wide-open eyes. “That’s Magnor himself. I wonder what he has up his sleeve.”

Magnor started bellowing a spell and whirling his staff around. An ethereal bubble wrapped itself around him, while the water in the river behind us began to ripple. The wind whipped up, throwing sand in our faces.

“You old fool!” screamed Kart, as if Magnor could hear him. “You’re really going to do this? Die and take us all with you?”

“What’s he doing?” I asked Kart, but he just waved me away.

“He’s going to drown us all,” the second mage, Eidor, said worriedly, rubbing his hands together and massaging his wrists.

“Maybe, we can kill him? Shoot something at him—let him have it!” Veselchak shook Eidor.

“You think that will help?” Eidor yelled back. “Look at the shield he has around him! He cast his life into it—it’s self-destruction.”

Drown us, drown us, I repeated to myself. Suddenly some kind of switch flipped in my head. Of course! Krolina told me a mage used a spell…what’s it called? Oh, right, Universal Flood. She said he washed the whole village into the river. The whole village.

Barefooted Marika and her doll flashed before my eyes.

“Damn it!” I roared. “I sent her to her grave!”

“Who?” asked Lorien, shouting to make himself heard over the wind.

“That little girl, the one I was talking to in the village!”

“Who cares about her?” yelled Lorien. “She’s just an NPC. Think about us; we’re screwed!”

The mage at the top of the hill twirled his staff faster and faster as if stirring something at a speed no human could even dream of. Before long, it was impossible to make out his movements. Above him, an enormous vortex gathered and was starting to suck in the birds flying by—mostly crows. The sky above Snakeville was blanketed in menacingly black and blue clouds, out of which fiery lightning flashed downward.

“All right, we only have a few minutes until all hell breaks loose, though this won’t be a fiery hell; it’ll be water. If you want to live, make for the other bank of the river,” said Kart crisply to everyone. He dove into the river. He surfaced, turned, and gave us one more piece of advice. “You have five minutes. Tops.”

Everyone dashed toward the water.

“Winkle, what are you waiting for?” Lorien yelled at me. “Let’s go!”

My instinct for self-preservation kicked in. Save yourself! Who knows what will happen if you die in someone else’s account? You could be stuck in the game forever.

Screw that. I sprinted up the hill toward the town.

I turned my head to look at the mage as I ran past. Through his protective cocoon, I could see that he had no pupils in his eyes; instead, there pulsed a furious fire as bright and golden as the sun. He had stopped spinning his staff and was standing there with his arms raised toward the heavens. It was something more than just blackness covering the sky. Not a single speck of light could penetrate the gloom.

The first drops splashed down as I ran up to the small house Marika had gone into. I flew inside, realizing that time was almost up.

“Marika! Marika!” I bellowed. “It’s Winkle, we were talking earlier. We have to go! Where are you?”

I heard the girl’s voice coming from behind me. “Mom, it’s the warrior I told you about!”

Whirling around, I saw her coming up from under some kind of cover that was apparently the entrance to their cellar. She was still holding her ragdoll in her hand.

“Hurry! Hurry!” I said with as much calm as I could muster. “We have to go! There’s a flood coming!”

“A flood?” A slender woman, obviously Marika’s mother, climbed up out of the cellar. “What flood?”

“A wet one, damn it!” I barked. “There’s no time!”

“But we have to get some things together.” The woman gestured around the room. “Put some things in a—”

She didn’t finish. Water crashed into the building, instantly sweeping her away along with the roof and part of the wall.

I was able to jump forward, grab hold of Marika, and press myself against the remainder of the wall. I tried not to think about what happened to her brother in the cellar.

“Mommy!” the girl screamed.

Through cracks in the walls, I could see powerful currents sucking everything into the river—people, both living and dead, along with remnants of houses and trees.

“What happened to Mommy?” Marika shook me.

“She’ll be okay,” I said, doing my best to reassure her. “She can swim. Look at all the people swimmi—”

Another wall of water hit the building. I wasn’t strong enough to withstand it that time, though I kept hold of Marika. First, we were swept around a whirlpool, after which, the flow of water sent us flying down the hill toward the river with unbelievable and growing speed. Marika’s hand remained firmly within my grasp, but I couldn’t even see if she was okay.

Getting washed down the hill was like going down a massive waterslide. My hope was to hang on until we joined the river, wait for the water pressure to subside, and swim to the other side with the girl. But my hopes were in vain. I don’t know if it was the incredible amount of water gushing into it or if it was the effect of the spell, but the river was no longer gentle and quiet. Its turbulence threw us between the whirlpools forming where the water from the village met the flow of the river, and we were thrust deep underwater. I fought to keep Marika’s hand from slipping out of mine, and I would have succeeded if she hadn’t let go of me first. As soon as I felt that her hand was gone, I opened my eyes—I always keep them shut underwater. Out of the corner of one eye, I caught a glimpse of a tiny figure holding her doll in one hand and reaching out to me with the other. Her face was full of hope, and I could tell that she believed in me and the fact that life simply could not end so abruptly. A second later, she was gone forever.

My head broke above the water, and I looked around to see a fearsome and awful picture—the deluge of water carrying people down toward the river; the mage, frozen where he stood atop the hill; the black sky; and a tree heading straight in my direction.

It crashed into me, and everything went dark.

“A-a-ah!” I came to sitting in the dirt on the road. Quiet night reigned around me. Streaks of light were starting to make their way across the eastern sky, announcing that morning was coming. I patted myself—whole and in one piece. I pulled up the interface—definitely me. A minute longer sitting there, and I started to realize what I’d lived through. Everything rushed back and tore through me.

“Are you kidding me?” I screamed, jumping up and shaking my fist at the sky. “Do you even think about what you’re doing? You’ll drive someone crazy like that!”

The shutter on the building next to me creaked, and in that sound, I heard a malicious, raspy laughter. The wind suddenly kicked up, blowing dirt into my face before it whistled around in the house. Something blew out and twisted around my legs. I bent over to see a rag doll with button eyes.

Have you ever noticed how sincere children are in their emotions? Their sadness is endless, their happiness immeasurable, their laughter uncontrollable. And their fear is boundless. I hadn’t felt the kind of boundless fear I felt that night in Snakeville since I was a child. I realized that it was somehow programmed into me, but that didn’t change a thing. Oh, how I ran.

I dashed headlong down the hill, swam across the river (if it hadn’t been for the fear, I don’t think I would have even gone near it), and hurtled three miles across the fields until finally collapsing against a lonely tree. It was only then that I looked back in the direction of the cursed village.

It looked perfectly harmless and even romantic, its buildings bathed in the light of the moon.

“You can all go to hell,” I hissed. “I’m never going anywhere near there again.”

That’s when I realized why people stopped playing—it was no longer a game. Death was too close, and the worst part was that it wasn’t even your own death.

I also realized why nobody said anything about what they’d seen. Telling the story would mean reliving the whole thing. And I had no intention of ever reliving the feeling I had when Marika slipped out of my hand.

The sky lightened, and dawn was close—a dawn that would mark the end of the most terrible night of my life.

Chapter Ten

A short one in which the hero first gets to Montrig and then decides to stay there for a bit.

I didn’t have the emotional or physical strength to take another step. The game and the rest of the world could wait. I logged out, crawled to my bed, and collapsed on top of it.

In what was fast becoming a tradition, my phone rang and woke me up. Honestly, though, waking up to the trill of my ringtone every morning was getting old.

“Hello?” I dragged myself out of slumber, guessing as I did who could be trying to get under my skin on a Sunday. Ah-ha, I should I have known.

“Nikiforov, are you still sleeping? It’s noon!” her annoyed voice said through the line.

“Yes, El, I’m sleeping,” I said forcedly. “At noon. Can you imagine?”

“Well, get up and get ready, we’re going to have some shashlik[9] with the Catanyans.”

I felt something inside me snap for the second time that day (if you can count what happened in the game).

“Why?”

“What do you mean, why?” asked Elvira in surprise. She hadn’t expected any pushback. My job was unquestioning obedience, or, at least, that’s what she’d always assumed.

“Why should I go have shashlik with the Catanyans?” I said angrily. “I don’t want to go have shashlik with the Catanyans. I don’t even know who the Catanyans are! You know them, so you go have fun with them. Just without me. Good riddance.”

“Excuse me?” Elvira couldn’t believe her ears.

“What’s there to understand? That I don’t want to go anywhere? Or why I don’t want to go anywhere? I’m not sure why I always have to go where you have to go, and why we always go where you want to go. Why don’t you ever ask, just for the fun of it, where I’d like to go?”

“Somebody got up on the wrong side of the bed,” said Elvira thoughtfully. “We’ll have a talk later. A serious one.”

She hung up the phone. Thank God. You can get too much of a good thing, especially if that good thing is the Mongol yoke. My three hundred years, it appeared, were drawing to a close.

Feeling the part of Dmitry Donskoy,[10] I went to have breakfast. Or was it lunch?

I was just finishing up some delicious, if less-than-healthy pasta with cheese and ham, when the phone rang again. The screen told me it was Willie calling.

“Hey there, bro,” I said through a mouthful of food. “Great to hear from you.”

“Hey,” answered Willie. “Are you eating?”

“Yeah, pasta.”

“With a meat patty?” he asked, all business. When it came to food, Willie was always in charge.

“No, with ham,” I said, sighing. “If I had meat, I wouldn’t have made pasta.”

“Wait a second,” said Willie. “The only thing better than meat and pasta is meat and mashed potatoes. And a pickle. You know, sliced into circles, not long-ways…”

“And green peas? With some grated cheese on top?”

We carried on for another three minutes before Fat Willie coughed.

“This guy came up to me in the game and asked me not to say anything about you. He bribed me pretty nicely, too—quite the interesting character.”

“A dungeon? Did you get much from it?” I asked with interest.

“Quite a bit,” said Willie openly. “More than usual. Much more.”

“That’s great,” I said. “Nice for you.”

“Sure, it’s nice for me,” continued Willie thoughtfully. “But I wanted to tell you something else—be careful. He was from the game admin, and they aren’t just serious people—they’re incredibly serious. Don’t bite off more than you can chew.”

“I’ll do my best,” I promised sincerely. “We’ll see what happens. The main thing is for you to forget what I do for a living.”

“Consider it forgotten,” Willie assured me. “Should I send you money?”

I wasn’t sure what he meant. “What money?”

“Game money,” grunted Willie. “For the dungeon. You got it for us one way or another.”

Money is always nice, but I had no idea who their clan accountant was. And it seemed too petty to take money from him, regardless.

“No, my man, don’t worry about it,” I answered lightly. “You paid me for the publicity, and everything else is yours to keep. I mean, for your clan.”

“All right, then I’ll see you. If you need anything, call me or send me a message in-game.” Willie hung up the phone.

Full, feeling better, and starting to get over the turmoil of the night before, as well as the day’s blitzkrieg, I plopped down on the couch and looked at the capsule. Time for more adventures? Or maybe I need a break. I thought for a little while and then decided to get to Montrig and see from there.

I found myself next to the birch I’d gotten to the day before. It was completely, absolutely average. And it was the only one in the area, from what I could tell. I looked around to see that a steppe stretched far off toward the horizon, and only there, could I see the shadow of a forest. That must be the beginning of Foim Plateau, the one Romuil told me about when we were in Fladridge. Or, it may have just been a regular forest. Either way, the road I needed bent much farther toward the right, and it looked like I would need a good five hours at least. I got up and looked behind me once more. There was Snakeville, looking as innocent as ever in the daylight—just a bunch of ruins. I shivered, spat, and once more promised to never ever go that way again. My path led eastward.

My walk along the plain was a stark contrast to the previous day’s trek through the forest. The sun wasn’t too hot, the steppe was as even as a table, and flocks of birds flew to and fro overhead. They could have been larks, but I know very little about birds and bird songs. Two hours later, I did have to get wet, as the road crossed another river. I figured both it and the one by Snakeville were tributaries flowing into the Crisna.

Just as I’d noticed the day before, I didn’t have any bots hounding me. I found that strange—that much open space and not a single thing coming to attack me? I mean, I wasn’t complaining; I needed to find a headstone before I went off looking for adventures. But I was used to a life of action, and the lull was a bit unsettling.

How I missed the pair is anyone’s guess. Apparently, I wasn’t on guard. There wasn’t a forest anywhere near, and any two-legged creatures should have been visible from a long ways off, even if they were lying down. Still, I missed them.

“Well, well, well. Wait just a second—what have we here?” I heard someone’s voice and turned to find myself a dozen paces away from two players picking themselves up off the green grass. And they weren’t just players, judging by their blood-red names, they were PKers.

“Jump! Anything in your pockets that might clink together? Jump, I said!” the taller of the two said.

I had no intention of jumping, and instead stood there weighing my chances. They didn’t look good, to say the least. Both of the bandits were well past Level 50, they were well-armed, and they all had excellent-looking equipment. Plus, they were both wearing what appeared to be very heavy armor.

“Why are we being so quiet? Too proud to answer?” asked the second as he started circling around me.

They were obviously having fun pretending to be gopniks,[11] the one difference being that real gopniks don’t kill you once they’ve emptied your pockets. At least, unnecessarily. There, my end looked inevitable. Unless…

I interrupted that thought by turning tail and running. That was the only way I thought I had a chance.

“Oh, come on!” I heard from behind me. Either they weren’t programmed to run or everyone before me had preferred to die honorably in battle.

My philosophy is still the same—being proud and brave is great, but staying alive is better. And so, I ran, listening to the rumbling and swearing coming from behind me. The PKer gopniks had thrown aside their sunflower seeds (Gopniks are always eating sunflower seeds!) and were running after me, cursing as they did.

“Come on, be a man!” they yelled. “We’re all grown-ups here, what’s the point in running?”

“So, don’t run!” I shouted my advice back to them without turning my head, focusing solely on not tripping.

“What do you mean, don’t run?” the voices behind me continued. “How will we kill you? And rob you? You think we were just sitting here for the fun of it?”

“Then, I guess you’ll have to run.” With that, I decided the conversation was over. I needed to save my strength and avoid running out of breath.

We ran evenly. I couldn’t get away from them, and they couldn’t catch me.

Maybe twenty minutes later, just when I was starting to feel my stamina give out on me, my pursuers gave up.

“Ah, screw him, Red,” wheezed one of them, though I wasn’t sure which. “Let him run—he probably doesn’t even have anything on him.”

“You’re right, Mug,” the second said, equally out of breath. “Level 33, probably some deadbeat.”

There was a crash behind me that sounded like a bunch of metal collapsing on the ground. I turned to see my two chasers sitting on the ground.

“Run, Forrest, run,” they told me at the same time. “Or we’ll get up and come chase you again. No sense waking a sleeping giant.”

They didn’t need to ask me twice. I redoubled my efforts and sprinted off even faster. Who knew what they might have up their sleeves?

Thanks to the two out-of-breath killers, I got to Montrig about an hour earlier than planned. Tired and dirty, I found the headstone, did what I needed to do, and collapsed next to it in triumph.

I was once again faced with a choice. Montrig was where I needed to make a decision: go the short but very dangerous way or do the smart thing and take the longer and safer road.

Foim Plateau promised a serious risk, but I could cross it on a direct route to Gruskat Valley. From there, I’d be a stone’s throw from the red spot on my map that was hiding Ogina the East.

Heading along the Great River didn’t involve excessive risk, and I was already used to the garden variety. I’d get to see Selgar, too. They say it’s a pretty nice place.

Something dinged, telling me that I got a message. I checked and saw that something was waiting for me in the mailbox. Could the Gray Witch have already decided what goodies she was going to bestow upon me?

A few minutes later, I found that there weren’t any goodies. With that said, I couldn’t complain. It was my share from the assault, and it amounted to 18,000 gold—not a bad sum. I was still let down by the fact that it wasn’t the present I was expecting though.

I ran errands for the next hour. Montrig turned out to be a pretty big town as compared to all the other villages along the Great River. Besides the standard selection, it also had a small market, a blacksmith, and, for some reason, a library. I wasn’t sure who would go there or why.

The market was best saved for later, as I needed to find the quest starter for the old temple Elina told me about.

Instead, I headed to the blacksmith, a visit that ended up costing me quite a bit. Even with the discounts and two items I could have fixed at the expense of the clan, I still had to shell out more than two hundred gold. I comforted myself with the knowledge that it was a necessary and smart expense.

Next, I went to the hotel and unloaded my extra cash.

And finally, my fixed equipment, my patched and almost empty pockets, and I went to see what we could see in the Montrig market.

It was surprisingly noisy for its small size. There were mostly NPC vendors trading little things: low-level armor, some kinds of herbs and potions. There was even a currency exchange booth, though I had no idea what currency there was to exchange—all of Fayroll used the same gold currency. Maybe, it was some kind of tribute to the East? Maybe money changers are part of their culture there. I also saw a cartographer’s stall there for the first time and figured it was where I could find the kind of map I’d seen Reineke Lis use. Right underneath the “Maps” sign, however, was another one that read “Expensive.” I kept walking. The money was back at the hotel, but I decided I could do without a map. That wasn’t the time to splurge. By that time, I’d seen just about all the different stands, and none of the traders had offered me the quest starter…

“Swords from the North! Welded steel made from three melted rods!”

“Boots, boots! Leather! Easy to put on, easy to take off! Made from wyvern skin!”

“All kinds of jewelry, all stunningly gorgeous! Wear it yourself, give it to your girlfriend! Or your boyfriend if you’re that kind of person…”

“Great rakes, excellent tines! Rake one way, rake the other! All made the old way. My father and his father before him were plowmen and villagers!” (Seriously? Who needed a rake?)

“Fish—fresh, still wriggling! Fish here!”

“Selgar fruit, rare, no? Called a ‘peach’! Here!”

I stopped. Sweet mother, what were they doing there?

I looked at the trader. He was wearing an enormous hat and a short, red-leather jacket. His eyes looked back at me from above fresh morning stubble and a huge nose.

“What?” I stared at him in surprise.

“Yup,” agreed the trader, who spoke with an accent that came straight from the streets of Moscow. “Peaches here. Fresh. Sweet as a girl’s kiss. You look like a great guy, so I’ll give you a good deal!”

“Wow,” I answered. “You’re here, too.”

“Where should I be?” He shrugged. “My dad traded, his dad traded, and they were respected. Now, I trade.”

“Well, sure,” I said with a nod. “What else would you do? How much for the peaches?”

“Three gold for a bunch.”

“Right, and I’ll bet there are three of them in a bunch.”

“Oh, so you know everything, smart guy?”

“Why so expensive?”

“Ah!” The trader’s index finger shot skyward. “What did you think? You have to till the land, water them, put shi—… Ah, sorry, my dear. Manure. You thought it was all simple?”

I realized the only way to cut the conversation short was to buy some peaches and get out of there, so that’s exactly what I did, patting myself on the back for my foresight. As soon as the peaches were taken care of, he pulled out a bottle of something “as homemade as a child’s tears.” I didn't stop to see what it was.

It turned out that the large-nosed character was in one of the last rows. I caught the glance of an old dwarf as I munched on my peach, and I noticed that he had all kinds of odds and ends laid out in front of him. There were mechanisms, scrolls, crystals, and everything else you could think of.

“That’s got to be him,” said my intuition. “Here we go!”

I walked over.

“Good afternoon, my venerable friend,” I said with a bow. “How’s business?”

“And a good afternoon to you, too,” the dwarf answered. “Not so good, to be honest.”

“Your goods are a bit unusual. Hey, want a peach?”

“Sure.” He nodded and accepted the fruit I offered. “But my goods…well, they’re what I have. Though, to be honest, I’m not really here to sell things.”

“Well, that’s different,” I said with complete surprise. “Why are you here then?”

“To buy,” said the dwarf, biting into the peach. “Adventurers always stop by the market, and often they’re selling as well as buying. You can get all kinds of different curiosities from different countries and regions. I like to collect them, so I come here every day.”

“Interesting. But why don’t you put up a sign or something? ‘Will pay for curiosities,’ for example.”

“I had one.” He threw away the pit and wiped his hands on his beard. “But you should have seen the junk people tried to pawn off on me! It wasn’t even the visitors—for everything I wanted, there were nine things I didn’t. Even the locals were coming by. Anyway, I took down the sign. Do you have anything interesting you’d like to sell?”

“No,” I answered. “I haven’t seen anything like that lately. I’ve heard there’s a whole storehouse of them nearby though. An abandoned temple. Is that true?”

The dwarf’s face turned serious.

“Who told you that?”

“Oh, just some people in Mettan. I overheard them accidentally.”

“Well, it’s true,” the dwarf informed me after looking around. “Though it’s a tricky spot.”

“If it were simple, it wouldn’t be interesting.” I laughed.

“You don’t happen to want to find it, do you?” The dwarf smiled slyly.

“That depends on what’s in it for me.”

“For us…” He stroked his beard. “We can figure something out.”

You have a new quest offer: Find the Abandoned Temple

Task: Figure out where the abandoned temple is located.

Reward:

400 experience

200 gold

Completing this quest unlocks the Temple Secrets quest.

Accept?

I thought for a second. It sounded like there was a whole string of quests that would have me wandering around the whole local area for a couple days. And I might not even get anything that valuable.

On the other hand, I needed a little variety in my gaming life. I’d spent the last few days either on long journeys or in the middle of terrifying action. Also, the temple was abandoned, which meant it wasn’t new. The Departed Gods were something else on my mind, so maybe I’d find something there about them? Temples are usually dedicated to someone. Who might this one be dedicated to?

“Mr. Dwarf…”

“Trayn, at your service.” The dwarf rose and gave me a half-bow.

“Hagen, at yours.” I answered in kind. “So anyway, do you know anything about the temple? Whose is it, or who was it dedicated to?”

The dwarf hesitated, which told me all I needed to know. I pressed Accept.

Trayn smiled.

“The temple is ancient. It was built in honor of one of the Old or Departed Gods, as they’re called now. But which one…that knowledge has been lost with the passing of time. Many people don’t even remember that gods like that existed.”

“Some remember,” I noted evasively. “The vilas, for example.”

“You’re right. Some of the races the Old Gods gave life to remember their creators, of course. Do you know the vilas, by any chance?”

“Well, yes,” I answered unwillingly. I could guess what the dwarf’s reaction would be. “I’m engaged to one of them.”

“You idiot.” He shook his head. “Although, whatever, to each his own. Anyway, not much information is left about the Old Gods. But we still have their temples. They’re almost always hiding from view, but you can find them. Most importantly, they always hold all kinds of interesting things. Information, too. It’s just that they can be tricky.”

“I’m sure. It would be strange if they weren’t. So, where can I go figure out where this one is?”

“If only I knew,” said the dwarf. “Although, I imagine you could only find something like that in true storehouses of knowledge.”

“Ah, you had me scared for a second,” I said with a smile. “All right, I’m off.”

“Where are you going?” The dwarf looked at me in surprise.

“To the storehouse for information. Are you going to be here for another hour, kind sir?”

“Of course,” he said, nodding. “At least.”

“Don’t leave without me.”

The dwarf nodded to me again, and I set off briskly to find out where the temple was.

Chapter Eleven

In which the hero is convinced that just about all roads lead to the temple.

To be honest, it had been quite a while since the last time I was in a library. When I was little, of course, I had a library card like anyone else, and I checked books out all the time—but that was forever ago. And, I certainly would never have guessed that the next time I’d be visiting a library would be in an online game.

I walked up to the storehouse of knowledge and looked reverently at the heavy door leading into it. It was obvious that whoever built the place had no interest in skimping when it came to keeping knowledge safe and secure. Or maybe they didn’t want just anyone to be able to obtain it?

Turning that over in my head, I walked inside. I found myself tramping down a long corridor that opened into a large, round room lined with bookshelves. On the latter, were books, scrolls, and even, if memory serves, papyri. Smack dab in the middle, was a desk piled high with papers and books. Behind the desk sat someone—or something—that was one of the strangest creatures I had come across in Fayroll to date.

The librarian (Who else could it have been?) had a very small chitin body with an oversized head attached to it awkwardly. There was no neck to speak of, and so the head simply rose out of the shoulders. On that head, was a proboscis, two round eyes that looked like headlights, and a lipless mouth full of needle-sharp teeth. There were even some kind of wings off around the back. On the whole, I would whip out my sword first and ask questions later if I came across something like that in a dark alley. Or maybe I would just turn tail and run.

“What are you staring at?” The creature fixed his saucer eyes on me. “Never seen a pixie before?”

A pixie. Of course, a pixie. And there I was, thinking I was having a conversation with some kind of intelligent mosquito.

“I never have,” I answered frankly. “Never had the chance.”

“Well, there aren’t many of us left,” the pixie said sadly, sniffing through his proboscis. “So what do you need, beanpole?”

“What’s your name, sir?” I asked deferentially.

I didn’t know much about pixies, but I remembered that they’re spiteful creatures who will make a scandal of anything. At least, that’s what they were like in all the fantasy books I’d read. If you wanted information from one of them, you had to be very careful, not to mention polite.

“Locket,” answered the obviously flattered pixie with a nod of his proboscis. I figured that wasn’t a question he was asked a lot. Maybe, most people skipped the talking and just tried to kill him with a rolled-up newspaper. He was enjoying the attention.

“And I’m Hagen.”

“What do you want, Hagen?” asked Locket cantankerously. “I don’t have all day, and I’m hungry, so spit it out.”

“It’s nothing that complicated.” I decided to grab the bull by the horns. “There’s a temple nearby dedicated to the Departed Gods. You haven’t come across anything about it in your collection of books, have you?”

The pixie again looked at me with his saucer eyes.

“‘Nothing that complicated’? That depends on how you look at it. The Academy of Wisdom doesn’t really appreciate people looking into those types of things. Well, actually, they do their best to keep people from finding out about them.”

Okay, so there’s an Academy of Wisdom, too. What isn’t there in Fayroll? Ah, I know, nothing calm and easy for me and never any getting along with the world around me.

“Well, the Academy, the Academy…they’re certainly a big deal,” I said, deciding to improvise a bit. “But who’s going to tell them? I won’t, and you won’t…”

“Who said I won’t?” The pixie grunted. “I don’t know you from Adam, we aren’t friends, and we aren’t even from the same race. This is the first time I’ve ever seen you.”

“Sure, you’re right, but even people who aren’t friends can find ways to mutually benefit each other.”

“Mutually benefit each other?” The pixie flew up from behind the desk—his small, transparent wings giving off a high-pitched buzz—and made his way over to me. He looked even smaller away from the desk.

“Yes,” I said insinuatingly. “Everyone needs something. I, for example, need information. Maybe you need something, too? You have what I need, so maybe I have what you need.”

“There is one thing,” said the pixie. “You have something I need—your sword.”

“No, no,” I said, putting a lid on that. “Nobody gets my weapon, wife, or horse. Although…about my wife…I may have spoken too soon. If you need a fiancée, you’re welcome to mine. I’ll even pay you to take her off my hands!”

“Why would I need a wife? Not to mention a fiancée,” said the pixie indignantly. “And I’m fine without a horse—besides, how would a deadbeat like you get your hands on a horse? I need your sword, but not like that.”

“Oh, so you need someone killed? That’s not really my thing…” I grimaced. Although, now that I think about it, I might entertain the option. Why not?

“No, no one’s killing anyone.” The pixie’s eyes widened even more. “I just need some people scared. Well, I mean, I’ll scare you after you put the fear of God into some guests of mine.”

“Why does it have to be so complicated?” I asked sadly, though I had already figured the whole thing out. The conceited little twit had decided to try on the wings of fame and glory. “Though, as long as no one’s getting killed, then it sounds good to me. Who am I scaring, when, and where?”

“My guests, you stupid beanpole! My house, today, as soon as it gets dark.”

I decided to turn a blind eye to the pixie’s attitude, resolving to wait until the end of the quest. Then I could write something on the library wall…something like, “Pixies are no better than flies buzzing around.”

“As I said, sounds good to me. Just tell me where your house is and I’ll let them all have it.”

“Thank God, you got it through your thick skull. You’ll break into my house and tell them that you’re taking all of their women and that the rest should leave if they don’t want their wings chopped off. Then I’ll come in and suggest that we take it outside, where I’ll start yelling at you and you’ll take off running. Okay?”

You have a new quest offer: Brave Pixie

Task: Pretend you’re attacking Locket’s house so that he can play the hero.

Reward:

300 experience

Information about the abandoned temple: either before or after you complete the task, depending on how eloquent you can be.

Accept?

“No problem. If you want to be a hero, go for it,” I said to the pixie, clicking Accept and assuming a more casual tone. “But there’s one thing…”

“What?” the pixie asked, displeased. “Having second thoughts?”

“Never. That would be a violation of the rules, and I’d be risking quite a bit.”

“And I,” said the pixie with a flutter of his wings, “would be taking a risk with the Academy of Wisdom. And they don’t take things like this lightly!”

“But the Academy is far off somewhere, and the local jail is right around the corner…” I hinted.

“What do you want?” the pixie asked, all business.

“The same,” I answered shortly. “The location of the temple.”

“Right!” Locket scoffed. “I tell you everything now, and then you’ll be nowhere to be found tonight.”

“What do you mean?” I asked in surprise. “I wouldn’t do that; I might need something else from you in the future.”

“Give me some security,” demanded the pixie.

“What kind?”

“Oh, I don’t know… You probably won’t give me your armor. How about twenty gold? If you do what you said you’d do, I’ll give it back to you. If not, at least I’ll have a little something in my pocket.”

I counted out the gold, wondering why he hadn’t just asked for money in the first place. It wasn’t much, and I would have been happy to pay.

He took the money, fluttered over to the desk, and put it in a drawer.

“From what I remember, the abandoned temple isn’t far from Montrig. Let’s see, I know I saw something about it somewhere.”

Locket flew to one of the bookshelves.

“Come here, beanpole. If anything falls, your job is to catch it. And be careful—some of these manuscripts are even from before the Ancient Gods. We’ve had them since the Age of Dragons.”

Oh, wow. This isn’t a library, it’s a…I don’t even know. The Age of Dragons. I made a mental note to see what else I could shake out of that Locket. Or, maybe I’ll just give him a whiff of my wallet. The scaly little bugger apparently knew quite a bit.

From somewhere above me, up where Locket was digging around, came a huge cloud of odd-smelling dust that settled all over me. I coughed and started waving my arms around in an attempt to get the stinking stuff off me.

“What are you swinging your arms for?” I heard Locket say. “I don’t have any insects in here.”

“It’s the dust.” I sneezed. “You might consider having someone do a little cleaning up once in a while.”

“Too expensive,” the pixie informed me. “There’s never enough money. The Academy of Wisdom never wants to finance anything, and I’m certainly not going to dip into my own pocket. Not a chance.”

He came down holding a scroll.

“Here we go.” He shook it. “Everything’s in here—where the temple is and how to get inside it.”

“Anything about what’s in it?” I asked.

“Nope, no such luck. The gods were always careful about their secrets, so they never entrusted them to paper.”

“That’s a shame.”

“Not exactly,” blinked Locket. “Sometimes, filling your head with too much information means losing it.”

The pixie flew to the desk, unrolled the scroll, and gestured for me to come over.

“Here, this map shows you how to get there. Look—it’s really close. It would take me fifteen minutes to fly there, so you should be able to walk that far in, maybe, thirty. You can’t miss the hill; there are three trees on top of it. I’d have never thought there was a temple under it though!”

Judging by the map, the temple really was nearby. Underneath the map, was some kind of text I didn’t understand.

“What does that writing mean? I don’t know what language it is.”

“Of course, you don’t know it—it’s Old Fayroll,” said the pixie with a snort. “It says that only one with the Fire Key can find the temple; only one who is unafraid of fire can enter the temple; only one who greets the stone fire can find the temple’s secret; and only one who takes fire into their heart can receive the temple’s biggest reward. Well, something like that. Sounds to me like a bunch of nonsense.”

You completed a quest: Find the Abandoned Temple

You found where the abandoned temple is located.

To get your reward, go talk to Trayn.

I clapped. “Excellent. You did your part of the deal.”

“You just don’t forget your part, beanpole.”

“Well, only if you tell me where your house is. What? Am I supposed to scour the town looking for you?”

The pixie explained how to get there, after which I said goodbye and walked out onto the street.

Trayn was where I’d left him behind his stall. The amount of junk in front of him had remained exactly the same.

“Well, my good sir, I know where the temple is,” I told him.

You completed a quest: Find the Abandoned Temple.

Reward:

400 experience

200 gold

“You found it!” the dwarf said with a happy smile. “That’s excellent.”

“Agreed,” I nodded. “I’m happy about it, too. There’s just one hitch: apparently the key to the temple is called the Fire Key, and we need it. I have no idea where to find it though.”

The dwarf answered exactly how I expected him to. Anything other than the conspiratorial look he shared with me and his triumphant tone would have surprised me.

“And on that note, my brave friend, I have something to show you. Six months back, an adventurer sold me a few items. Among them was an oddly shaped key.” The dwarf shuffled around behind his stall and pulled it out.

The key really was oddly shaped. The bow was made to look like tongues of fire, which meant that it was definitely the Fire Key I was looking for. The name may have been less than original, but it looked impressive.

“And?” I looked at the dwarf.

“And I’m prepared to give it to you on one condition.”

“It would have been absurd for you to just give it to me. What’s your condition? You’re coming with me?”

“Oh, no, I’m too old for that kind of action,” the dwarf said, wiggling his stubby fingers. “It’s much simpler. You just give me your word that you’ll evenly split with me whatever you find in the temple. And, I get first pick. How does that sound?”

You have a new quest offer: Temple Secrets

Task: Find your way into and explore the abandoned temple.

Reward:

700 experience

Half the items found in the temple (items collected from dead foes are not included).

Accept?

Mostly just by force of habit, I decided to see if there was anything else I could get.

“If there are any items with hidden attributes, you pay to reveal them,” I said.

“Reasonable, if pushy. Deal?”

I pressed Accept and met the dwarf’s hand with my own.

You received the Fire Key.

I finished the handshake and found the key in my hand.

“When are you going?” asked Trayn.

I looked up at the sky. The sun was nearing the horizon, but I still had plenty of time before it got dark. I’ll make it to the pixie’s party in time.

“What’s the point of waiting?” I asked the dwarf rhetorically. “It’s not far, so I’ll go now.”

“Good luck,” said Trayn kindly. “I’ll be expecting you here tomorrow morning.”

Before I left, I had one more question I had to ask. “By the way, my dear Trayn, why do you take me at my word? Couldn’t I just be a liar out to trick you?”

“I doubt it,” said the old dwarf with a mile. “I believe my eyes, and they tell me you’re an honest fellow, if an absolute rascal. Also, if you don’t believe anyone in this world, it stops being such a good place—and it wouldn’t be the kind of world I want to live in. So go, and may Frere Skalorub protect you.”

“Who is Frere Skalorub?” I quickly asked.

“Hmm,” the dwarf said, taken aback. “He was the patron god of dwarves back in the old days.”

I had the feeling Montrig was less a city and more a “see what you can find out about the Old Gods” puzzle. Fine, we’ll talk about your Frere Skalorub tomorrow, too.

I walked out the gate and pulled up the map, as was my custom, before setting off in the right direction. My lesson learned, I kept a close eye on my surroundings—forewarned is forearmed.

Not far from the hill, in a small meadow circled by a couple dozen trees, I saw a picture that floored me. I was all ready for a crowd of orcs, that pair of gopnik PKers, or a fairytale dragon, but instead I found a pretty half-elf girl with pointed ears jutting out of her hair. She was cooking something over a fire. Next to her, was a dwarf girl with an enormous shield and an equally enormous axe who was happily shouting as she chased butterflies.

I froze in surprise.

“You’re kidding me,” I said, dumbfounded.

The half-elf heard me and visibly stiffened, ready to launch an attack at a second’s notice. That made sense; who knows what “you’re kidding me” could have meant? She relaxed when she saw that I didn’t have a red PKer tag above my head, though she still didn’t take her eyes off me.

“The luncheon on the grass?” I smiled, walked over, and glanced at what she was cooking. It looked like boar and maybe even stewed cabbage. How did she cook cabbage over an open fire?

“More dinner,” her melodious voice answered. “And Manet’s landscape was better, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

I diplomatically laughed.

The dwarf girl had noticed me and started walking toward me, also ready to join battle if the need arose.

“Ladies, everything’s all right.” I held up my hands. “I don’t want to hurt you, and I certainly don’t want to get hurt myself. I’m just doing my own thing. The reason I came over is because I wanted to make sure I wasn’t delirious or hallucinating—two lovely gentlewomen really are having a picnic. Oh, and I wanted to let you know that there are two PKers around here named Mug and Red. Be careful and keep an eye out.”

“We’re not scared of PKers,” said the half-elf evenly and proudly.

“We’re not scared of anyone,” the dwarf girl belligerently chimed in.

“I don’t doubt it,” I assured them sincerely. “Still, be careful. You wouldn’t want a couple idiots dropping by and spoiling your dinner!”

“Thanks,” said the half-elf just as evenly. “We’ll be careful.”

“Okay, then see you around.” I waved to the two friends and went looking for the hill.

“See you.” The dwarf’s voice followed me. The half-elf was silent.

I spent the rest of the walk thinking about the variety of ways you could spend time in Fayroll and in online games in general. Finally, however, I got to what was a fairly tall hill, at the top of which really were three trees. I walked around the hill trying to figure out where the entrance was. I had a key, which meant there should be a door, but I couldn’t find it.

Wait a second. I stopped to think, scratching my head as I did. What did the scroll say? “Only the one with the Fire Key can find the temple.” I pulled out the key. It was just a key. Delicate work, with the tongues of flame cut out. I held it up in front of me and looked at the sun through the hole.

At first, I thought my eyes were deceiving me. The flames on the bow stirred and licked their way to the right. I shook my head, held the key up again, and strained my eyes. No, they definitely moved. Ah, you devil! It wasn’t a key; it was a compass. I moved to my right and started walking around the hill, keeping my eyes glued to the key. Twenty steps or so later, the tongues of flame on the bow wavered and stood straight up. I nodded and took five steps backward. The flames leaned to the left.

“Got it,” I said happily, going back to where the flames had stood straight up. Pulling out my sword, I walked toward the hill.

I dug around in the hill with the tip of my sword and convinced myself that it wasn’t just earth—there were hard bits as well, and I figured I’d found the door. I pulled up the grass and found that my suspicion was right on the money, though, to be fair, it wasn’t really a door. It was more a double, stone gate decorated with fancy, and probably beautiful, engravings.

I felt my way across the stone from the bottom up until I found the keyhole. In slipped the key. It clicked softly, the gate silently swung open, and I walked into the abandoned temple.

Chapter Twelve

In which we find that the temple gives something different to everyone.

I took a few steps into the temple and stopped. In complete contrast to what I expected, the air wasn’t humid or stale in the least. The building had been underground for probably more than a millennium, and so I assumed I’d be met with something dank, puddled, and filled with cold-blooded, little amphibians scurrying around and hissing disgustingly. But, no; the air was musty, though dry, and even kind of invigorating—something like a forest in September. Nothing squished or squelched underfoot, and I didn’t see any signs of life.

I was in a small room that had been the gatekeeper’s area or something similar back when the temple was open to the public. Ten steps in front of me, an archway led to what I assumed was the passage to the main temple area.

Something behind me creaked, and I turned, ruffled by a sudden gust of wind, to see that the gate was closing. By the time I processed what was going on, it had closed completely. I walked over and threw my weight against the stone, but, of course, nothing happened. The key, I found when I stuck my hand into my pocket, was gone.

I realized that there were two ways for me to leave the temple: either with my shield, equipment, and glory, or flying off to my last headstone. The latter case would be both frustrating and disastrous, as I would leave my belongings behind. I doubted I had any chance of returning to retrieve them; I suspected the kind dwarf would be less than thrilled to give me the key over and over again, as that was probably a one-time deal. And so, I really didn’t want to die. Wait a second, though… It hit me that I was far from the first to find my way into the temple, and not all of my predecessors could have gotten out alive. So, are their things lying around somewhere? Or have luckier adventurers already scavenged them?

The room got much darker when the gate closed. I was getting ready to walk forward into the darkness when several torches hanging on the walls whooshed into life. That added a little romance to the scene while also, more importantly, offering some much-needed light. I headed for the archway.

I wasn’t about to just walk through. Abandoned temples always have traps and other goodies waiting for you around every corner. And how did that line go? “Only one who is unafraid of fire can enter the temple.” That was enough to tell me that things were unlikely to be as they appeared.

I carefully peeked through the archway to see a passageway maybe forty paces long that had another archway at the other end. It wasn’t that long, but something about it didn’t sit right with me. Why do the torches look like that? They were anything but normal; instead, they were metal freaks with fire leaping out of their upstretched arms.

Digging into my pockets, I pulled out a few silver coins and weighed them in my palm. They were light, of course. What I needed were a few nuts and some string, and I might as well have been playing some Stalker. Sadly, I had to make do with the silver.

I tossed a coin as far as I could. It dinged around before landing on one of the stone slabs paving the corridor. Nothing happened. I waited another thirty seconds and threw another coin, this time not as far. Again, nothing. Maybe I’m overthinking this? After all, it was a standard quest without anything epic or legendary. You came, you did what you were there to do, and you left. The reward you got wasn’t all that special either.

My foot was already on its way into the corridor when, at the last second, I decided to try one more coin. Annoyed with how overly cautious I was being, I flicked the silver disk a few steps away from me.

The fiery flash blinded me, while the unbearable heat burned off every last hair on my head, including my eyelashes, my stubble, and, judging by the stink, even my nose hair. The flames burned their way down the corridor and subsided when they got to the other end. The freaks on the torches released their arms before raising them once again, something I noticed through half-closed eyes.

“Oh, wow,” I said, having regained some semblance of vision.

There was a corridor for you. You confidently march right into it, only to find yourself fried to a crisp. Singed and wearing nothing but your underwear.

I leaned against the archway and thought about what to do. The corridor wasn’t that long, of course, but the flame was incredibly strong—more than enough to roast me. I wonder; does it need time to recharge?

I took a few steps away from the archway, squinted, and tossed in yet another coin. The flame appeared and roared down the corridor.

…Ten. I finished the count I started when the first coin hit the floor and threw another one. Nothing. I threw one more coin. Again, nothing. Only the fourth coin triggered the fireworks.

Okay, so it takes the flame ten seconds to make its way down the corridor and about the same to recharge, plus or minus. I had fifteen seconds or so to get from one end to the other, and I only had one shot at it. There certainly wouldn’t be another opportunity.

As a smart Japanese person named Yamamoto Tsunetomo[12] once said, “When it comes to either/or, there is only the quick choice of death. It is not particularly difficult. Be determined and advance.” It was a shame Gunther wasn’t there. He would have enjoyed hearing another Japanese saying. Also, I could have sent him into the corridor first…

I headed back over to the archway and did my best to hide behind it. I didn’t want to get singed again, and I certainly didn’t want to get blinded. In went the coin.

The already familiar sound of the flame took off down the corridor, and I, after counting to five, took off after it in what was more a succession of crazed leaps than a run. The flame got to the end of the corridor and petered out just as I crossed the midpoint. Five more impossible bounds later, and I flew into the next room, where I quickly jumped to my right in order to avoid the next flame.

It turned out, I was fine. I had apparently gotten through the corridor fast enough that I didn’t trigger it again. I leaned against the wall, breathing hard, and wondered how I would possibly get back out of the temple if I didn’t find a scroll or the trap wasn’t turned off. Getting back through would be even harder.

I looked around to find myself in a large (perhaps overly so) hall capped with a high dome. Through the dome, what was obviously not sunlight filtered down onto the marble floor and the frescos on the walls. The frescos were covered in centuries of dust, though I could tell that they depicted people and perhaps gods vigorously disfiguring each other with swords, spears, and other weapons.

Despite small heaps of stones and trash on the floor, it didn’t feel littered or abandoned. It was almost as if someone had made a mess, had some fun, and then run off before finishing the clean-up. It certainly wasn’t as if the place had been empty for ages.

I regained my breath and started walking around the perimeter of the room. Walking out into the middle would have been a mistake; I’d seen what happened when you did that. You got out there, heard kneecaps cracking, and watched as skeletons creaked their way up from under the floor. Or from out of the walls, another favorite trick of theirs. Then you had to try to fend off all of them at once. Plus, you might have gotten some hell hounds, zombies, or some other kind of exotic undead for good measure. No, thank you. I’ll just keep walking around the wall, around the wall, around the wa—

“You’re here for treasure, I assume?” A snide and evil voice rang out.

“Ah, no,” I answered, trying to figure out where the voice was coming from. “I’m just a student here on an ethnological expedition.”

“What?” the voice asked, somewhat confused.

“I’m looking for different traditions, legends, toasts…”

“Toasts? I don’t know any toasts. I do know legends though.”

I liked the voice even less. It was obviously coming from a corner very close to where I was standing, but there wasn’t anyone or anything there besides dust and a pile of trash. So he’s invisible. If I had to fight him, especially in that semidarkness, I was a dead man. Why did I ever decide to come here?

“That’s great!” I answered cheerfully. “Then I’ll just head up to the surface so I can grab my notebook and write everything down. Only the door is closed. Would you mind opening it?”

“Of course not,” the voice said politely. “The door isn’t a problem. As soon as you finish the temple challenge, I’ll open it and turn off the trap for you.”

“Challenge?” I scratched the back of my head, happy that at least he was a quest-related undead. That meant he wouldn’t be deciding to suddenly attack me. That’s not what they’re programmed for.

“I just wish I could see you,” I said, looking around. “Just talking into thin air isn’t right. You start thinking all kinds of strange thoughts, wondering if you’re going crazy.”

“Going crazy,” said the voice with a snort. “You’re already a madman. Who in their right mind would walk into an abandoned temple? Just fools and people looking to get killed. You can decide which of those you are.”

“Oh, come on.” The voice’s logic impressed me, as I had been thinking the exact same thing about myself. “As if abandoned temples are always cursed. There are lots of different kinds of them.”

“Different kinds? Yeah, right. Now, you and I are going to see what kind this one is.”

The air a few steps away from me took the form of a ghost with an unusually ugly face. It was green and covered in warts, and it had rotten teeth and ears covered in slime and jutting downward. In short, he just needed a sign that said “Careful or your face will freeze that way.”

Still, as surprising as this may sound, seeing him was calming for me. Sure, he was a demon ghost, and sure, he was nasty, warty, and slimy, but he was Level 35 and visible. If he decides to try to kill me, at least I’ll stand a chance. Or, maybe, we can figure this out peacefully and go our separate ways.

“I’m sorry; who are you?” I said to the materialized ghost. “What’s your name and what are you doing here?”

The ghost looked me over as if deciding if I was worth an answer.

“My name is Zorbofayl. I have served in this temple as its guardian and overseer since the beginning of time. Well, at least, since the gods departed.”

“Yes, you’re obviously great at your job. It’s nice here, cozy, and everything works.” I jabbed my finger in the direction of the corridor.

“Well, brave temple visitor,” said Zorbofayl, all business, “shall we begin the procedure?”

“What procedure?” I asked cautiously. “What do you mean?”

“You came here to the temple?” asked the ghost.

“I did.” There was no sense arguing that point.

“You’d like to receive its bounty?”

“I told you, I’m not exactly after material things.”

“Oh, I know what you’re here for—I’ve seen enough of your kind over the last thousand years. Everyone comes here to look around, and then, suddenly, things go missing,” said Zorbofayl in a peeved tone. “Although, of course, sometimes they stay here.”

“Fine, you’re right,” I answered, realizing that I wasn’t getting out without a fight. My initial suspicions were on the money; it was victory or death. In the meantime, however, I tucked away in the back of my mind what the ghost said about things being left in the temple.

“There we go. Then we’ll begin the procedure approved in time immemorial by my master.”

You’re kidding me. What kind of game is this? A demon ghost who’s also a bureaucrat? I wonder, does he take bribes?

“To receive the treasures of the temple, the searcher is obligated to defeat four of its warriors in single combat, one after the other without interruptions or breaks. Ah, here they are.”

Four skeletons armed with the usual swords, shields, and helmets tramped out of the corridor with the fire trap, their bones clacking together. Where could they have been hiding? I wondered, although that didn’t really matter right then.

The challenge didn’t look to be all that difficult; they were just a few skeletons. And I didn’t even have to fight them all at the same time. Things were looking up.

“Seekers who defeat the four temple warriors, fight the Temple Defender. Those who succeed in defeating him, win the temple’s reward and the right to leave it.”

What could Elina have liked so much about this quest? Seriously? There wasn’t anything all that interesting about the plot and nothing out of the ordinary. Sure, the setting was fun—an old temple, a slimy ghost, skeletons in the ambient light…

“Is everything clear, seeker?” asked Zorbofayl. “Are you even listening to me?”

“Yes, yes, got it.” I decided to dispense with the formalities.

I understood that he wasn’t at all aggressive, that he wouldn’t attack me unless I attacked him first, and that his job was to walk players through the process of getting the bounty of the temple. I just needed to follow his cues.

Stepping away from the wall, I walked toward the center of the room. The skeletons, joints clacking, made a square around me.

“Well, seeker, shall we begin?” the ghost asked, rubbing his hands and their long, green fingers together.

“Just a second,” I told him and walked to the wall furthest from the entrance. As I got closer, I saw some wooden scraps on the floor where an altar had once been, some kind of posts surrounding a something I didn’t recognize, and the figure of some large person on the wall. I couldn’t tell if it was male or female. Then I took seven steps away from the wall, making sure that I had room to maneuver while not giving anyone room enough to get behind me.

“I don’t like having anyone behind me,” I explained to the ghost. “It’s annoying.”

“Agreed. Nobody likes that.” The ghost nodded. “Begin?”

“Why not?” I gripped my sword and, in a practiced motion, pulled my shield from its position hanging on my back. “We ethnographers are never happy without a fight.”

The first skeleton, who was the lowest at Level 33, charged, sword whirling and teeth chattering. I had long since learned to ignore how my opponents looked, and the nerves I had felt in Gringvort when I first saw walking undead were forgotten.

I met the skeleton’s sword with my shield, and answered by slashing my own sword into him. My attack, combined with an ability, took off forty percent of his health. Just another battle.

Nothing special happened in that battle or the next. The skeletons were fairly straightforward opponents, since they’re only dangerous when there are enough of them to overwhelm you. Killing them one at a time was a piece of cake.

To be fair, I should note that my second foe was Level 34, something that I missed at the time. That made sense, however; the further you go, the harder it gets. Plus, they weren’t your ordinary enemies; they were part of a quest, so they had some tricks up their sleeves. The second was armed with two sabers rather than a sword and shield, though that didn’t save him…

The third skeleton Zorbofayl beckoned forward behaved the same as his predecessors: a slashing attack, chattering teeth, creaking joints. He was Level 35. But then something strange happened.

During my first two duels with Fayroll’s undead, I had edged backward until, at that point, my back was almost up against the wall. That wouldn’t have been a problem except for the fact that pieces of trash and other junk had piled up at the foot of the wall over the hundreds of years the temple had been around. I stumbled over a piece of wood or stone, waved my arms in a vain attempt to regain my balance, clanged my sword against the wall, and collapsed on my ass.

The skeleton’s sword (this one, thank God, didn’t have his friend’s two swords; he only had the one) drew sparks on the wall right above my head. I rolled to my right, held my shield up to protect me, and tried to get on my feet. The skeleton quickly jumped over and tried to finish me off with his blade, but, luckily, it just glanced off my shield. My feet slipped on the floor, I couldn’t get my bearings, and the skeleton was raising his sword once again. I dropped my sword and reached out to with my hand, trying to find the wall and pull myself up. Instead, my fingers felt their way onto some kind of object that I squeezed, hoping it would be strong enough to support my weight.

It didn’t break, but that was only half the story. It came to life, as it were, and it was as if I turned on the sun. From the cupola, which had been doing its part to barely illuminate the room, burst a bright, blinding light. I can’t say that was much of a windfall for me, however, as I found myself weaponless and suddenly half-dazzled. I barely had time to catch the skeleton’s blow with my shield and shove it backward before quickly crouching to pick up my sword and shuffling my feet to make sure my footing was sure.

The skeleton once again charged, but that time, I was ready. I knocked his sword away and landed a strike of my own on his hip. It was critical, and my third opponent, the only one thus far who had given me reason to worry, collapsed into a pile of Lego pieces.

I saluted him with my sword, recognizing the tenacity that had accompanied the usual skeleton stupidity. He alone had been close to drawing blood. Then I looked around. Where was my fourth enemy? I’ll figure out what’s going on with the light later.

Opponent number four was still standing where I’d last seen him. I was puzzled as to why until I looked at Zorbofayl. Have you ever seen a ghost in a stupor? I can say with pride that I have, and let me just tell you what a comical sight it is. Seriously! Zorbofayl was frozen in the air, his jaw dangling, his tongue protruding, and his eyes popping out of his eye sockets. The only thing I can think to compare him to is a scene from Tom and Jerry—two plumes of smoke even wafted their way out of his nostrils. Needless to say, he’d forgotten to give the command to the skeleton, who was not about to do anything without it.

“Hey, Zorbofayl,” I said to the demon ghost.

He didn’t move a muscle.

I walked right over to him and tried to pull on the tongue that was hanging out of his open mouth. It didn’t work—ghosts are ghosts—but it was worth a try. First of all, because I wanted to wake him up out of his stupor, and, second, because, you know…I wanted to be able to say that I yanked on the tongue of a demon in a temple once.

Even though I wasn’t able to grab hold of anything, the ghost stirred, slurped his tongue back into his mouth, and put his eyes back in.

“Where did you get the Mark of the Gods?” he hissed.

“What mark?” I was dumbfounded, as I didn’t remember any of the gods talking to me, not to mention giving me some kind of mark.

“You touched the Palm of the God and lit the Holy Fire. The only possible reason for that is that you have been marked by a god.” Zorbofayl got all that out in one breath before adding, “Or goddess.”

I stopped to think. Sure, I’d come across a goddess, but not personally—and she hadn’t blessed me. I would have remembered that. How could I possibly have her mark?

“So, that’s the Palm of the God.” That was the dusty old thing I’d grabbed. The dust had scattered, and I could see that it was a small, rectangular stela with a clear and oversized handprint. And, I went and squeezed it, bringing about whatever doomsday we were looking at. “Could it be mistaken?”

Zorbofayl nearly exploded in outrage.

“It was made by the gods, and they are infallible. The fire greeted you—nothing could be surer.”

I remembered the text from the scroll and the pixie’s reaction. Nonsense. You sure about that?

The ghost scratched his head.

“So, I guess you’re who I’ve been waiting for all these centuries—one of the chosen ones.”

“One of the chosen ones? You’ve had other people here who were able to light the fire?”

“No, you’re the first. Everyone who’s come here and passed the challenge has touched the Palm—none of them were marked by the gods.”

“Wait a second. What about the challenge? Don’t I still have to kill the last skeleton?” I asked.

“Forget it,” the ghost answered with a shrug. “Everything’s fine. The skeletons are there to weed out all the greedy idiots, plus, the God knows best when to leave his mark. You were marked, so you’re one of the few he needs. Come with me.”

The ghost wafted over to the wall by the Palm and bellowed out a spell. The wall, which was covered in a fresco of something large that I realized must have been divine, parted to reveal a staircase leading downward. The catacombs under the temple.

“What’s down there?” I asked Zorbofayl apprehensively. “Are you sure that’s where we have to go?”

“Down there?” he answered. “That’s the True Temple of the God of War. Come on, let’s go.”

He flew off down the stairs.

“This isn’t getting any easier. Maybe, it would have been better to just finish off the skeletons and part ways,” I said. I wanted to spit, but decided not to—we were in a temple, after all. Gods are awfully touchy, not to mention vengeful.

So, off I went behind the ghost, wondering about the Palm. So, if lots of players come through here, and they all grab it, how was it so dusty? Maybe, the ghost covers it every time people leave to make sure it doesn’t stand out?

The staircase went further and further down, and Zorbofayl flew right down it a little ways ahead of me. He kept the corridor lit with some kind of sickly glow.

“Follow me, brave warrior, follow me.”

I kicked myself for going with him and for taking the quest in the first place, but there was nothing for it. Deeper and deeper we went under the earth on our way to the True Temple.

Chapter Thirteen

In which the hero learns something new about his world’s past and future.

The sickly light flickered, Zorbofayl muttered, the stairs stretched downward, and I walked down them, thinking to myself. Ah, a little harmony and stability in the world—everybody’s just doing their thing.

Everything and nothing flew through my head. Nobody was out to kill me, I had a much better idea of how I’d be getting out of the temple, and I figured I might be able to get something good for myself in the True Temple. The only thing I wasn’t looking forward to was walking back up all those stairs…

“We’re almost here,” Zorbofayl called back. “Prepare to behold the True Temple!”

“I’m always prepared,” I answered. “Like a Boy Scout.”

Zorbofayl didn’t respond. Either my answer suited him or, as I assumed was more likely the case, he had no idea what Boy Scouts were.

Ahead, was a pearly shimmer that must have been coming from the True Temple. As we got closer, I saw that was indeed the case. The stairs ended in front of yet another archway. Whoever designed the temple apparently didn’t spend too much time on entrances, as they all looked the same. Out of this one, the soft, somehow soothing light flowed.

Zorbofayl dove in through the door.

“Human, enter the True Temple of the God of War. It awaits you.”

I carefully peeked into the waiting temple, not yet caring to step over the threshold. There was nothing to see in the fairly small room, however, except Zorbofayl and an enormous pair of legs, and so I walked into the True Temple.

You entered a True Temple dedicated to one of the Departed Gods. In days long since forgotten, after the gods left Fayroll, such temples were left by each of them. Only those chosen by the gods themselves or their authorized representatives are permitted within.

There it was again. For the life of me, I couldn’t figure out who could possibly have chosen me. Maybe it was Zimin or Valyaev playing their tricks? Or both of them together? Doubtful—they don’t lift a finger unless there’s something in it for them. On the other hand, who was I to say there wasn’t anything in it for them?

I looked around. The room wasn’t terribly large, especially in comparison with the one we’d been in higher up, though it had an enormously high ceiling. In fact, it wasn’t even really a ceiling; it was more a cupola out of which was cast the soft light. The lion’s share of the room was taken up by the statue, the legs of which I’d noticed from the other side of the archway. It was a gigantic stone warrior I assumed was the God of War himself. He was large and robust, with hair blowing in the wind. The sculptor’s skill was undeniable—the statue could have been alive for all I could tell. His muscles rippled and bulged, he wore a cloak, and there was an impressive double-edged axe in his hands. To be honest, he reminded me of someone…

“The God of War,” said Zorbofayl, who took a reverent breath. “Master!”

“Yours?” I asked.

“Yes. Once I served him honestly and faithfully,” the demon ghost said with what I thought was a sob. “Before he departed, he called for me and asked me if I would do him one last service.”

“And?” I asked, intrigued. Who knows how this could end, and I’ll need all the information I can get.

“I agreed.” Zorbofayl stared at me in bewilderment. “All my life, and now my afterlife, have been lived in service to him. I became who I am now, receiving this covering instead of the body I once had.”

“You didn’t mind the trade?” I asked Zorbofayl with sincere sympathy.

“He is my sovereign,” said Zorbofayl with conviction, “and he receives everything he asks of me.”

Certainly, that was impressive. The only other place I’d come across such devotion to a master was in Japanese literature like 47 Ronin and Hachikō. It was worthy of my respect, even if I personally didn’t understand it. Although, to be fair, he was just a digital character following his code.

“You’re a hero,” I said, deciding to flatter the ghost. “And you’ll definitely be rewarded! When the time comes.”

“It will come.” Zorbofayl’s voice was firm and confident. “Soon! I know; my master will return. But now here you are in his temple.”

“Here I am,” I agreed. “So, what am I supposed to do now? You must have brought me here for a reason.”

“Fall on your face before the marble incarnation of the God and beg for his indulgence toward you,” demanded the ghost.

“Oh, no, thank you very much, Mr. Demon.” I knew there wasn’t anything shameful about bowing down, but I just don’t like the idea of it. Not in a game and definitely not in real life. It’s just not me. No, sir, no bowing down here. Getting down on a knee is fine within reason—this was a god, after all, if a Departed God. But there would be no falling on my face if I could help it. I have self-respect to think about.

“You dare speak those words before the face of the God?” hissed Zorbofayl, his voice changing. “Do you understand what he could do to you with just the twitch of his little finger? Even my hands are his to use!”

The ghost began to swell right in front of me, and twenty seconds later, he was dangerously large. He took off head-first toward the dome and began waving around hands that had suddenly grown threateningly curved nails.

“Do as you are told and fall on your face!” His voice boomed around the room. “Beg for the God’s favor. You may still be able to receive it!”

Instead of replying, I pulled out my sword and prepared for a fight.

“Screw gods of war who make you kiss their ass. What’s that about? Find someone else’s belly to wipe the floor with; I’d rather die here!” I roared, all my buttons firmly pressed.

Something burst near the dome, I smelled a rush of air, and a satisfied smile spread over the face of Zorbofayl, who returned to his normal size.

“True warriors never bow before anyone—not their enemy, not their friend,” he said. “They only ever bend the knee to show their respect. You are a true warrior worthy of being the very first soldier in the new Legion of my God. And, most importantly, you can name Vitar your God as well.”

Having displayed the qualities the God of War esteems the most, you now have the chance to select Vitar, the God of War, as the deity you worship.

There is currently no pantheon in Fayroll but, thanks to the fact that you found the True Temple of the God of War and passed the God’s test, you now have the right of first confession.

Worshipping the God of War before his appearance in the created world does not come with any responsibilities or constraints. You are free to think and act as you please. That may change, however, with the Second Coming of the Gods.

Having once selected the God as your master, you may not switch your allegiance to any of the other Gods without the desire of Vitar.

By becoming a servant of Vitar, the God of War, you receive:

Title: Servant of the God of War

The right to join the Legion of Vitar, the God of War

Abilities: hidden

Attributes: hidden

Other rewards: hidden

Accept?

“Uh…what?” I shook my head and sheathed my sword. At least nobody’s trying to kill me.

“What don’t you understand?” Zorbofayl cackled happily. “Accept and become the first servant Vitar has gained in the long reaches of time.”

“Wait a second!” I slowed the overjoyed ghost down. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves; I need to think about this.”

Zorbofayl froze, his ugly green head unable to comprehend the fact that someone might not agree to serve the God of War.

I leaned back against the wall and began to turn the whole thing over in my mind. As far as I could tell, the offer was exclusive to me—at least, as far as that god was concerned. Vitar wasn’t the only one with a temple like that, so Fayroll could have been littered with servants of other gods who’d stumbled upon their secret hideaways. But in this one, I was the first. Needless to say, if the gods came back to Fayroll, I’d be at the front of the line when they distributed their wealth, and I had to imagine celestial beings were generous in the gifts they rained down on their own. On the other hand, they might give out more than just gifts. Who knew what kind of character this particular god had? He wasn’t the god of trade, after all; he was the God of War. Maybe he was actually a bore fixated on why you hadn’t oiled your chainmail or attached a collar to it.

And what would I do then? It would be too late to change my mind…

Oh, and why were all the benefits you get for accepting hidden? It was just a black box you didn’t get to see into before you made your decision. And I couldn’t ask the ghost—he wouldn’t have known even if he had any idea what I was talking about.

Zorbofayl hovered in front of me, and I watched a variety of emotions chase each other across his face: expectation, confusion, even a bit of offense. That’s one more thing; I have no idea how he’ll react if I decline the offer. What if he balloons up again like he did last time? Those claws looked like they could pop me open like a pickle jar.

Another issue was that I was helping Mesmerta and her bewitched dryads. As far as I could remember, the gods in Fayroll were incredibly foul. They hated each other, they even fought each other, and they tried to get mortals involved in their fights. That’s why they were kicked out in the first place. What if Vitar and Mesmerta have some kind of eternal grudge between them? I help her, and then this hairy guy with the axe comes back and finds out about it…you can’t just hide things from gods. “You bastard, why did you help that witch? Five thousand years ago she spat in my juice!”

Then he’d destroy me or start making my life miserable, and the disfavor of a god—especially your own—is no walk in the park.

Sure, there was the chance that the Second Coming would never happen, but I still had far more questions than answers. The information about joining the God of War’s Cult, which was still right in my face, was getting on my nerves, too. I was afraid to close it. Maybe I won’t be able to reopen it later if I decide I want to accept.

A few minutes of mental anguish and doubt later, I decided I needed the house’s help.

“Number Nineteen, could you come here for a minute?” I shouted.

Zorbofayl stared at me, apparently figuring that my brain had worked me straight into the crazy house. Then, suddenly he froze. From the archway, appeared my strictly-suited friend with the briefcase.

“Code 33,” I said happily.

“I remember you, player; I have perfect memory. How can I help you?”

“I need advice,” I said.

“Advice, like material assistance, is not part of my area of expertise,” Number Nineteen sharply noted.

“Hey, hey,” I answered, “I was told that you’re supposed to make things as easy for me as possible, so long as that doesn’t lead to disproportionate player development and can’t be considered cheating. A consultation certainly couldn’t fall into either of those categories.”

“Information you get outside normal gameplay can be used for your personal enrichment or to create a more favorable environment for you as opposed to that enjoyed by other players,” replied Number Nineteen logically.

“There aren’t any other players here,” I noted. “And it looks like there never have been. I’m just as surprised as anyone.”

“But what if others come?” Number Nineteen took a different tack. “You will then have an advantage over them.”

“I have an advantage as it is. You know that. This situation doesn’t affect my main mission. To the contrary, I’m trying to avoid doing anything to jeopardize it. That’s exactly why I’m asking you for information.” I hoped that was enough drivel to fool Number Nineteen.

He stood there thinking for a second. “The situation is controversial, so please give me a minute to discuss it with representatives of the game administration.”

He walked off through the wall.

I had to laugh at my predicament. One character had just disappeared into a wall, while the other was frozen in midair. There I was, caught in the middle, wondering what would happen.

“Hey, sorry, man…” I heard a voice behind me. Turning, I saw Valyaev walking out of the wall. “You don’t mind me getting familiar, do you?”

I shook my head. Whatever. My surprise was better left hidden, I decided.

“Cool. This is crazy, so I wanted to jump in myself.”

Valyaev looked extravagant in his black surcoat, black breeches, and black beret. Around his neck, was a gold chain with a large gold emblem in the shape of a circle, and on it were symbols, letters, and numbers. There was a sword in his belt, a white feather in his beret, and a cane in his hand.

“A chair,” he ordered. A chair, needless to say, appeared behind him, and he sat down, crossed his legs, and leaned his right hand on his cane. “And another for my friend here. Sit down, Kif. The truth isn’t in your legs.”

I looked behind me and saw that a chair had appeared there. My long-suffering ass plopped down into it.

“How do I look?” asked Valyaev, obviously showing off.

“Fantastic.” I decided flattery was never a bad option. “Excellent.”

“You’re lying, of course,” said Valyaev with a smile. “But I like it!”

“Me, too, to be honest.”

“Oh yes?” Valyaev smiled again, this time ironically. “All righty then. But hey, Kif, can you explain to me how you always find yourself right where you have no business being?”

“I have no idea,” I said with complete sincerity. “It just happens randomly.”

“Sure it does. Only zits just happen randomly; you seem to have made a habit of it. What brought you to this temple?”

“A quest!” I shrugged. “I accepted it, started doing what I was supposed to do, and this is what happened.”

“Phew boy,” cackled Valyaev. “And why did you have to go and scare my little Cerberus? He came running in with no idea what to do. I’m afraid to think what you might have asked him.”

“It was really nothing.” I was starting to feel bad. “I didn’t even have time to actually ask him; all I said was that I need information.”

“Well, information comes in all different shapes and sizes, especially in your situation.”

“I just need information about this temple and about the offer I got. I’m afraid it will interfere with my main quest.”

“How?” Valyaev was taken aback.

“You’ll bring the gods back, and this strapping young fellow and Mesmerta may not really like each other. I’ll be stuck right in the middle. Oh, and I have a couple other questions while we’re on the subject.” When I referred to the God, I nodded toward the statue of Vitar. It struck me that he was watching our conversation with displeasure, though I had no idea why. Maybe because we were in his temple, or maybe because we were comfortably seated—comfort and warriors don’t mix.

Valyaev nodded, smiling like a Cheshire cat.

“Oh, yes? Well, information like that is on the border… Let’s do this: ask your questions, and, if I don’t think the answers will affect what you do in the future, I’ll give them to you. Deal?”

“Of course.” I immediately agreed. Even some of the information I was looking for was better than none of it. And haggling with him was pointless.

“Go ahead.” Valyaev sat back in his chair.

“Why are the bonuses you get for accepting Vitar’s patronage hidden? What are they?” I decided to warm up to my main questions slowly.

“Nobody knows what they are. Including me. It’s like an Easter egg—you remember those, right? Maybe you’ll get a little action figure or maybe it’ll be a puzzle you couldn’t care less about. When we made all this—I mean the system of True Temples—we made a random-number generator. Well, in this case, a random-bonus generator. So, the odds of you getting +100 to your strength and nothing are exactly the same.”

“I don’t know about that,” I said, shaking my head. “Too much of a roulette wheel.”

“Yep, that’s about the size of it. If the gods come back, there will be a clear system for who gets what and why. But look at it this way: until they do come back, you don’t even have to do anything; no moral or physical demands on how you serve the gods but you do get the reward right now.”

“That’s true.” I had been thinking along those lines as well. “So, the other gods have temples, too?”

“Oh, come on,” said Valyaev. “You figured that out a long time ago. Obviously, all the gods in the old pantheon have True Temples. And you aren’t the first to find one of them. But that’s enough on that topic; I’m not saying anything else.”

“No problem, it isn’t really that important,” I said, doing my best to sound sincere. “But there’s something else that is. How did I get the Mark of a God? I haven’t talked with anyone, not a priest and certainly not a god—no one. And this little guy,” I continued, pointing a finger at Zorbofayl, “seems to think I’ve been marked.”

Valyaev nodded. “Well, you have. Just not by a god; yours is the Mark of a Goddess.”

“But how did I get it?” The frustration had me just about yelling.

“Did you go through the vila rite?” asked Valyaev. “The wedding ceremony?”

“It was a betrothal,” I said, correcting him. “There’s a big difference.”

“Right, the betrothal. So you went through it?”

“Obviously,” I admitted. “Although, I probably shouldn’t have…”

“Well… And, did the light flash up during the ceremony? From the ritual stone?”

“From a column. They have an altar built like a column. And ‘flash’ barely begins to describe it.” I was babbling, not sure what the rite had to do with anything.

“Right,” said Valyaev genially. “The key word there is ‘altar.’ It was given by the Goddess Mesmerta to the vilas and consecrated by the Goddess, as well. So, there you go; you got the Mark of the Goddess. Not many people have gotten it, to be fair, and you were the first to get it in that swamp. There’s a whole gradation that goes along with the quest, but it’s ridiculously complicated. If you care to hear about it, you can ask Konstantin later. I’ll introduce you to him, since he’s in charge of all that. Or, you can ask Oleg; he takes care of the administration side.”

“Okay, but how am I the first one to get here?” There was still quite a bit I was confused about. “I mean, if other players have gotten the mark.”

“Nobody else wants to marry a vila. Experienced players steer clear of them, and noobs go check the forums when everyone starts calling them idiots. They figure out what’s going on and just start over with a new character. You’re the only one around here that’s currently planning on going through with it—and maybe the only one in the entire game.”

“What, there aren’t any vilas in this area?”

“No, vilas are only found in swamps. And, we may be jerks sometimes, but we aren’t bad enough to tempt you players with them all the time.”

I had my own opinion on that point, but I decided to keep it to myself.

“Okay, but I still don’t get the logic. I have Mesmerta’s mark, but why did it work in Vitar’s temple? Is there some kind of connection?”

Valyaev squinted at me and sighed.

“Kif, when are you going to finally read the materials available about the game? Who are Vitar and Mesmerta?”

“Departed Gods.” I shrugged.

“Husband and wife; one of three married pairs of Old Gods. They had the same institute of marriage.”

The answer to the riddle dawned on me. Well, of course, that makes perfect sense. Husband and wife. Husband and wife…a devilish alliance…

“Okay, I have another question then.” I decided to get as much as I could out of our conversation.

Valyaev nodded in acquiescence.

“How was their marriage? Was it like the Greek gods, full of arguing, scandal, and all that? Or did they love each other?”

“Do you ever do anything for yourself?” Valyaev was indignant. “Log out and do some reading.”

“I can’t. I need to make a decision, and if I log out, the quest offer will disappear. Incidentally, it’s driving me crazy—you might consider putting it off in the corner or something.”

“Yeah, right.” Valyaev snorted. “Then we’ll have players like you taking months to make decisions. No, thank you. This way is fine. And as far as Vitar and Mesmerta are concerned, they loved each other. In fact, they were actually pretty good gods. They didn’t get into fights, they didn’t demand blood sacrifice, and they didn’t go around starting intrigues just for fun. They were pretty decent, and definitely better than Tekhosh or Trayana the Faceless, for example. As gods go, of course.”

“So they compromised with each other, gave things up for each other?”

Valyaev looked at me in surprise. “Yes, that’s what I’m trying to tell you. They loved each other. They left this world holding hands. How’s that for romance, Kif?”

A first-rate love story. Walking off into the sunset hand in hand, cheek to cheek. Lovely.

“Oh, and one more question. Will Vitar be returning?”

Valyaev smirked. “No comment! And, anyway, I think we’re done here. You have enough to go on.”

“Okay, fine.” I answered in kind and pressed Accept.

You are now a servant of Vitar, the God of War

You receive:

Title: Servant of the God of War

The right to join the Legion of Vitar, the God of War

Active ability: Memory of the God

Gives you a 50% strength boost

Duration: 40 seconds

Activation cost: 45 mana

Recharge time: 1 minute

If Vitar, the God of War, returns to Fayroll, Memory of the God will be replaced with Power of the God.

So, Valyaev was right. I may have earned myself some problems in the far-off future, but for the present, I had a pretty decent ability. Then something else popped up.

You have been offered the chance to join the Legion of Vitar, the God of War. When Vitar was one of the Fayroll gods, he loathed servility, guile, flattery, subservience, and everything else practiced by most of the other gods’ followers.

He most valued courage, loyalty to one’s principles, and devotion to one’s comrades in arms. From among the best warriors in Fayroll—those who worshipped him—he formed the Legion of the God, and joining it was the dream of all men. The Legion served the powers of the Light, and its warriors carried the flame of the God in their hearts.

After the departure of the gods, the Legion disintegrated, and nobody in Fayroll even remembers it. Neither legend nor written record remains.

If you join the Legion of the God, you will receive:

Titles:

Legionnaire of Vitar

First in the Resurrected Legion

Passive ability: Belief in the Legion

Right when your heart is overcome by terror, the belief all of Vitar’s legionnaires have in the triumph of the Light will warm it and fill it with hope.

Gives +50% to mental resistance.

Activates automatically.

If the Legion is restored, you will become its legate, and if Vitar, the God of War, returns to Fayroll, you will be given the rank of aquilifer and a place in the Legion Council.

You may also receive other rewards if Vitar, the God of War, returns to Fayroll.

Accept?

I’d accepted the first offer, so there was no point declining the second. I was comforted by the fact that nobody in the Legion would be asking me to do anything. As of that moment, I was its sole member.

That done, I turned back to Valyaev.

“That’s strange. I’m a full-fledged servant of the God, and the only one he has right now. Shouldn’t I have gotten some buildings or powers?”

“Yeah, right. And maybe you’d like to be high priest, have the right to recruit people to your belief, and own a castle with towers and a trained dragon?” asked Valyaev sarcastically. “I’ve heard of that, but with us everything is simple. You worship the God, great. Go for it. And, that’s it. All right, then, you got your ability?”

“I did.”

“And the answers to your questions?”

“Yep.”

“You’re a legionnaire now?”

“I am.”

“Then get out of here. I have things to do, too. See you!”

Valyaev stood up and walked toward the wall with the intention of leaving the True Temple.

“Hold on!” I called after him.

He turned. “Something else?”

“Can you unfreeze my green friend?” I gestured toward Zorbofayl. “Oh, and one more thing…”

“Out with it!” said Valyaev shortly.

“I came here for a quest, and I was supposed to get something; that’s why a local dwarf gave me the key. We’re supposed to split the loot. But now…”

“Are you crazy, Nikiforov?” Valyaev circled his temple with his finger. “Would you like me to bring you a few sandwiches as well?”

“No, don’t worry about the sandwiches.” I wasn’t giving up. “But maybe I can finish off the last skeleton and at least get loot from them? The dwarf seems like a good guy; I feel bad…”

Valyaev groaned and stuck his head through the wall, where he was apparently talking with someone. Then he pulled it back out and, with a wave of his hand, unfroze Zorbofayl.

The latter twitched, noticed Valyaev, stared at him, and tried to come to attention. Apparently, he recognized a commander when he saw one.

“Okay, show this warrior the trophies you’ve built up over the years and share some with him,” Valyaev said to the ghost before doffing his beret and diving into the wall, this time completely and, presumably, for good.

“The warrior is now a servant of the God!” Zorbofayl happily exclaimed, flitting around me.

“Better,” I answered. “The warrior is now a legionnaire!”

The ghost’s opinion of me obviously skyrocketed, and he shot off and started digging around in a far corner.

“What are you doing?” I asked him.

“Following the order given by the demiurge,” he answered, moving a pile of goods to the center. My keen eyes immediately spotted quite a few things I could use. “These are the temple’s trophies. Many have left here with a reward; many others have laid down their lives and left with them their armor and blades. I keep them here, in the temple of my God. They’re honorable trophies—I hope he likes them.”

“Why did you call that guy in the beret a demiurge?” I asked Zorbofayl casually.

He opened his mouth to answer, but Number Nineteen popped out of the wall and interrupted him.

“Hagen, you have ten seconds to collect your reward. When your time is up, I will port you out of the temple, as you have gotten everything you can here. Your time starts…now. Ten. Nine…”

I jumped over to the pile and started stuffing everything I could grab into my sack without even bothering to see what it all was. There will be time for that later.

Eight seconds later my eyes flashed, I blinked, and I found myself standing near the temple. Stars shone in the sky. The air, I noticed, was much fresher outside.

“You can’t do that!” I shook my fist at the sky. “You’re interfering with my game progress!”

Thunder shook the clear sky. The message couldn’t have been clearer: Go ahead. Write a complaint.

I took a deep breath and headed toward the city. There was a party I needed to visit, after all.

The half-elf and her friend were gone. They’d apparently finished their meal and gone on their way. Everything around me, in fact, was empty. The onset of night had seen to that. Even in town, I was surprised to find there was almost no one out on the streets. The only noise I heard was coming from the party at Locket’s house. I followed the light streaming out the windows, staggering and swearing as I went—just like I promised.

“What’s going on here?” I roared, having crashed through the short door. “You’re having your fun here, and you didn’t think to invite old Hendricks? You have drinks, and, oh baby…” I blew a kiss to one of the…What do you call them? Girl-pixies, I guess. Whatever she was called, she looked at me with revulsion.

I continued my drunken walk through the room and tapped around the center, stumbling over, rudely shoving the many guests as I went. Once I’d gotten to the girl-pixie I had my eye on, I plumped down onto one knee and started spouting off some obscenities.

Finally, Locket appeared in all his glory, most of which was a blue and red cloak.

“Hey, you lousy hulk, let’s take this out into the courtyard!”

“Oh, screw off!” I told him, puckering my lips and reaching for the girl-pixie in front of me.

“Get out of here, you scum!” Locket grabbed me by the sleeve.

“You know what? Fine. But you’ll be sorry!” I drunkenly gurgled before turning back to the girl-pixie, who was half-dead from disgust and terror. “I’ll be right back; don’t go anywhere! Ah, my little mermaid…”

In the courtyard, Locket gestured with his arms, doing his best impression of putting me in my place. What he was actually saying was somewhat different. “Fantastic! Did you see how she looked at me? I’m so cool! Ah, this will definitely be a good night.”

“You’re telling me,” I said, exhausted. “So are we good?”

“Completely,” answered Locket. He extended a finger, showing me where I was supposed to go.

You completed a quest: Brave Pixie

Reward:

300 experience

“Excellent,” I said. “Then hand over the 20 gold.”

“Stop by tomorrow,” the pixie said quickly. “Otherwise, it’ll look like I just paid you to leave!”

“We’ll see about that,” I answered, plastering a look of fear over my face and dashing away. “See you tomorrow.”

I found a corner several houses down from Locket’s party, decided to put off looking through what I’d grabbed at the temple, sat down next to a fence, and logged out of the game.

Chapter Fourteen

In which our hero wakes up twice.

I opened my eyes that morning—well, not exactly, more like that afternoon—regardless, I woke up and tried to piece my thoughts together. Everything was mixed up in my head—gods, pixies, Valyaev, the Legion… Too much information had been crammed into my brain over the last day, and it was trying to get its feet under it. I needed a break.

Groaning, I crawled out of bed and onto the balcony. Fall was starting to encroach on Moscow, though summer wasn’t giving up without a fight. The leaves were still green, if tinged with yellow, the sun was more tiredly dimmed than blindingly bright, and there was a faint autumn bitterness in the air. Children were running in the courtyard and making much more noise than they had been a couple weeks before that. The dacha season was over, and all the grandmothers had brought their grandchildren back from their panelboard-and-wood resorts in the villages to their blocky brick homes in the city.

I don’t like smoking on an empty stomach, but I needed a few drags to wake me up a little. Some people prefer coffee for their morning pick-me-up, others drink cocoa, and I smoke cigarettes. I know, I know, smoking on an empty stomach is bad for me—not to mention smoking in general.

My head was starting to clear, so I tossed the butt over the rail. (Yes, I’m a pig, but I can’t stand having those empty beer bottles full of cigarettes laying around. And, seriously, be honest. Who doesn’t do that every once in a while?) I went back inside to shave and have breakfast—or lunch, I guess. I decided not to take too much time, since I had quite a bit to do that day. I needed to go split my loot with the dwarf, grill him and Locket about the Departed Gods, and, while I was on the subject, do whatever else I could to learn more about them. I figured I could check the forums, but the lack of information there would probably push me toward some people outside the game. Then, I needed to head over to the office to check in on my team. We had our first issue coming up, and I couldn’t ignore them forever. That wouldn’t have been right on my part, but, more importantly, my head would be the one on the line if they screwed up. And, that would have just fed my colleagues’ schadenfreude. We were a close-knit group that always liked to see each other fail.

Once I had some food in me, I jumped straight into the capsule, and a minute later, stood up next to the fence I’d collapsed next to the day before. The irony was palpable; I had gold, my hotel room was paid for, and I spent the night next to a fence. The first legionnaire, a favorite of the gods, and even a favorite of the demiurges…

On the way to the market, I noticed that the city guard was darting in and out of all the different courtyards. One of them looked me over and even was about to ask me something, though he thought better of it and ran off. I shook my head, figuring that someone had stolen something or killed somebody, and kept going.

There were guards at the market, too, though they weren’t as active. And, compared to the day before, the place was deserted.

Trayn waved to me from his usual spot as soon as I caught his attention.

“Good afternoon, kind, sir,” I greeted him.

“And, a good afternoon to you, as well.” The dwarf shifted in his chair, obviously from impatience. “So, how did everything go in the temple? Out with it!”

“What do you think?” I answered with dignity. “I went to see it and walked away with some loot. I’m not sure what I got exactly, though, since I haven’t had the chance to look through it.”

You completed a quest: Temple Secrets

Reward:

700 experience

Half the items found in the temple.

“Then, what are we waiting for? Let’s check it out!” Even Trayn’s beard was quivering in anticipation.

I decided to stop tormenting the poor guy. After all, I was curious to see what I’d come away with, as well. There wasn’t anything big like spears or shields, I was sure, since I’d focused on little things, but I had no idea what I actually got.

Up went my bag and out poured all the odds and ends I’d collected, since there wasn’t anything there that I didn’t get from the temple. What I wasn’t using was in my room, and I was wearing what I was using. Except for my gold, of course, and there wasn’t a whole lot of that…

We looked down at the pile on the counter to see maybe fifteen rings, a few knives, poleyns,[13] a slightly bent tiara, a pair of amulets, a scimitar, a few small wands, a helmet, and, for some reason, a sack full of buttons.

Trayn’s eyes sparkled as he quickly dug through everything.

“My good man,” I said, my take on the situation swiftly turning sour, “let’s do this: we can look through everything one by one, putting what we’ve already checked out off to the side. Well, except for the buttons probably…”

“Agreed,” said the dwarf with a nod of his head. “What shall we begin with?”

“With the big things. The helmet, scimitar, poleyns,” I suggested. “And, then we can continue by size.”

The dwarf nodded, and we got down to business.

My haul, I should note, while it wasn’t terrible, wasn’t anything incredible or unbelievable. That made sense though. How would really good stuff have gotten into the temple? The quest was for lower-level players; it didn’t offer much by way of rewards, and most of the players who got in were probably similar to me.

I’m not trying to say that there wasn’t anything good, of course. The amulets were pretty nice, though they were for mages, and the helmet wasn’t bad. Not as good as mine though. The poleyns were decent, too, actually, better than decent.

Steppe Yak Leather Poleyns

Protection: 240

+9 to strength

+11 to stamina

+10% protection from ranged weapons

+4% movement speed

Durability: 143/230

Minimum level for use: 34

I was closing in on Level 34, so the fact that I couldn’t use them yet didn’t really bother me. On the other hand, judging by the sparkle in the dwarf’s eye, I was very afraid he’d take them.

The rings were nice, as well, if pretty ordinary. None of them was elite or legendary, though five or so were rare.

The tiara, judging by the description, used to belong to a mage girl and, I was surprised to see, had been crafted. It was just a shame it didn’t say what her name was—we could have returned it, as neither I nor the dwarf had any interest in it. I found the scimitar and the wands equally unimpressive, though they definitely caught the dwarf’s eye.

Our inspection done, we looked at each other.

“Well?” said Trayn.

“Well?” I answered. “The deal is you get to pick what you want, and I get the rest.”

“What are you going to do with your share?” the dwarf asked greedily. It’s just their nature; they can’t bear the thought of missing out on valuables.

“I’m not sure.” I shrugged. “Maybe I’ll sell it; maybe I’ll give it to my friends. We’ll see.”

“Want to sell it to me?” The dwarf’s eyes narrowed slyly. “For a good deal?”

I looked at him and, to my surprise, found myself offering him a compromise. “How about this: I take the poleyns and any three rings, you get the rest, of course, after compensating me for it.”

“How much?” The dwarf squinted even deeper.

“You’re an honorable dwarf, you’ve been fair with me, and we’ve trusted each other this far, so I doubt you’ll try to pull one over on me now,” I said forcibly. “I mean, you can give yourself a little discount, as long as it’s reasonable.”

The dwarf looked at me and grinned craftily. It was like Buddha himself was looking at me above a plump nose and full beard. He even had his hands on his stomach, his fingers twirling nervously.

“Agreed,” he said finally. “Pick your rings, and then we’ll talk money.”

“Okay,” I answered before looking through all the rings again. It was a bluff, of course I knew exactly which ones I wanted.

Two were usual, both with a bonus for strength, and the third was rare.

Ring of Temperance

+8 to stamina

+7 to agility

+7% to critical strike chance

+5% chance of getting rare and elite quests

Durability: 112/160

Minimum level for use: 32

Okay, so it wasn’t the best ring for a physical specimen like myself, but I had to be thinking beyond just strength—not to mention the fact that I still had more fingers available. Players could have a total of eight, and that put me at five. There’s still room.

“That’s it for me, sir,” I said to Trayn. “Your turn. If this works for you, just give me a number you’d pay for the rest of my share, and we’ll call us even.”

“That’s perfectly fine; I come out ahead either way. I think 3,500 gold would be a good price for the remainder.”

I thought for thirty seconds. The dwarf had obviously given himself a huge discount, and I was sure I could get three times what he was offering, but where was the auction? And, besides that, I’d given my word…

“All right, you have a deal.”

The dwarf clapped and dove under his stand. The gold clinked into my bag.

Suddenly, I heard a voice across the market. “Hold him, don’t let him go!”

“Hey, Trayn, what’s going on?” I asked the dwarf. “Why is the city guard so antsy? Are they looking for someone?”

“Yes,” he answered, tenderly caressing his goodies. “Last night, some goon broke into Locket’s house—the keeper of the library. The little runt says he was able to subdue the intruder, but not before he made off with all Locket’s valuables and deflowered his fiancée. Apparently, she’s even pregnant now. Bunch of nonsense…”

“That’s for sure,” I said thoughtfully. “What will they do to the guy if they catch him? The goon, I mean.”

“What will they do?” The dwarf pulled himself away from his valuables and looked at me intently. “Hard labor in the Sumaki Mountains. Or they’ll make him join the volunteers in the Keshank Jungle. Plus, everything he has will be split between Locket and his deflowered fiancée.”

“Where is Keshank?” I asked cautiously. Even the name was unpleasant.

“Keshank?” Trayn stroked his beard. “It’s in the South. A brutal place: clouds of insects, droves of snakes, more wild savages than you can shake a fist at, and everything is either poisonous or aggressive.”

“And what are the volunteers?” I asked, having never heard of them.

“Condemned men,” explained the dwarf. “That’s where they send criminals. If they catch this guy, it’s either hard labor or the volunteers. You have to sign up for it, apparently, but that’s a bunch of lies. Who would go there of their own free will? So, I wouldn’t stick around if I were the guy. That little winged wretch doesn’t think twice about slandering humans or dwarves. And since everyone around here knows him, he has witnesses, and the poor guy he’s after doesn’t have anyone to stick up for him, the chances of justice actually happening are slim to none.”

The dwarf looked at me meaningfully.

Well, then. I’d asked the locals about the Old Gods. I’d scouted out some new information. It was time to move on before they had me wielding a pick in the Sumaki Mountains, a place I hadn’t even heard of before that.

“Trayn, it was nice meeting you.” I hurriedly shook the dwarf’s hand.

“You, too. If you’re ever around here again, stop by,” he said sincerely.

And, why so sincerely? I’d been very beneficial to him and shown myself to be quite capable at the same time.

I checked with him to see where the port master was and quickly set off in that direction. My time was running out. It was a miracle I hadn’t already been stopped.

The port master in that particular city was nothing like old Neils. He was a soft-spoken, colorless fellow more reminiscent of an accountant than a dashing river dog. I came in to see him sitting at his desk, where he was writing on some papers.

“Where would you like to go?” he asked, his eyes never leaving his parchment.

“Selgar,” I said.

“That will be 30,000 gold,” he said emotionlessly.

“Why so expensive?” I asked, eyes wide. “Is bait more expensive these days?”

“That’s the standard price.” He still hadn’t so much as glanced at me. “It’s a four-day trip to Selgar. If there are cost overruns, you’ll have to pay the captain the extra or leave the ship.”

“Yes, I know all that. But here,” I showed him Neils’ colorless cutlass. “Also, I get special treatment in the cities on the river.”

The port master finally deigned to look up. He checked out Holgerrson’s cutlass and went back to his papers.

“Okay, so the cost for you, taking into account all your discounts, is 19,200 gold. Final price.”

“Absolutely final?”

“Yes. Though, of course, I do have one little problem you can help with. If you do, I can bring the price down a little more.”

He has a “little problem.” Oh, I know what that means; he’ll probably just send me off gallivanting through the woods again. I might have stayed to help the little worm if it weren’t for that damn pixie. He had the whole city in an uproar, and I needed to get out of there as fast as I could.

“I wouldn’t mind, but I just don’t have the time. Maybe later.”

“Then you’ll get the extra discount later as well,” said the colorless guy agreeably. “19,200 gold.”

Come on, that’s everything I got for the assault. I’d be getting to Selgar with empty pockets yet again. Maybe it was worth just walking?

I pulled up my map and realized that walking wasn’t really an option. It would have taken me two, two and a half weeks, and that could have stretched to a month if I died a couple times and tried some quests along the way. That wouldn’t have even been so bad, seeing as how I wasn’t in too much of a hurry, but I had no idea what Locket had been whispering into the city administration’s ear. He could have the guards at all the cities along the way looking for me.

“Well, what’s it going to be?” the expectant port master asked patiently.

“The river it is,” I answered. “I just need to pop over to the hotel for the money.”

Thank my lucky stars, the port and the hotel were practically next door to each other. I did my best James Bond impression as I snuck over to the hotel and back, after which, I paid and sprinted for the pier.

“There he is! It’s him!” I heard the voice of my pixie friend, the one I’d never so much as laid a finger on. “Stop him! Don’t let him get away!”

I leaped onto the ship and barked an order to the captain, who I recognized thanks to his peaked cap and pipe.

“Go, go, go! I need to get to Selgar. What do you say? Heave ho! Battle stations, up anchor!”

The captain looked at me, glanced back at the crowd of guards and the pixie flitting back and forth above them, laughed, and turned to his men.

“Crew!” And, you know the rest. The boat eased away from the pier with the guards not ten steps away.

“Arrest him!” screamed Locket as he shook his fist at me.

“Arrest him, arrest him!” I yelled back. “He’s getting away!”

I thumbed my nose at him and sat down next to the bulkhead. It’s true what they say: the only good pixie is a dead pixie.

“Ahem.” The captain came over to where I was and cleared his throat. “I hope you haven’t done anything you should be ashamed of or nervous about? I’m a law-abiding sailor.”

“Well, ashamed, yes, Captain…I’m sorry, what’s your name?”

“Captain Mariett.”

“I’m only ashamed about one thing, Captain Mariett,” I said with complete sincerity. “I tried to do business with a pixie. That little rat set me up.”

“Not a surprise,” grunted the captain. “Trusting a pixie is the height of folly. Well, not as bad as marrying a vila, but still.”

I decided not to sabotage my standing with the captain any further and nodded silently.

“This is great weather.” The captain glanced skyward. “We should be in Selgar four days from now.”

Off he walked toward the bow of the ship.

“We can only hope,” I said before logging out of the game.

For the next four days, my alter ego would be riding the waves, leaving me with nothing to do in Fayroll. I figured I should check in once in a while to make sure I hadn’t been dumped on the bank of the river like the previous time, but my gut told me I was getting all the way to my destination this time. And, since everything was simple and calm in the virtual world, I was free to address the real world. There were just two and a half days left until Thursday—not that much time.

My underlings were scurrying around the office, and I couldn’t help but notice that there was a method to their madness. I only gave myself partial credit: I’d done a good job naming Vika my assistant, while she’d done a good job getting the other three in line. With a mental note written to figure out how she’d done it and to keep a closer eye on her, I had to admit that she had promise—obviously, from a purely professional point of view. My dad always told me that office romances just lead to problems, and he was right.

“Well, how is everything?” I asked my upstanding team in a tone that was both friendly and businesslike.

“Good.”

“Fine.”

“All right.”

“Slackers,” Vika rounded out the chorus of four, who answered at the same time, if not in unison.

Checking in on each of them gave me a picture of what was going on. There was enough material for the first release, though we didn’t yet have a centerpiece. The boys were lazy, or, at least, they didn’t want to do anything. Vika was tired of ordering them around. The articles I’d assigned were all written, though nobody was sure they were what I was looking for.

And so we got down to work. I checked over their articles, made some corrections, and sent them back to be rewritten. They all shared a common problem: their language was too complex and they used too many terms that were specific to the gaming community. The latter would have put off older generations while the former would have been difficult for younger generations.

“Listen up, guys!” I clapped to grab everyone’s attention. “And you, too, Vika. We’re putting out something that needs to be universal—the ABCs of the game, if you will. Our primary goal is to build popularity, and so, our language needs to be simple and understandable. Some gamers out there might say we’re just putting out fluff or a how-to for noobs, but forget them. Middle-aged and older people will stick with us, and that’s what’s important. I hope you understand why they’re our target audience?”

“They’re the ones with money, unlike most teens,” said Vika.

“Bingo.” I nodded. “That’s reason number one why they’re who we’re after.”

“And the centerpiece?” asked Samoshnikov sullenly. “We need, I don’t know, something…something people really need.”

“You should know,” I answered. “Or, at least, you should have some options. You could have brainstormed to come up with ideas, even if they were ridiculous—Vika, that’s on you.”

“Agreed,” said Vika. “I’ll remember next time.”

“Good. Anyway, we have a centerpiece.”

Four pairs of eyes stared at me.

“What are you looking at me like that for?” I smiled, walked over to my computer, pulled up my email, found the map Diana had sent me, and opened it. “There you go.”

“But that’s a map of Fayroll,” mumbled Samoshnikov.

“Exactly.”

“But everyone can see it in the game.” His surprise continued to grow.

“Sure, in the game,” I said in agreement. “But now imagine: a big, beautiful spread in full color. It won’t do anyone much good, but it will look fantastic! Everyone will love it.”

“For sure,” said Vika. “It’ll look great.”

“Definitely.” Yushkov’s nose nodded.

“Well, now that the main dish is out of the way, let’s start working on the appetizers,” I said.

Off we went. The guys rewrote their essays, Vika collected all the news Di was sending her from the four corners of Fayroll into a stack, and I started punching out an editorial. Everyone had something to do.

Two days went by, packed to the gills with work and preciously little sleep, until we had the first Fayroll Times in our hands that Thursday.

I wouldn’t say it was perfect. There were problems I could see as I looked over the final version, and Mammoth wasn’t exactly sincere in his praise. “Nice work, old boy. Nice work. Well done.” But that was all right—there’s always room for improvement, and I knew how to get there.

“Well done, troops,” I said. “Samoshnikov, Yushkov, here’s some money, head over to the store on the corner. I don’t usually drink with my employees, but this is a special occasion. We’ll toast our success!”

“Vodka or cognac?” Yushkov was licking his lips.

“And champagne,” I answered. “I doubt Vika will want cognac.”

“No champagne!” Vika crossed herself and blushed. “I had enough at our graduation party to last me for a while. Better some white wine. Semi-dry.”

The guys had obviously spent their years of study well, as their experience buying alcohol had them back in no time with two bags that more clinked than rustled. We had barely slept in two days, and we’d eaten even less, so the end of Thursday and the beginning of Friday melted into one long string of interrupted vignettes: us drinking, us drinking more, us dancing, us waving the paper around, Vika telling everyone it was time to go home, Yushkov catching us a cab—literally, as he did his best to hang onto the back bumper—and then…that’s all I remember.

Then I woke up…

From the first edition of the Fayroll Times:

From the editor,

…our publication has one goal: we want to make the Fayroll world, one of unbridled imagination and unlimited possibility, closer to each of you, our dear readers.

Classes: which one is right for you? Mages, Part 1.

This is a great class for anyone who wants to play the role. Mages are common to all RPG games from all different eras, even including back when games were still isometric. There is a wide selection of ways you can play them, as they have enormous potential.

Excerpts from the Fayroll Chronicle.

The Hounds of Death, with the assistance of the Thunderbirds, stormed and captured the citadel of the Wild Hearts in a routing of the once-influential clan. Read more about the attack in the second edition of the Fayroll Times.

Hew Orcs, My Axe tried once again to capture the palace of the Skeleton King in Merastia. Yet again, they failed. The trip across the Crisna was highlighted by an entertaining episode: two dwarves in a boat argued so vehemently about who would be the first to hop off on the other side that they capsized. One of them was taken onboard a neighboring craft, while the other, whose name was Partavi, drowned. Given the fact that his death occurred right in the middle of the Great River, it is considered highly unlikely that his possessions are recoverable from the riverbed. The victim was especially grieved by the loss of a bone plate attached to the seat of his pants, claiming it was what gave him the strength to continue the battle against evil.

A new restaurant opened in Montrig, and the owners, intriguingly, are players. They named it the ?ixed Breed and serve a combination of elvish and dwarven cuisine. “Our recipes have all gone through years of testing, and are therefore completely unique,” said one of them.

Another flotilla set sail for Rivenholm. This time it was made up of ships from the Doors of Light, Double Eagles, and Wind of Fortune. We will keep close tabs on the intrepid explorers and keep you filled in on all their successes and failures.

Chapter Fifteen

In which our hero both realizes that he has problems and successfully resolves them.

Oh, God. It felt like two sneaky little chipmunks wearing colorful shirts had snuck into my head, where they were banging on my brain with their little claws—one from the right and the other from the left. Bang-bang-bang. Bang-bang-bang.

I had to tame the rolling thunder in my head long enough to make a decision. Did I want to lay there and suffer a little while longer in the hopes that the pain would subside or did I want to force myself to crawl to the kitchen? Once there, I had two old friends in the form of cold, refreshing water and aspirin tablets.

The more practical alternative eventually won out, and I yanked my upper body into a sitting position. The two chipmunks in my head were joined by some mice that ran around a bit lower, adding a drumming in my ears to the cacophony. I had to do something, so I slid my shaking legs onto the floor and tried to stand up.

“Can you bring me something to drink, too?” asked a soft voice that sounded vaguely familiar.

I willed myself to turn my ringing head around and realized why the voice was so soft. It was coming from under the blanket. The edge shifted lower to reveal a disheveled head—Vika.

“Ple-e-ease,” she asked again, blinking sleepily.

“Okay,” I whispered, following that whisper for some reason with a foolish nod. That was not a smart move—the battering my ears were taking intensified.

But, that was obviously not my only move that was less than smart. There was a very good chance the drunk girl in the bed would be causing me a world of problems. I did hope that nothing had actually happened, and our lack of clothes didn’t necessarily mean— I stepped on rubber proof that the conclusions I had just been drawing were mistaken. The obvious reason for our lack of clothing was just what might be expected. Overall, I knew I was in for some trouble.

Once in the kitchen, I turned on the faucet and dumped a liter of water down my throat. Three tablets were followed by another half-liter. That was only a half-decent remedy for my raging hangover, and I would have loved some hot, peppery broth, but where was I going to find that? The little thing under the blanket undoubtedly had no idea how to cook. Girls these days are all about their careers, so they just eat prepackaged food and poison their boyfriends with it, too…

I poured some water into a large cup for her, grabbed a few tablets, and went back to the bedroom. What happened yesterday? Why is she in my bed? And why can’t I remember anything? I’d never been a lightweight, and I’d never gotten blackout drunk before.

“Here you go.” I handed Vika the cup and tablets.

She pulled the same maneuver I’d recently managed, pulling herself up on the couch (Oh, wow—I even pulled out the bed for her. I don’t even remember that.) Greedily, she sucked down the water.

“Don’t forget the aspirin,” I suggested hoarsely. Vika nodded, grabbed the tablets, tossed them into her mouth, and drank the remainder of the water.

The blanket slipped down, giving me an excellent view of my employee’s tight, womanly body. Incidentally, it didn’t cause any reaction—there wasn’t anything new to see, and the post-alcoholic stupor I was in precluded any exploits I might have otherwise had in mind. There was also the fact that the body in front of me didn’t look to be going anywhere. Quite to the contrary, I worried I might have to figure out how to get rid of her. Although, to be fair, she didn’t look the kind of person who might be looking to slingshot her way up the career ladder. She seemed honest and hard-working, and I hadn’t gotten that kind of vibe from her. Also, she didn’t yell like other women I knew… She just seemed like a decent person. Not to mention the fact that our publication wasn’t impressive enough for her to want to climb the ranks. Well, I guess we’ll see. If all women were what they seemed, life would be a walk in the park.

“Better?” I asked.

“Yep,” she answered with a light hoarseness that matched my own.

“Hey, did we drink anything last night besides cognac? It’s just that I can’t remember how everything ended up, and that’s not like me.”

“Really?” Vika was surprised. “You don’t remember anything?”

Uh-oh, I don’t like that last word. I suspected it was hiding something very unpleasant. Her tone was also much more familiar than it had been at the office, I noticed. Although…that was probably fine at that point…

Just then, to add to the chaos, my phone rang. What now?

“Morning, Kif!” It was Zimin, as friendly as ever. “How’s it going? Can you talk right now?”

I realized why I probably hadn’t been able to talk the day before. Well, all we can do is admit to our mistakes.

“To be honest, yesterday I was a little—” I started off in a repentant voice, though I was interrupted.

“You’re telling me!” Zimin laughed. “You should have heard yourself yesterday! Anyway, I’m calling to congratulate you on the first release of the Fayroll Times. The board was more than pleased, so we’ll say you passed your entrance exam and are now part of the family. That’s the first thing.”

“Thanks,” I said, feeling flattered.

“Second. On Tuesday, make sure you’re in the office—my guy is finally going to come see you. You’ll have to sign some papers, he’ll give you a briefing, all the formalities. You remember, we talked about all of that.”

“Of course.” I swallowed and felt my throat dry up once again. Hangovers are the worst. “I’ll be there regardless. We’ll be starting work on the next issue.”

“Excellent,” said Zimin. “And, third, at the end of next week, Valyaev and I will have something small we need you to do for us in the game. Keep that in mind.”

“Anytime,” I said, as cheerfully as I could. It turned out sincere, if less than enthused.

“Great. By the way, have you picked a second in command? One of the four we sent you?”

“Of course,” I answered. “Vika Travnikova. She’s the best of the four.”

Vika heard her name, started, and stared at me. She looked great even with a hangover and without makeup. I couldn’t help but notice that. I winked at her reassuringly.

“You decided on that last night?” asked Zimin snidely.

“I put her in charge last week.” I didn’t take the bait. He was the boss, and he paid my salary, so he could go ahead and crack his jokes.

“All right. I’ll have to let accounting know. They’ll call over to the paper and officially make her your deputy editor. And they’ll give her a pay raise. You have to make sure your people are happy, right?”

“Absolutely!” I said, winking at Vika once again. She was only getting more nervous.

“Okay, feel better and jump back into the game. It looks like it’s been a while.”

“Why do you say that?” I feigned indignation. “I took the boat to Selgar, so there wasn’t anything for me to do. Plus, we had to get the first issue out. I was worried about it.”

“Understood. Though, now you have other things to worry about. Or is your head feeling better?” Zimin laughed and hung up.

I put the phone on the table and paused to see how I was feeling. My head was better. Aspirin is a remarkable little thing.

“Who were you talking to?” Vika was staring at me in surprise.

“Our employer.” I hiccupped and glanced at the girl in embarrassment. “With Zimin.”

“Zimin himself?” Vika’s eyes, which weren’t small to begin with, widened even further.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, he’s way up there in Raidion,” Vika explained. “Mere mortals almost never get to talk with him—they get his secretary at best. It’s almost impossible to get face time with him. Even our provost only gets to talk with him on big occasions, since Raidion donates money for the school. Well, really, they’re the main financer—for the journalism and legal departments, at least.”

“Really?” It was my turn to show surprise. “I’ve only ever talked to him. Well, and with Valyaev.”

“Cool, and with Valyaev, too…” Vika shook her head.

“But I thought they were the ones who sent me you guys.” I shrugged. “They told me they picked you out themselves, the best of the best.”

“Seriously?” Vika shook her head again, this time with more vigor. “Some HR people from Raidion picked us. I doubt Zimin and Valyaev have ever even seen our resumes. Wait a second—I thought you were just trying to scare us last week, or at least put the guys in their place. But it turns out you really did call Zimin?”

“I’m too old to be lying to kids,” I grunted. “Of course I called him.”

Vika brushed her hair back. “What did he want to know about me?”

“Nothing really.” I rubbed my temples. “He just asked me if I’ve named a deputy, and I said I picked you. He didn’t mind, so you’re now officially my second in command. They’re even going to bump your salary.”

Vika blushed, dropped her eyes, and pulled the blanket higher, obscuring my view of her charms. I immediately understood what was going through her head. “That has nothing to do with what happened last night. I would have named you my deputy regardless.”

“I hope so,” said Vika in an embarrassed mumble. “I’m not that kind of girl…”

“Forget it,” I said. “You’re a grown woman, I’m a grown man, so let’s forget it. Instead, why don’t you tell me what knocked me out like that? Do you remember?”

“I remember everything.” Vika smiled meaningfully.

I sat down and took a deep breath. “Okay, let me have it.”

In a word, I wasn’t surprised that I couldn’t remember anything. Those two idiots, Samoshnikov and Yushkov, went back to the store when we ran out of cognac—happily, it wasn’t 10 p.m. yet, when sales would close—and got us some vodka, either because they wanted it or because it was cheap. Mixing cognac with vodka, obviously, did everyone in except for Vika, who didn’t drink the latter out of principle. Although, from what I could tell, she’d had quite a bit of the cognac. One way or another, she’d managed to get our deranged troop out the door, with the exception of Samoshnikov, who was sleeping on the table in my office when we left. Waking up there will be fun, and if he… Vodka and cognac affect weak stomachs differently. If I catch even a whiff of anything I think might be vomit, he’s a dead man.

Vika flagged down two taxis once we got to the street. She loaded the bodies of our two colleagues into one, sending them, presumably, home. Then she figured out my address and was going to take me home, acting at once as a Good Samaritan and a smart career woman—I was still the boss, and I’d owe her a favor later on. The only problem was that there was no calming me down once she’d roused me to the point where I could tell her my address. I apparently told her that I was a “gen-n-ntleman” and would take her home first. Vika wasn’t having any of that, as she doubted that the taxi driver would take me home, that I’d be able to find my front door, and that I’d be able to get inside. That didn’t seem to bother her in the least when she sent the other two home in the first car. But that was just details.

Anyway, that’s when I started trying to convince her to come home with me and then head to her apartment in the morning because I’d be worried sick that something happened to her if she didn’t. Vika said I was very persuasive, and she eventually agreed, having first gotten me to promise that I wouldn’t try anything with her. I assured her that I was completely harmless before falling back asleep.

“Something like that,” she said, wrapping up her story.

“Ahem.” I coughed. “Is that definitely everything?”

Vika hesitated slightly and then asked me a question that threw me for a loop. “Who is El?”

“What does El have to do with anything?” I asked, my heart beating.

“What do you mean?” Vika asked, her cheeks turning pink. She began part two of the previous night’s adventures.

Once she’d unloaded me from the car, Vika propped me up from the right side (she was no fading lily), figured out where we were going, and started moving in that direction. A girl with slanted eyes stopped her by the door.

“And who are you?”

“Vika,” she answered, taken aback. “What do you care?”

I could imagine the cold feet my trusty deputy must have gotten right about then. She had no idea if I was married or not and, presumably, had just figured that I wasn’t based on my behavior and the lack of a wedding ring on my finger. But could that have been my wife? And, when someone stops you in the middle of the night and asks who you are, it’s only natural to put your guard up.

But I woke up right then, recognized the person standing in front of us, and proclaimed to Vika that the girl was my personal curse. According to me, she beat me, used me, yelled at me, and, once in a great while, cooked barely edible food, leading me to wonder if she feeding me or trying to poison me? Vika realized she was caught smack dab in the middle of something and started trying to figure out how to hand me off to the obviously dangerous woman and leave. At the same time, Elvira, as it was definitely her, told me I was a bastard, an animal, and a tasteless cow. She accompanied that second-to-last word with a sideways glance at my young deputy. That led Vika to go from thinking about how to leave to thinking about how upset she should be and whether it was worth answering in kind. I stepped in, precluding any further action.

My girlfriend, or, most probably, my ex-girlfriend, couldn’t have been anything but overjoyed to hear that, unlike her, Elvira Gizmatullina, the young girl next to me had a conscience, as she hadn’t left me alone on the road. I told her that there is good in the world, something Elvira couldn’t possibly understand, and that Vika had a soft, lovely chest, something that is also very important. I, Harriton Nikiforov, I announced, would, from then on, be dating the young woman with me, should fortune be so kind. I would love her, and, if I were really lucky, I would even sleep with her. El could go back to the steppes and push wormwood around with her muscular shoulders. Or something like that.

Vika fell silent.

“Hmm,” I responded. “Why wormwood? And why with her shoulders? Wormwood is just a little bush—maybe I meant needle grass?”

“I have no idea,” said Vika. “I’ve never seen wormwood. I just know it’s what absinthe is made of. Though, to be fair, I’ve never seen needle grass either. I grew up in the city, a small one, but still a city. Kasimov.”

“What happened next?”

That was when things took an unexpected turn: El burst into tears and ran off. I was dumbfounded to see that spectacle and declared the night one of miracles and discoveries. The iron lady, after all, was crying, and I had found the girl I’d spent my whole life looking for. A miracle, to be sure, but a discovery, as well. Then I asked Vika to come with me, which she did, as she was completely exhausted after everything that had happened. Plus, I broke out all my rhetorical charms, in an attempt to convince her that she was the girl I’d looked for all my life, that she’d given me the strength to throw off the Mongol yoke, and that, in recognition of that fact, I would be her true and loyal companion for a long time, and maybe even forever. Vika wasn’t sure what I meant about the Mongol yoke, but she liked the rest—even if she didn’t exactly believe it. Still, she didn’t have a boyfriend, she liked me, and so off we went. She may have been having a few second thoughts.

That last comment was accompanied by a sly glance and demanded a response.

“Don’t worry.” I decided to burn my bridges—in for a penny, in for a pound. “It’s all true: the yoke, who I’ve been looking for, even about your chest. Most importantly, we got through a meeting with El alive and even unscathed. Thank God for that. Is anyone waiting for you at home?”

“No,” said Vika, scrunching up her chin. “I live with my sister, and she’s seven years older than me. We stay out of each other’s way. Incidentally, she’s a big Fayroll fan.”

“Really?”

“Seriously. She spends all her time there, and I think she might have even become someone kind of important in the game. When I told her where I’d be working, she had one thing to say.” Vika raised her eyebrows, apparently doing an impression of her sister, and lowered her voice. “‘Don’t be asking me any questions about my character or my clan. I won’t tell you anything anyway.’” Like I need that.

“She has her own clan?” I was intrigued.

“I have no idea.” Vika shook her head. “How could she? She’s no oligarch; she’s just a school teacher.”

“A school teacher?”

“Yeah,” she answered, grinning slyly. “Grade school. She’s a nerd—she’s thirty, hasn’t ever been married. She doesn’t even have a boyfriend, can you imagine? Just school and Fayroll. What kind of life is that? Have you been married, by the way?”

“Yes.” I nodded. “A while ago.”

“Do you have kids?” Vika asked, clearly filling out a form in her head and checking off all her different boxes.

Nothing new under the sun. Always the same.

“Nope, no kids,” I answered. “At least, none that I know of.”

“That’s good.” She smiled happily. “Is there anything you want to know about me?”

“Not really,” I said. “The less you know, the better you sleep. And besides, women never tell you the whole truth. It’s better this way.”

“Smart,” Vika said with respect.

“Experienced,” I answered, crawling under the blanket. Just one thing left to do.

Two hours later, I was waving to her from my balcony as she got into a taxi and drove off. She’d made breakfast for me out of nothing, so I had to take back what I’d mentally said about her—girls always know their way around a cooktop. She’d been very good in other areas as well, and she’d stayed away from cloying questions like when we’d be seeing each other next. It looked like I’d hit the jackpot. The fact that she was a colleague, well, that was an issue for the future. Maybe she’s an exception to dad’s rule.

It also turned out that I’d given everyone that day off. That gave me pause when I heard it, but I figured it was just as well.

“Forget it. They couldn’t work today if they wanted to. Call everyone and tell them to get some work done tomorrow; I don’t want them wasting the whole weekend. Tomorrow night, you can stop by and report to me.”

Vika smiled when she heard “tomorrow night,” and I was looking forward to it myself.

Once she was gone, I smoked a cigarette and shook my head. It wasn’t bothering me anymore, so I jumped into the capsule. I needed to see if I’d made it all the way to Selgar.

It was interesting how your first sensations when you logged into the game were always smells. And that particular occasion was no exception: first a spicy, dusty smell wafted into my nostrils, and only then, was I blinded by the sun and deafened by the cacophony of the bazaar. I was in the East. It was Selgar. Thank God I’d made it.

The developers obviously had a difference of opinion when it came to how they pictured the East. Some of them went with an Aladdin or Scheherazade vibe—complete with minarets, camels, flying carpets, and little Harun al-Rashids—while others stuck to Chinese and Vietnamese motifs.

The result was a fantastic mix that made room for both. In front of me, were NPC dervishes and some kind of cross-eyed vendors wearing hats made from bamboo.

The market—or, more accurately, the bazaar, since I was in the East—began right in front of the pier. Shouts, bustle, cries; some selling, others buying.

“Silk, elite silk. Only for difficult crafting!”

“Sindhi sabers, curved, sharp. Buy two and get a knife with three attributes free!”

“Watermelon, cantaloupe, peaches! They all give you stamina and strength for two hours!”

“Precious stones from all over the continent! For crafting or personal use!”

“I make rings, I make rings! You bring the materials, I do the work!”

“I’ll take you around dungeons, show you the area! Expensive!”

“Scarce beads from the western swamps, reputational! Use them to get respect in the swamps!”

Oh, I’ve been there already, and I have their respect. In six months, I’ll even have a marriage to prove it.

I stood for a second on the pier, trying to decide where to go. But then, I noticed an icon blinking in a corner of the interface—I had mail. It looked like my direction was decided for me: I needed to visit the mailbox.

Pushing my way through the crowd and catching at least one hand trying to dip into my bag, as thieves there were everywhere, I spotted the mailbox near a building with a sign that read “Iago’s.” Maybe a tavern or a caravanserai. I’ll check it out later.

The letter was from the Gray Witch. Ah-ha, let’s see how valuable she thought my help was.

Good afternoon, Hagen.

I thought for quite a while about how I could reward someone as enterprising and intelligent as you. Another ring? Too petty. Have a good suit of armor made for you? Also no good, as that type of thing wouldn’t reflect how highly I think of you. Here’s what I decided.

Hagen, you are receiving tickets for two people on my flotilla’s flagship, the proudly named Excelsior, which will set sail sooner or later for Rivenholm. You can now head for Rivenholm along with me whether or not your clan’s ships are included in the armada.

I will look forward to seeing you then.

Gray Witch

P.S. Don’t forget about your promise regarding the Wild Hearts. A broken enemy is far from a destroyed enemy.

P.P.S. Whether you tell Elina about this gift is up to you. I personally wouldn’t, but the decision is yours.

There was something attached to the letter. It turned out to be a silver rectangle with an inscription on one side.

Personal ticket granting passage for two aboard the Excelsior.

Owner: Hagen.

Gives the right to board the ship and travel on it to Rivenholm.

Cannot be stolen, sold, gifted, lost, or destroyed.

Well, that’s a new twist. It looked like I was bound for Rivenholm, whether I liked it or not. I wasn’t in too much of a hurry to go, but, still, the idea wasn’t a bad one. It was the type of card you always like having up your sleeve. The important thing was to make sure they didn’t set sail while I was still helping out the dryads.

Speaking of which, I pulled up my map and checked the distance to the red spot I needed to visit. It wasn’t that close—maybe five days’ walk. And that didn’t even include the fact that the locations on the way weren’t what I was used to in Mettan. All the enemies I’d be facing were at least Level 40-42, well eclipsing my Level 33. I had to think of something. But, in the meantime, I wanted to see what that caravanserai was all about and drop the ticket off in my room. Then I could figure out what to do next.

Chapter Sixteen

In which our hero makes up for lost time and gets ready for what’s coming next.

The caravanserai turned out to be another hotel, just with an eastern flavor. There were rugs on the walls, which were ornately painted, and there was a man with a long nose wearing a turban and a robe sitting behind the desk.

“Salaam, true believer,” I said in greeting. “Could I have my room key?”

He wordlessly handed me the key and held up three fingers. I guess that means it’s on the third floor? I wondered what happened to the fabled eastern hospitality. Why hadn’t I been offered a bowl of green tea, some Turkish delight, and baklava?

“Thanks,” I said and headed for the stairs without hearing a “You’re welcome.”

“The people around here still need some work,” I said to myself as I walked up the stairs. “So unsociable—very unlike the East. What happened to the effusive welcome for anyone walking through your door?”

“They’re all mute here,” said a voice from above me.

I looked up. An armored knight was standing on the third-floor landing, complete with a helmet under his arm and a cape slung over his shoulder.

“What do you mean?” I stopped and looked at him.

“Exactly that,” he explained. “All the hotel workers are mute; it’s their tradition. For some reason, the developers decided that everyone who works in caravanserais in the East—I mean, in the real-world East—are mute. They had their tongues cut out so they wouldn’t be able to give up anyone’s secrets. So, it’s the same way here.”

“That’s ridiculous,” I said sincerely. “I doubt that ever happened. Mute hotel workers are as much use as one-legged sprinters.”

“Ah, who cares? Mute, talking…” The knight waved his plate gauntlet around. “I couldn’t care less. By the way, let me introduce myself: Sophius, knight.”

“Hagen, warrior,” I responded, walking up to the knight and offering my hand.

He pulled the iron off his hand and shook mine.

“Where did you get here from?” asked Sophius politely.

“From the West, from Mettan. And you?”

“Oh, I’ve been here for maybe a month already. There are lots of quests, and I like the atmosphere. Makes you feel like you’re on one of the crusades.”

Got it, a role-player, doing a deep dive into his role as a knight. He was a hefty Level 86.

“Anything interesting?” I asked.

“Some,” the knight answered. “I haven’t found any secret quests, though they’re definitely here. They have to be.”

“What are the people like? I mean, ours—players.”

“All kinds, just like anywhere else.” Sophius, I was happy to note, was not in any hurry. “Lots of thieves, so keep your ears open. There are a lot of things for them to do here, plus the bazaar, which is the biggest in Rattermark, so they spend a lot of time leveling-up. There are plenty of killers and assassins, too, for the same reason. Oh, and there’s Atarin, a castle up in the cliffs a few days from here ruled by Hassan Ibn Kemal, who’s the spiritual leader of all the killers in the East. He gives assassins a quest that’s incredibly difficult and complex, though you get a really good class ability and named weapon if you can beat it. So, that’s why they stick around here.”

“Wow,” I said, impressed. It would have been interesting to go see the castle and Ibn Kemal himself, but what good would that have done me? It wasn’t my class, and I had other things to worry about.

“Yup. Okay, I imagine we’ll cross paths again. I’ll be here for another week.”

“Then we’ll definitely see each other,” I agreed. “Do you sweat in your armor? Isn’t the climate too hot to wear it?”

“Oh, no, I’m used to it,” said Sophius with a deep breath. “Though I have no idea how they wore all this in the real world. I’d die out in the sun.” The knight nodded to me and walked down the stairs, armor clanging as he went.

I walked into my room. Once there, I dropped the ticket in the chest and counted my money. It turned out there wasn’t much left: about six thousand gold.

It was looking more and more like I had no business leaving the city gates at the level I was at. The first monster I came across would scatter my bones across the sand without thinking twice, not to mention whatever I might find when I got to where I was going. In other words, I had to do some leveling-up. I had two options: I could do some quests or I could farm some bots. Quests would have taken forever and sent me out into deserts and oases I wouldn’t survive, even if they would have given me a nice experience boost. That meant I had to go looking for some comrades in arms. The city was a big one, and I was sure that I could find a good group. It was a shame, of course, that I had to find a pickup team, but that was my only option.

I left the caravanserai and started monitoring the in-game chat to see who was putting groups together. There were quite a few players out there, but most of them were looking for a specific kind of person. Most wanted people who also had quests for some kind of obviously high-level named monsters. I decided to walk around the streets and try to collect some quests in the meantime, giving me something to do when I finally found a group. Oh, and I need to find some parchment for the Fladridge instructor. Quite some time had based, but I had given him my word, after all.

The city was enormous. It was perceptibly larger than Aegan, which was the biggest of the cities I’d seen in Fayroll. I spent half an hour walking around the streets, obviously without seeing half of it, and managed to collect seven quests. Most were your garden variety, like killing some kind of evil spirit or undead living in the desert, though for one, I needed to collect city guard weapons from a field not far from Selgar where the guard fought some bandits.

I also bought some parchment and saw a message pop up.

You completed a quest: Acquire Parchment.

You got parchment from the eastern end of the continent.

To get your reward, take it to instructor Serhio in Fladridge.

That active ability would be nice, but I was in no hurry to go back to Fladridge. Three thousand gold for portals there and back was a bit pricey, and walking, well… I decided to just hold off on that until the next time I happened to be back there.

The whole time all that was going on, I was reading the chat in the hopes of finding someone making a group. I had almost given up and decided to start my own group when a new message caught my eye.

Message from Merkutia

Making a group, 30+, for farming. Already have 5/8. Looking for: warrior, mage, druid.

Bingo! Some kind soul had heard my prayers and put together an eight-player group, and they even had five of the players already. The cherry on top was that they were looking for someone like me. I quickly sent a message to Merkutia saying that I was a Level 33 warrior, and a minute later, I received an invitation to join the group and a reply telling me where to go. I quickly headed in that direction.

By the time I got there, the group was already complete. Merkutia himself was the leader—a Level 50 barbarian.

“Okay, listen up,” he said, beginning his spiel. We were all there and glancing at each other appraisingly. “This is a pickup group, so we’re going to lay out the conditions right at the start. If anyone doesn’t like them, they’re free to leave. Is everyone listening?”

“We can hear you, Kaa!” a young mage girl named Ensen referred to the Jungle Book with a giggle.

The group smiled.

“Well, if you can hear me, I don’t want anyone telling me later that they couldn’t,” said Merkutia amiably. “All right, there are two conditions. The first is that I’m the leader and what I say goes. If I tell you to run, you run. If I tell you to stop, you stop. If anyone doesn’t listen, I’ll kick them out of the group without another word. Second, nobody leaves the group until the time we agree on is up. Questions?”

“Trophy distribution?” asked the healer—the only one in the group.

“Who Needs What,” answered Merkutia. “If we have any rats in the group, we’ll see soon enough.”

There wasn’t anything out of the ordinary there, though I wondered how he planned on punishing anyone who left the group early. The first point made sense—anyone who was kicked out of the group in the middle of the desert a ways away from the city would be in big trouble. But the second… But that wasn’t the only thing I found odd. Why did Merkutia, his fifty levels, and his very decent equipment need the trip? I wondered what he got out of taking some noobs out onto the sand. There had to be some reason. Incidentally, he reminded me of myself when I was giving it to my staff at the office the week before.

“How long will we be out there for?” asked Gilin, a dwarf with a giant axe on his back. I couldn’t tell how he was even standing upright it was so big.

“Five hours. If that’s not enough, we’ll stay out a little longer. But, five hours is the minimum, so make sure you’ll last that long,” answered Merkutia.

“That sounds fine,” I said, confirming my intention of joining them.

“No, that’s way too long,” said Ensen. She shook her head and left the group, followed shortly by one of the two hunters.

“That’s fine,” said Merkutia. They were soon replaced by a mage and a hunter.

“Okay, we leave in ten minutes,” shouted our fearless leader. “If anyone still needs to pick up quests, go for it. If you need food and potions, buy some. Just don’t be late; we won’t wait for you.”

Before we set off, I managed to get one more quest that had me collecting tokens left by nagas, a kind of local monster. If I remember correctly, they have a human body and the head of a snake, or maybe the other way around.

“Everyone ready?” asked Merkutia when the ten minutes were up.

“It looks like everyone is here,” boomed a big swordsman named Grinya who was standing next to me. He had a giant flame-bladed sword slung over his shoulder, and the blade was waving around dangerously close to me.

“You’re not going to prick me, are you?” I asked him tentatively.

“Why would you say that?” he answered. “I’ll be careful.”

“Is it hard to swing that thing around?”

“It’s fine,” said Grinya shortly.

I could see how one might clear out a whole crowd of enemies with a single swipe, but would they stand there waiting while you wound up? I pondered that question as our group started toward the exit from the city.

The giant with the sword wasn’t exactly talkative, though to be fair, I wasn’t asking him any questions. Instead, I was wondering if it might be a good idea to publish the Fayroll Times in Ukraine and Belarus. As we walked the streets of Selgar, I made out both languages. I’ll have to bring that up with the bosses. Carefully. You have to be careful when you suggest something to management. I remembered clearly the advice I’d been given by Sergeant Poletaev when I was still in the army: if you make a suggestion, you’ll be the one stuck doing it.

I was so lost in thought that I nearly didn’t notice when we left the city, and, at the same time, the headstone sitting there. Oh, wouldn’t that have been great: die out in the desert and find myself back in Montrig, complete with a nasty pixie and the city guard looking for me.

The group walked out the gate, and, by the time I’d linked to the headstone, I had to hurry to catch up. That earned me a reproachful look from Merkutia.

“Okay, we’ll start with those dunes.” Merkutia pointed to the east. “There are nagas there, so you’re in luck if you have a quest for their tokens. We’ll kill them for two hours and then go see the iblisi near the Gulkan Oasis.”

And off we went. Really, the only differences between clearing nagas on the dunes and killing skeletons in Grinvort were the people around me and the level: the first three nagas were all Level 35-36. Also, it turned out that they were humans with snake tails below the waist, and they were armed with two-handed sabers that looked something like zhanmadaos. All in all, a fearsome spectacle. Their heads were bald, lipless, and browless, and their pupils ran vertically. Not the kind of thing you’d want to come up against in the dark.

They popped up from under the sand, hissing and waving their sabers around before slithering toward us. We had already assumed a formation. The three warriors, myself among them, were the tip of the spear. We had the two hunters behind us and on either side of the mage, and the last warrior was standing guard next to the hero farther back. Of the first three nagas, only one got to us. The other two were taken out by the hunters and mage.

I got a good amount experience from each of the nagas, not to mention the loot and the quest tokens. There was even an action.

You unlocked Snakeface, Level 1.

To get it, destroy 49 more nagas.

Reward:

+3% defense against poison

Title: Fearless Mongoose

To see similar messages, go to the Action section of the attribute window.

We kept going at a similar pace until we decided we were ready to take on larger groups. One of the lead trio would run out across the sand to trigger the nagas before sprinting back to their position. Twenty minutes later, we realized we’d slightly overestimated our abilities, as the healer had to quickly heal an archer who was badly wounded.

Right after that, I was promoted to Level 34, the group congratulated me, and I happily put on the poleyns I got at the temple. Then we got back to slaughtering the nagas.

The process was more boring than exhausting. It was like chopping wood or peeling potatoes, and I realized I was just raising and lowering my sword in a mechanical motion. We figured out exactly where the nagas would be coming from, and once that happened, we all lost interest. The only good part was that action and splitting up the loot (though, to be fair, I didn’t get lucky. I missed out on a nice helmet and a decent amulet.)

You unlocked Snakeface, Level 2.

To get it, destroy 149 more nagas.

Reward:

+5% chance of doing poison damage

30% of the poison damage you do is added to your health

To see similar messages, go to the Action section of the attribute window.

I was starting to think that it would be a good thing to pick up that second level, but an hour later, Merkutia barked an order. “All right, that’s enough of these guys. Let’s go find something else more dangerous to kill.”

Just before that, I had leveled-up again, so I was very happy with our trip to the dunes. I had a finished quest, an action, and, most importantly, two more levels. Of course, that just meant that continuing to level-up would be that much harder. The further you went, the more experience it took.

It took us twenty minutes to walk to the desert, where I saw a spot in the distance. As we approached it, I realized that it was an oasis. I could already see the palm trees and the colorful birds circling above them.

“Okay, everyone,” said Merkutia, stopping us, “listen carefully. The iblisi are very different from the nagas. They’re tough, all at Levels 38-40, and they have fangs and claws they’ll use to go all Jack the Ripper on you. Don’t trigger more than five of them at a time or we’ll all die before anyone has time to heal. We’ll use the same formation as last time. Got it?”

“Sounds good,” our mage answered for the rest of us.

Four iblisi jumped us when we were still fifty meters from the oasis. They popped out of the sand like mid-range ballistic missiles targeting us with incredible speed.

They were terrifying—much more than your average western devil with horns and a tail. They were tall, they moved on two legs with the occasional help of their long tails, and fiery red eyes gleamed out from under low, sloping foreheads. Their bodies were covered in ragged fur.

The group immediately formed up, meeting the iblisi with our blades. But they brushed aside our attack, and one landed a strike that cost me a third of my health. The fourth, which we didn’t have enough swords in the front to cut off, threw a hunter to the side and started slashing away at the mage. The latter, unaccustomed to hand-to-hand combat, yelled, tried to fight the iblis off with his staff, and took a big hit to his health. The second hunter got either confused or scared, and didn’t risk taking on the enemy with the short, curved sword he was already holding.

Happily, the fourth swordsman, who we’d been keeping in reserve, realized what to do. He jumped over to the iblis as he was trying to finish off the mage and ran off so the iblis would follow him. That’s when Merkutia jumped in.

“Stop! If you wake any more iblisi, we’re all goners!”

Our leader finished off his opponent and jumped over to help the fourth warrior. Two swords made for quick work.

At the same time, Grinya ended his fight and came to give me sorely needed assistance. I was successfully defending myself, but there was no way I could go on the attack—the five-level difference was just too much for me.

There was no action for the iblisi, though the loot, both gold and items, was excellent. Some of the other players in the group apparently had a quest I hadn’t come across for the fiery buggers, as I saw them collecting something. Ah, well. Although, I knew I’d be retracing my steps over the sand, so I could get whatever they had later.

Those four first iblisi gave me my first nice find of the day.

Ifrit Pauldrons

Protection: 330

+13 to strength

+7% protection from fire damage

+11% protection from blunt weapons

Durability: 230/240

Minimum level for use: 35

Sure, they were boring. Okay, there was nothing special about them. But, still, every little bit helps. Legendary and hidden quests are great, and we all love the great rewards you get for completing them, but there’s nothing like getting your hands dirty with a little old-fashioned farming.

And that’s what we did for the rest of the time. We figured out where the iblisi were and what their respawn times were, and that saved us from making any more mistakes.

By the end of the day, I had reached Level 37 and won a helmet I stuffed into my bag. It wasn’t as good as the one I was wearing, so I figured I could just sell it at the auction.

Finally, Merkutia signaled a cease-fire.

“That’s it, let’s head back to the city. We’re done for the day.”

He disbanded the group once we got back to the city, thanked everyone, and asked me, Grinya, and the healer to stay. The latter, whose name was Ftang, was a human-orc half-breed. That seemed like an odd mix to me, especially given his class. Sure, a warrior, but a healer?

“Gentlemen, you did great work out there today,” started Merkutia, “which is why I’d like to offer you membership in the Desert Storm Clan. We need good players like you.”

I must have been tired, because I didn’t realize what he was offering at first. As soon as I did, my eyes widened in surprise.

“But I’m already in a clan,” I said.

“So what?” answered Merkutia calmly. “Leave yours and join ours. Nothing wrong with that.”

“I’m not sure about that. I’ll have to think about it.”

“Take your time,” said Merkutia just as calmly. “I’ll be here for another week, and then someone else will take my place.”

Ah-ha, that’s what he gets out of this! It wasn’t a bad system. His clan sent people to set up a group of players looking to do some leveling-up, and then they got to see how they handled themselves in battle. The pick of each litter got an offer to join the clan. Everybody wins. The players got a clan, the recruiter got some experience and a reputation boost in the clan, the clan got some proven fighters, and everyone was happy. Both of the other two who were selected accepted at once. And why not? The clan had already proven to be worth their while.

“Sounds good.” I nodded. “And if you’re here again tomorrow, would you mind if I went out with you one more time?”

Merkutia paused to ponder my request.

“Sure. You already know what’s going on, so that will make things easier for me. Be here tomorrow by 10 a.m., and I’ll save you a spot in the group.”

I was about to log out of the game right there, but then I remembered the thieves infesting the place and decided to head over to my room. That way, I could be sure everything would be safe.

Back in real life, I plopped into my bed in preparation for another day that would be just as long as that one had been. Farming isn’t for the faint of heart.

Chapter Seventeen

In which it turns out that some questions answer themselves.

Perseverance has never been a strong suit of mine, so taking two whole days to just knock out one opponent after another could be considered a personal achievement.

Just as had been the case the day before, I joined Merkutia’s group and headed out onto the sand, where we spent almost ten hours fighting those who stood against humans, dwarves, and elves. I made it to Level 40 and even earned a bit of change. If it hadn’t been for the pair of interesting incidents that had occurred the previous evening, the second day might not have been worth discussing at all. Those events had consequences, however, so the story lies straight through them.

We focused on nagas. The group level the second day was a bit lower, as was the quality of the players who showed up. Merkutia didn’t want to risk going after the iblisi, fearing what they could do to our little troop, so, I eventually had a message pop up after yet another of the snake-people fell to our weapons.

You unlocked Snakeface, Level 3.

To get it, destroy 199 more nagas and Sviss, their king.

Reward:

Serpent’s Tooth, an active ability: 20% chance of doing poison damage

7% less poison damage taken

To see similar messages, go to the Action section of the attribute window.

Well, then. Obviously, I was happy to see that nice of a reward, though I wondered where I was going to find that Sviss. Fayroll was nothing if not well made, however, and so that question answered itself.

You have a new quest offer: Sviss, King of the Nagas

Task: Kill Sviss, the naga king, in Fattah Cave.

Reward:

Completion of part of the Snakeface action

1000 experience

600 gold

Warning:

This quest will be almost impossible to complete on your own. You should probably take 6-8 friends with you.

Notice:

This quest can be completed at different difficulty levels.

Accept?

Suddenly, everything made sense, so I just relaxed and focused on killing the nagas with relish. The more I took out, the closer I got to the final reward. You know, I should really work on my other actions, too. I hadn’t realized how juicy that third level was.

Toward the end of the day, after we’d already left the dunes, Merkutia decided to give us a try against the iblisi, after all. Soon thereafter, I got another pleasant surprise.

You reached Sword of Retribution, Level 2

Boosts the strength of your blows by 60% and increases your chances of landing a critical hit by 40%

Activation cost: 40 mana

Recharge time: 40 seconds

Not only was that a pleasant surprise; it also meant that I was doing things right.

By the end of the day, I’d reached Level 41 and had a clear plan for my third day in Selgar: kill nagas once again. Then Merkutia went and complicated that plan.

“Don’t even ask to join us again tomorrow. Your level is much better, and you’re not going to join our clan, so I can’t have you taking up space in the group. No offense, I hope?”

I assured Merkutia that I hadn’t taken offense, thanked him, and headed for the caravanserai so I could log out of the game. To be honest, I was disappointed. I was used to his style, he was a good leader, and he found good people. I’d seen how he dumped two obnoxious swordsmen at the drop of a hat.

I didn’t spend too much time that evening thinking about the group I’d have to collect the next day or the nagas I’d be killing. I knew the road, the target was simple enough, and Merkutia and I wouldn’t be getting in each other’s way—there were enough dunes and nagas for both our groups. Instead, I focused on the looming battle with Sviss.

The internet had plenty of information, and the naga king turned out to be quite the exotic creature. He was one of the ancient ideological minions of Evil, and he served all the Dark Lords who crawled their way to the Black Throne. During the last Great War, he fought on the side of the Great Dragon, killing many servants of the Light, and after the war, was sent to Fattah Cave in some godforsaken oasis. He was ruthless, treacherous, and tenacious, and he had plenty of unpleasant debuffs. As if that weren’t enough, he was flanked by a horde of lower-level nagas and two officers that posed plenty of problems on their own. Even trying the quest on standard would be tricky, not to mention extra… Although, wait a second. Maybe that’s the ticket?

But what’s extra? you ask. It was a reference to the different difficulty levels Fayroll offered as well as the monsters available at different access levels.

In this case, I had the option of beating the cave at the normal difficulty level. The number of opponents I’d face would be appropriate for the situation, they wouldn’t go too hard on me, and I’d get exactly the rewards listed in the quest description.

The second level was hard. There would be more enemies, and they’d be stronger, though they’d give me twice as much gold and a 40% better chance of getting items from them. The main reward would be the same as for normal.

The final option was extra. The enemies I’d face would be insane and twice as strong, plus the whole thing would be timed. On the other hand, the reward would be much better as well: a river of gold from dead enemies, almost double the chance of getting items from them, and a 35% chance of getting elite items and other goodies for any level. Needless to say, that was the difficulty high-level players always went for. They loved the rare items and the improved reward—though, to be fair, the improvement was always random. Each case was something different, and the only thing you could be sure of was that you’d be getting something good. People on the forums said that they’d even gotten set items for beating quests at the extra level. Sure, that happened very rarely, but it did happen. You just had to be careful; one false step and you’d die on quests with extra difficulty.

The developers weren’t idiots, and they were very well aware that raids like that one were a piece of cake for high-level players—it was practically cheating. So, they set up a number of restrictions for caves, fortresses, dungeons, and other areas you could beat at different difficulty levels. First of all, those areas were all quest-related. Groups trying to beat them had to include a player who was going through the relevant quest for the first time. That player and at least half the group (the most you could have was eight people) had to be within ten levels of the quest location. Finally, the level spread in the group could not exceed eighty levels. Take me, for instance; I had the quest and was at Level 41, so nobody higher than Level 121 could join my group.

There weren’t that many multi-level quests in Fayroll. They were mostly for actions, though not all actions featured them, and you could only get them once, hence why they were so tricky.

Given all of the above, players with that kind of quest were always welcomed, and it was generally pretty easy to put a group together when you wanted to beat a quest at extra difficulty. That wasn’t the problem. First of all, your chances of beating a quest with a pickup group weren’t great, seeing as how you were dealing with other people you’d never fought with and maybe didn’t even know. That didn’t fly for a serious raid. Second, there was nothing keeping your groupmates from turning on you once the quest was beaten. What if my body got dropped right next to the dead naga king? Everyone would keep me alive until the quest was finished, as the group would fail if I died, but after the rewards were distributed the higher-level players could simply slice up the lower-level dead weight and keep everything for themselves. They’d laugh their way off into the sunset while I’d be stuck sitting next to the headstone in my underwear listening to the accusations being thrown my way. No, that won’t work either.

I couldn’t ask clanmates to come either. They’d help, clean out the cave, and bring along a few lower-level clanmates so they could do some leveling-up. But then they’d take everything back to the clan storehouse. They’d even take the best of what we got along the way. And what was the point of doing the quest in the first place if that was what was going to happen? The main goal would be achieved, of course, but…the juicy items were important, too! I mentally crossed that option off as well.

Things would have been the other way around if I’d tried to beat the quest at normal difficulty. I wouldn’t have been able to find anyone to go with me. Players at my level were all too ready to go farm, but marching into almost certain death was very different. Of course, I could find some daredevils to go with me, but they weren’t the kind of people who were used to teamwork. High-level players wouldn’t go for hard, not to mention normal. They only went for extra. A little circular reasoning that could go on forever. There was the possibility of finding a group of players with the same quest, but who knew how long that could take?

The cost of making a mistake in my calculations was very high. If I didn’t beat the quest with my first try, I could kiss both it and the action goodbye. And that would have been a shame.

I read a little more on the forums and gave the problem some more thought before deciding to just go kill nagas the next day. I’ll cross the rest of the bridge when I come to it. That decision was made easier by the fact that Vika, who’d arrived as planned and sat by the door for half an hour while I was in Fayroll, had already made dinner. She was patiently waiting for me to deign to come eat. That was something new, as her predecessor would have long since tossed my monitor out the window. Or was she just getting comfortable? Either way, the food was good, and Vika was adorable, so the evening went off without a hitch.

Speaking of Vika’s predecessor, Elvira was gone without a trace. I wasn’t exactly expecting her to call and yell at me, but I certainly didn’t expect things to be as quiet as they were. She probably just realized that we were both tired of each other. Thank God.

The next morning, Vika left to run some errands, asking me before she did what I would be doing that day. I told her I would be demolishing some nagas and was happy to get a “sounds like fun” in reply, and, after going back and forth on it for a bit, I gave her my extra key and told her she was welcome to come back that same day. She sweetly blushed, kissed me, and left.

There isn’t much to tell about the third day I spent slaughtering nagas. It took me all of half an hour to get a group together, and we happily worked the little monsters over for about seven hours straight. As a result, I finished the first part of the quest, leveled-up twice, collected some gold, and picked up some items I didn’t really need. I was about to head over to the auction and sell off everything I’d accumulated over the two days, but I decided to put that off until the next day. And that was that.

I should note that I was really starting to like my new lifestyle. I didn’t have to jump up when my alarm went off, stuff a sandwich down my throat, or deal with the crowd of other people rushing to work. It wasn’t a bad way to live.

Still, the alarm woke me up the next morning. Vika had set it, and I looked over to see her sleepily mumble something and sweep her legs off the side of the bed. Her feet fumbled around in an apparently reflexive search for the slippers she probably kept next to her bed at her apartment.

“Why are you up so early?” I asked her.

“It’s time for work…?” she answered, finally prying her eyes open.

“Go back to sleep.” I stroked her naked back. “I’m in charge, and what I say goes. The other three can get the job done.”

“Sure is nice sleeping with the boss,” she purred, turning over and falling back asleep under my arm.

“I wouldn’t know, I’ve never tried it,” I said before falling asleep as well.

Two hours later, she was on her way to the office, having fed me breakfast and making sure that I would be expecting her that evening. There’s a girl here on day number three, and she’s not getting on my nerves? That hadn’t happened once since my divorce. To be honest, it hadn’t happened before that either. On the other hand, she was the first in a long line of girlfriends who could cook well, didn’t nag at me for sitting at my computer all the time, and didn’t start talking about who we would and wouldn’t be inviting to our wedding. I’m not one for feelings or sentimentality, but, when it came to what she had to offer, she was well out in front of the pack. That was good enough for me for the time being.

But enough of that. I had to figure out what to do about the quest—either I was doing it or it was getting put on the back burner. I also needed to start heading in the direction of the next dryad, as I figured I’d be okay at my current Level 43. It would have been nice to jump up to Level 45 or even Level 48, but I could manage where I was if I was smart about it.

I left the caravanserai and stopped a hook-nosed guard walking by. “Excuse me, sir, could you tell me where the auction house is?”

“Ah, not far,” he answered in a heavy accent. “Turn when you get to that house over there, then you’ll see Rahimbai’s money-changing stand. He’s as greedy and mean as a dog, that one! I asked him to lend me five gold and he wouldn’t do it.”

“That’s a shame.” I shook my head. “And where do I go after that?”

“It is!” he continued, distracted by his annoyance with the money-changer. “Then go around that fool Mikkhak’s stand, walk through the square, and then go past Ibrahim’s tavern. Ah, their kebab is to die for! They use mutton, and I swear on my mother, it’s the best you’ll ever have! One bite and you’re in heaven. Hey, let’s go have some right now!”

“What’s your name, good sir?” I asked with a sigh.

“Sayyid,” said the guard, his arms on his waist.

“Sayyid, here’s three gold. Go have yourself a great meal and drink to my health. But, in the meantime, I need to know how to get to the auction house—I swear on my mother!”

I handed him the gold, and he took it with a smile.

Your reputation in Selgar is now 3% higher, so you will be given small discounts by the tradesmen selling their wares within the city limits. Getting your reputation to 20% or higher will unlock a number of hidden and other quests.

“Don’t worry about that, my friend. I will drink and eat to your health!” Sayyid assured me. “Definitely and right away. I’ll dance, too! Do you know how well I dance?”

Sayyid looked like he was about to give me a demonstration.

“I’m sorry, my friend, but we’ll have to dance later. How do I get to the auction?” I was already regretting that I asked him the question in the first place. The reputation boost was nice, but not if it came at the cost of my sanity.

“What? Oh, the auction! Once you’re past the tavern, it’ll be right there. Look for a flag with a sword and hammer on it.”

“Thanks,” I said sincerely as I shook Sayyid’s hand. “Have a good meal!”

I trotted off in the direction the cordial guard had indicated.

“When you’re done, stop by the tavern. I’ll be there!” he yelled after me.

“Yeah, right, that’s just what I need,” I muttered to myself. On the other hand, of course, having a few drinks with him might not have been a bad idea. I figured I could probably get my reputation up to five percent or even ten percent.

But, given the fact that I couldn’t care less what my reputation was right then, I decided to let the whole thing slide. The auction house was calling my name. I needed to sell some things and get a feel for what the price range was—I couldn’t spend the whole game looking like a ragamuffin. Judge for yourself: I was wearing a steel cuirass that clashed with my leather poleyns. At least, I was far from the only one looking like that.

The auction house was an enormous building with columns near the entrance, a domed roof, and a dozen guards that were probably there to create the setting. Inside, was a huge room full of players milling around auctioneers on pedestals.

I walked up to one of the latter.

“Buying? Or selling?” he yelled at me. He had no choice but to yell given the deafening roar created by so many voices talking at once. The ceiling’s great acoustics didn’t help…

“I’ll start by buying,” I shouted back.

The auctioneer nodded, and an interface popped up in front of me. I told it what I was looking for by entering a number of search parameters: class, level, item type, price range, and so on.

I spent about half an hour checking through all the equipment the different players were selling before coming to two conclusions. First, I could sell my own belongings at prices higher than what vendors would give me, though the prices still weren’t great. Second, I couldn’t buy anything nice, as it was all really expensive. I wasn’t about to buy anything like what I had either, as I would have had to pay up for just the few points of strength they might net me. I did make an exception for a pair of gauntlets, however, as mine—the ones I got back at the clan storehouse—were ancient. Everything else within my price range was no better, and often even worse, than what I had on me.

Once I’d gotten the hang of the prices, I put my items up for sale, asking the auctioneer to mail me the money he collected for them. I asked him to send me the items themselves, as well, if they didn’t sell.

“We don’t send anything besides money by mail, so you’ll have to pick them up yourself,” said the auctioneer, cutting me off in the process.

“Why? What if I leave Selgar?”

“You can get them when you come back,” he answered. “We keep things for a month free of charge, though every day thereafter for up to five months costs ten copper coins.”

“What happens then?”

“Your items are claimed by the auction,” he informed me dispassionately.

“That’s a bit severe,” I said.

The auctioneer didn’t reply. Instead, he screamed his “Selling? Or buying?” at the next visitor.

My purchases ran me quite a bit of money: I spent almost a thousand gold on what were just average items.

I put them on and finally distributed my points, something I’d been putting off doing.

Basic attributes:

Strength: 177 (105+64)

Intellect: 18 (13+5)

Agility: 31 (17+14)

Stamina: 137 (75+62)

Wisdom: 20

Next time I’ll have to bump up my wisdom, I noted to myself.

Still, on the whole, I was happy with the tank I was shaping up to be. A veritable armored train! Strength and power. I was even closing in on Level 45 and the shield I would finally be able to use. On the other hand, what if something happened? The shield’s attributes were fantastic, but if I died, I’d be stuck waving goodbye to it as I floated off. Whatever, I’ll figure that out when I get to Level 45.

“Hi there, vagabond!” I received a smack in the shoulder that didn’t very well match the melodious, girlish voice that accompanied it.

I turned around. Smiling at me was Milly Re, the Gray Witch’s beautiful sidekick with the two swords behind her back.

“Hey, Milly,” I said, smiling back. “How are things?”

“Fine,” she said, her smile widening. “Really good even. I’ve had so much work to do lately, but I got the day off today, out of the blue, so I couldn’t be happier. This may not be the nicest thing to say, but hooray for quarantines!”

“Oh, wow,” I said, surprised.

“What are you up to?”

I looked at Milly, radiant in her love of life, and realized that she was my ticket into Sviss’ cave. She would neither try to take my share nor stab me in the back. And she had time on her hands.

“Me? Nothing much, though I do have one little problem you could help me take care of—we’d walk away with some nice loot and even have fun collecting it,” I said, hoping she’d take the bait.

“Oh, yes?” Milly’s cheeks reddened slightly and she looked a bit taken aback. “What do you mean?”

I explained to her what was going on and, as expected, she quickly agreed, perked up, and started paging through her friend list to see who was online. It was a Monday, so there weren’t that many.

“Hey, come on,” she said, shoving me at the same time. “Look for some other kiddies, and especially a healer for you. I invited three hulks I know, so you don’t have to worry about tanks, but we could use a mage, a healer, and a scout at your level. Don’t know any? Just find anyone. We don’t have to worry about anyone betraying us with my guys around to show them the straight and narrow.”

“But why a scout?”

“There’ll be chests, hiding spots, and traps. Can you open chests?”

“No.”

“Me neither. But scouts can. And, there’ll be plenty of good stuff in chests—gold, and so on. I guess you can figure out the problem with traps on your own? Go, go, go, write a message in the chat. What are you waiting for?”

I thought for a second before writing.

Getting eight people together, going to Fattah Cave to hunt Sviss, the naga king. Already have high-level tanks—4/4. Low-levels—1/4. Need low-level: healer, scout, mage, no lower than Level 35. Extra difficulty level.

I didn’t expect the nearly instantaneous response I got. Sure, the players responding were mostly bodybuilders like me, but it took just five minutes to find a Level 44 healer named Dix, a Level 43 firedrop mage (his words) named Flar, and a Level 44 healer named Tregen.

“All set?” Milly Re asked, looking over the troops gathered under my banner.

“A decent group,” I said with dignity.

“That doesn’t really matter—my guys will do the fighting,” she answered. “Ah, speak of the devil!”

Three portals opened, one after another, and out popped what could only be described as three battleships, judging by their colossal size and the amount of iron they were encased in.

“Hey, Milly,” said one named Erador. “How’re you, babe?”

“How many times have I told you not to call me babe?” roared Milly indignantly. “Hagen, these are my iron-headed friends, Erador, Nox, and Turok. Guys, this is Hagen.”

“Ha, you sure do like hanging around with the kiddies,” said Turok with a grin. “Hi, Hagen!”

“The Witch sent this particular kiddie a personal friendship ring and invited him to storm the Wild Hearts’ citadel with us,” Milly Re said to the iron heads sarcastically. “You might not remember, since you weren’t there.”

“I’ve told you a hundred times, we were away at drill for the Olympic reserves,” boomed Nox. “How many times do we have to apologize? I heard about you, by the way, my friend. You were the one who survived in the siege tower when all the veterans died, right?”

“Yes, that was me.” I was tickled to think that even people like the ones in front of me knew who I was.

“He saved my ass, too,” added Milly Re.

“And, a special thank-you for that,” said Erador, laughing. “I’ve had a thing for her forever, so I’m glad she’s okay.”

“Stop drooling and let it go,” she said sharply before turning to give me an order. “Invite them to the group.”

A minute later, the group was set up and we’d jumped through a portal Milly opened, finding ourselves smack dab in the middle of the oasis looking at the entrance to Fattah Cave. It was small, earthen, very narrow, and overgrown with some kind of shrubbery.

“All right, kids, listen up. Your job is to not die and, most importantly, make sure this one,” Milly Re said, pointing at me, “doesn’t die either. It’s fine if you don’t actually kill anything, but he has to stay alive. Healer, remember—all you care about is Hagen. Got it?”

“What about me?” asked Tregen.

“You make sure you don’t get killed either, since we’ll need you once we clear out the cave. There isn’t a respawn, so you don’t have to worry about the nagas coming back. You’ll start exploring when they’re all dead.”

The mage was silent, apparently understanding what he had to do.

“Everyone ready?” asked Milly.

We nodded, the Olympic reserves noisy in their metal cocoons.

“Wait, we need a trophy rule,” I said to Milly. “Maybe Who Needs What?”

“You’re the leader; you decide,” said Milly harshly. “We’ll go with what you say.”

I’d had to take charge, as I was the only one who could pick the difficulty level for the quest.

“Done,” I said. “Who Needs What.”

“Then let’s do this,” she said, pointing toward the cave.

Chapter Eighteen

In which nobody really lets the hero do anything.

I crawled into the narrow hole, got caught on some root sticking out of the ground, and tumbled into the passage head over heels.

You are beginning a quest: Sviss, King of the Nagas.

Task: Kill Sviss, the naga king, in Fattah Cave

There are three difficulty levels for this quest.

The number and quality of the trophies you get during the quest, as well as the main reward, depend on which difficulty level you choose.

Select a difficulty level:

Normal

Hard

Extra

I selected Extra and got another message for my trouble.

You selected Extra difficulty.

The number of opponents in the caves is increased by 200%

The strength of your opponents is increased by 100%

The strength and ability of Sviss, the naga king, are increased by 100%

The number of traps is increased by 50%

The number and quality of trophies is increased by 70%

The quantity of gold received is increased by 100%

The quantity of experience received is increased by 40%

The quest reward has been changed

You have an hour and a half to beat the quest

If you do not beat it within the time allotted, you will fail

A timer appeared in the lower left corner of the monitor, and I was happy to see that it didn’t show the seconds ticking away. That would have driven me crazy and, more importantly, distracted me.

Modified reward for beating Sviss, King of the Nagas

Reward

Completion of part of the Snakeface action

5000 experience

2500 gold

A random object for your class

Bonus: the ability to boost one of your active abilities one level if you complete the quest in half the allotted time

How many bonuses can one guy get? All I had to do was survive. Well, and get to the end…or, rather, get to the end and then survive.

The Olympic reserve crawled in behind me, armor clanging and curses spouting in a bass undertone.

“Seriously? Why do the tunnels have to be so narrow?” asked Turok as he stood up next to me.

“You think I know?” answered Milly Re. “I’m not a doctor.”

“That’s for sure,” snorted Nox.

“Oh, aren’t you Mr. Smarty-pants,” said Milly, snarling at him for some reason I didn’t understand.

I wasn’t exactly listening to their exchange, and was instead peering down the dark corridor. There was some kind of disconcerting movement a little way off. My fellow low-levelers, I thought, also had the jitters.

“Okay,” said Milly, glancing at the smiling faces of the giants hidden under their helmets. “You go ahead and put your appliances to work.”

“Our what?” Nox wrinkled his brow.

“Your meat grinders.”

The trio grinned and nodded.

“I’ll be right behind you and take care of anything that happens to get by you. You,” she continued, jabbing a finger at us, “collect trophies and protect Hagen. Hagen, whatever happens, you stay out of it. Understood?”

I nodded.

Milly was less than satisfied and repeated her question.

“Don’t nod; tell me, ‘Yes, I understand.’”

“Yes, I understand,” I obediently responded.

“Great. Scout, you…what is it? Tregen. You check the rooms for traps. There won’t be any in the corridor—time and other people have proven that. But there are usually plenty of them in the different rooms. So, you wait for the guys to clear out any enemies in there and then go in. And, not until then—if you go in first, they’ll all target you, you’ll all go running through the traps, you’ll die, and we’ll fail the quest.”

“But what if the guys run into traps?” asked Tregen reasonably.

“You couldn’t kill them with an atom bomb. They’ll trigger the traps, brush them off, and go back to crunching bad guys. We’re the ones you need to worry about.”

“Right,” agreed Dix. “You can’t kill them—they have more health than a platoon of me.”

“Yes, healer,” said Milly, pointing her finger next at him. “Remember, Hagen is your main priority. If something happens, I’ll tell you who to heal, but focus on him. Make sure you always have some mana in reserve, got it?”

“Got it,” said Dix with a nod.

“Mage, buff us with whatever you can and keep an eye on Dix. Okay?”

The mage was about to nod when he looked at me and changed his mind.

“No questions, everything is clear,” he said distinctly. He waved his staff and we all got 20% protection from fire, cold, and electricity.

Milly looked us over. “Well, since we’re all clear, let’s get a move on it. The clock is ticking. Don’t forget to watch the wings.”

The triple towers boomed and crashed their way down the corridor, and the movement I’d spotted earlier started to take shape. A second later, it turned into a crowd of nagas snapping lipless mouths and waving sabers in front of themselves. They rushed down the corridor in triplets, somehow managing to avoid stabbing each other in the back as they went. I estimated that there were about fifteen of them, and they rushed forward with blinding speed. The only thing that mitigated my fear was the knowledge that my low-level groupmates were just as afraid as I was.

The crowd of nagas washed into the three giants, whose helmets nearly touched the ceilings, and broke like a wave against a rock.

I don’t think our three really had to put much effort into the fight, and they barely used their swords. All they had to do was smack the nagas in the head with their steel-encased fists. The crowd was gone in all of a minute, leaving us to walk forward around the bodies I had been so nervous about.

“Hey, kiddies, don’t forget to pick up the trophies,” said Milly Re, speaking down to us. “Don’t be lazy; you’ll get something out of it, too!”

When were we ever too lazy to collect goodies? Especially when there were that many of them! Gold happily tinkled into our pockets, and every third dead naga had some kind of item. After the first fight, I found myself with a very nice shield I didn’t really need but knew I could sell. Judging by the faces of my compatriots, they were pleased with the turn of events, as well.

As we collected the trophies, our lethal force tramped onward and, judging by the noise they made, came up against a new wave of snake people.

“Hurry, catch up,” said Milly, turning back and barely missing a sword swinging at her. One of the nagas had managed to wriggle between the giants and slither over to her.

“Oh, really?” hissed Milly, sounding more snakelike than the nagas. She exploded in a blindingly fast succession of strikes. By the time we got to her, the body of her foe lay spread-eagle on the ground.

“That’s exactly what I’m talking about—keep an eye out,” Milly said. She jabbed at the naga’s body with one of her swords for emphasis.

The corridor wasn’t that long, and soon we got to the entrance to a room.

“This is the first one,” I heard Milly’s voice say. “There are only nagas here; in the second and third, there are officers, too, and Sviss is in the fourth. Okay, we’re going in, you four stand by the entrance. I’ll tell you as soon as it’s safe for you to come in. Healer, be ready in case anything happens. Who knows…”

We formed a rectangle near the entrance of what looked to be a pretty big room. None of us risked sticking a head in, though we could still sort of see and could definitely hear what was going on.

Our titans ground nagas into oatmeal, their yells and shouts echoing back through the tunnel where we were waiting.

“Oh, hey,” Dix said, pointing a finger in the air. “I leveled-up!”

“Nice,” we all said, nearly in unison.

“Fantastic. I haven’t even done anything.” Dix’s face split into a smile, though right then, a naga flew into the corridor and knocked him over.

But that was all the naga was able to do: knock over Dix as he happily and serenely announced his piece of news. The next second, it caught a blow in the left side from me, a flash of flame in the chest from the mage, a slash below the waist from Dix’s short blade, and a hit in the right side from Tregen.

That wasn’t enough to kill him, but we didn’t stop there. Thirty minutes later, our impudent opponent lay dead at our feet. I picked up some gold and an excellent helmet that immediately replaced my old Ice Helmet.

Jolly Hangman Helmet

Protection: 340

+18 to strength

+10 to stamina

+15% protection from fire

+3% life energy boost

Durability: 350/350

Minimum level for use: 42

“Hey, are you guys still out there?” called Milly Re. “You can come in.”

We walked into the room to see our high-level friends killing the last of the nagas at the other end. The walls were decorated with some kind of unsettling paintings showing nagas slaughtering all the free races of Fayroll: humans, elves, dwarves, and bug-eyed creatures also walking on two legs that I’d never come across before.

“Watch where you’re walking, there are traps here,” warned Milly again. “Those oafs triggered most of them, but still be careful. You, over there, get to work. Only worry about the traps on the way to those chests.”

She pointed the scout in the direction of two chests standing up against one of the walls. Tregen gathered himself and walked toward them in careful, measured steps. By that time, the nagas had been killed off and the warriors had walked back to where we were.

“How are we going to decide who opens the chests?” asked Dix, drooling in anticipation. “And, what can you get from them?”

“It’s completely random,” boomed Nox. “You never know. As far as opening them, there are four rooms with two chests each—eight total, so we each get one.”

“Without trading or showing off,” added Milly immediately, “so we don’t have any arguments.”

“What arguments, baby?” smirked Erador. “I’m more worried about the order—who’s first, who’s second? Rock-paper-scissors?”

“That takes too long,” I said.

I was more concerned about how long we were taking than any of the others, given the fact that I was hoping for that extra bonus.

“Oh, come on. The scout is first, of course. And then…” Milly grimaced and rattled off the rest, pointing at each of us in turn. Eeny, meeny…

She counted off everyone using a different rhyme each time. How does she know so many of them? I ended up with the third chest.

“Okay, they’re ready,” said Tregen, who had been too busy to participate in the conversation and negotiations. Instead, he’d removed the traps and opened the chests.

“Go for it,” Milly said. “Yours is the one on the left, Turok gets the one on the right. Empty them, and let’s go. We spent seven minutes on that whole thing.”

I glanced at the timer: 01:04. Oh boy, and that was just the first room.

Everything happened faster from then on. Our thugs cleared the corridor of yet another crowd of nagas, which was enough for both me and, I thought, Tregen to level-up. There was no point in congratulating each other at that point, however. The next room was a carbon copy of the first, though it had an officer who held out longer than his troops and was even able to do electric damage. I thought he did some to Turok, though the latter barely noticed it. He was too busy finishing the officer off with his sword and fist, talking to him as he did. “Sweet dreams, sunshine. See you in the morning.”

The second chest in that room belonged to Nox, who glanced at Tregen as he was about to get to work. “Hey, little guy, just worry about Hagen’s. Don’t waste time on mine.”

“But what about the lock? It’s closed!”

“The lock? Oh, right, the lock…”

The giant lumbered right up to the trunk, blinked when a fire trap flared up around him and took off a faint sliver of his health, looked at the chest, and slammed his sword into it. Lightning flashed—yet another trap—but the lid flew off into a corner. Nox dipped his hand in and grunted approvingly. Then, he looked back at Tregen tinkering around across from him.

“Oh, come on, enough of that.” He walked over to the other trunk, which was supposed to be mine, and sliced it open, as well. Something green flashed and enveloped him in an acid-colored cloud.

“Seriously? Poison? I hate this stuff,” he grumbled, pulling a vial full of brown liquid from under his armor and downing the contents.

“You don’t mind using the potion?” asked Erador in surprise. “Maybe we should just let the guy do his job.”

“We’ll be here all day if we do that,” answered Nox. “See for yourself: this is just the second hall, and we’ve been here for 33 minutes already. And, we still have to deal with that monster Sviss.”

“What are you waiting for?” Milly shoved me. “Go check your chest!”

I cautiously checked to see if the poisonous cloud had settled. If that gargantuan needed a potion to get rid of it, there had to be enough poison to kill me outright. Everything looked fine, so I carefully walked over to the chest.

Reaching my hand into the dark opening left by the sword, I hoped for something really good, especially given the fact that I’d collected three new items for my bag in that room. Sadly, I didn’t really need any of them, though I knew I could get a decent price for them.

You received the contents of the chest

2500 gold

An ancient scroll

A two-handed hammer

Five health potions

I was happy with my haul. It certainly wasn’t bad, although there wasn’t anything incredibly unusual. I decided to check everything out later. Judging by the crashing in the corridor, our troop was already moving out.

Once again the tunnel, once again a room. That time, the officer put on a bit of a fire show, though a few smacks to the head ended it fairly quickly. He wasn’t a bad fellow, though, as I got a ring from him. It was a good-looking little thing in the shape of a snake eating its own tail.

Ring of Equilibrium

+18 to stamina

+9 to wisdom

+12% chance of immunity to poison

+3% faster leveling-up for class abilities

Durability: 220/220

Minimum level for use: 42

I was thrilled to see that last attribute. Three percent wasn’t that much, but still!

As Erador paved the way to and opened the chests, I pulled out the hammer. It turned out to be elite.

Two-Handed Hammer of the 16th Hall

Damage: 169-216

A weapon forged by the mountain masters of the past.

+24 to strength

+20 to stamina

+26% chance of doing 55 bleeding damage for 30 seconds

+18% protection from piercing and cutting weapons

When used with the Strength of Ancient Masters ability, 50% chance of doing double damage

Race limitation: only dwarves

Class limitation: only warriors

Minimum level for use: 48

It was incredible and matched my class, but I wasn’t a dwarf. Still, I knew I’d happily pocket the tidy sum I’d get for it.

“Okay, kiddies, listen to me,” said Milly, clapping her hands. “Sviss is in the next room. These nice gentlemen will take care of him, and you three will stay out of it. You, however, Hagen, will have to help kill him.”

“Wait, what?” I asked. “He’s strong as it is, but now… He’s going to be a monster!”

“Of course,” agreed Milly. “Still, you have to. If you don’t land at least one hit, we’ll fail the quest. Ta-da!”

“It’s true.” Erador nodded. “Don’t worry about it, though. After the third wave, we’ll pin him in the corner and make sure you can get in close enough to poke him in the stomach with your toothpick. Milly, you coordinate everything and give him the green light when he can jump in.”

“Sounds good,” Milly said.

“What waves are you talking about?” asked Tregen.

“We’ll start killing him,” explained Milly, “and he’ll call for his servants once we knock off 30 percent of his health. That will summon a bunch of nagas for us to kill, and there’ll be three rounds of that. Each time there will be more nagas. You just wait in the corner and make sure Hagan is okay. We’ll take care of the rest. Boys, take your time with him so we don’t get more than one wave at once.”

The three warriors nodded together.

“Maybe it would be better for us to wait in the corridor?” asked Dix apprehensively.

“Nope, the corner,” Milly Re said firmly. “We’ll only trigger him once everyone is in the room. Okay, let’s roll; we only have half our time left.”

It was true. My timer said we had exactly 45 minutes left.

The three giants walked into the corridor.

You failed to complete the quest in half the time allotted and will not receive the bonus.

Well, that was a shame. The bonus would have been great, but there was no time to dwell on that, as steel rang out in the corridor and I leveled-up before we even walked out. Level 45! Hurray! I relaxed, knowing that if the monster in the next room killed me, I’d still have the loot I’d picked up and two more levels. Not to mention that scroll. Maybe it’s one of the abilities Gerv mentioned way back when? Although, wasn’t he talking about temporary dungeons?

Our trip down the hall was a short one, and a minute later, the guards were dealt with and we were in the main room. It was round, in contrast to the rest, and featured a throne on the far wall. On the throne, was seated a short, slender naga with a golden crown on his bald head. I figured that was Sviss himself, king of the nagas.

He was an odd sight. I’d expected a muscular, long-tailed serpent rather than the little creature in front of us.

“Pe-e-eople,” hissed Sviss, slithering off his throne. “You’re ba-a-ack! How you love coming to your dea-a-ath. You a-a-ache for it…”

“Oh, he talks!” I said, impressed.

“And we’ve had enough of it,” boomed Nox. He leaped forward, sword whirling in his hand. Erador and Turok swung around to approach the throne from the right and left flanks.

“In s-s-such a hurry!” Sviss’ lipless mouth curved upward as he stared at the onrushing warrior. “Your death be on your own heads-s-s!”

With one smooth move he pulled a trident out from behind him, stuck it into Nox, and hissed a spell. “Petrify-y-y!”

Nox froze, though Turok and Erador picked up speed and caught Sviss between them.

Milly Re stood in the middle of the room and anxiously swung her head back and forth like some sort of pendulum.

“My s-s-servants!” hissed Sviss a couple minutes later. Almost at the same second, Nox was freed from his spell. “Come to my ass-ss-ssistance!”

Two opening appeared in the wall, and out poured a dozen nagas slithering toward Sviss. Halfway there, they were met on one side by Nox and on the other by Milly Re. Steel rang yet again.

“Flar, give them some fire!” I shouted at the mage, who stood frozen watching the battle. “There’s no killing that one, but Milly’s in trouble!”

It was true. Regardless of her skilled defense, technique, and obvious experience, she was just holding her own. Seven nagas was a lot for one girl to take on all at once.

“Milly, I’m coming!” bellowed Nox, crushing yet another naga skull with the hilt of his sword. A couple other nagas tried to penetrate his armor, but they weren’t having much success; the giant’s health was in no hurry to leave the green sector. The two other high-level players were completely focused on the hissing, foul-mouthed, spitting, and writhing Sviss.

“Got it,” said the mage with a nod in my direction. He waved his staff and barked a spell.

A flame shot out of the end of his staff, flew halfway across the room, and sizzled its way into the body of one of the nagas. He looked down at the fire in surprise, glanced in our direction, and set off toward us.

“Damn it! He said ‘help,’ not attract it,” said Dix with displeasure.

“You think we can’t take one of them?” chortled Flar.

“Of course we can,” answered Dix. “There’s just no reason to go looking for trouble.”

The discussion ended before it began as we met the onrushing naga with our blades.

At the same time, Nox finished off his group and wheeled around to join forces with Milly.

“S-s-servants!” hissed Sviis. “S-s-save me! They’re killing me!”

A new and noticeably larger wave of nagas rushed out of the holes in the wall.

“Turok, we could have used some help,” bellowed Milly. “This is getting pretty bad; I told you not to hurry!”

“If I jump over there, he’ll debuff me,” answered Turok, slashing Sviss with his sword.

“Screw that. He already used Petrify, and the rest just poison you or do a little damage,” boomed back Erador. “Go. I’ll hold him.”

Suddenly, Milly missed two strikes that took out half her health.

“Heal her!” I screamed at Dix. “What are you waiting for?”

“She said she’d tell me who to heal,” he replied cantankerously.

“Are you kidding me?” Tregen was just as surprised as I was.

Dix waved his arms, healing Milly. In the meantime, things were under control again. Turok and Nox had regained the upper hand by beating down a few of the nagas with their steel fists. Still, they were starting to feel the pressure. A glance at their health showed that neither of them was still in the green.

Just then, Sviss twisted away from a cut by Erador and hissed a spell, his trident pointed at the center of the room. A gray cloud that looked like myriad insects enveloped the clashing, shrieking, cursing melee.

“Damn. Infection,” I heard Milly say.

“I told you he’d debuff us. Now, we’ll lose health for a minute!” answered Erador.

“Don’t worry about it,” said Nox calmly, his metal-encrusted foot lashing out and finishing off the last naga. “There’s just one wave left. How much health does that reptile have left?”

“We’re a couple hits away from the next wave,” Erador answered.

Milly and Turok took what must have been health potions and their health jumped up quickly.

“Okay, I don’t want you making a single sound,” Milly said, turning to us. “The third wave is brutal, so we have to make sure you don’t attract any of them. We’ll all be screwed then.”

“S-s-servants!” cried Sviss for the third time. “Where a-a-are you? These pe-e-eople are killing your lo-o-ord! I’m dy-y-ying!”

The mob that leaped out of the holes in the wall terrified us four low-level players. There were at least forty of the nagas facing the three warriors in the center of the room, and maybe even more. The trio fought back to back. It looked cramped, but there was nothing we could do. At least, that’s what three of us thought.

A fireball threw four nagas in different directions. Two of them didn’t get up, but the other pair pulled themselves up and slithered toward our huddled clump in the corner. Another naga, this one with full health, also headed in our direction.

“Didn’t you hear what they said?” whined Dix again.

“Why are you such a coward?” asked Tregen. “You’re first in line when it’s time to level-up gold and loot, but you never want to fight.”

“Where are you going?” Flar said sharply, seeing that I was about to jump in front of one of the nagas.

“With you. They’ll kill you, and I’ll have to deal with this bugger alone. How do you think that will go?” I replied just as sharply. “We have a chance three on three.”

The worst part was that I took a hit right at the very end when two of the three nagas were already dead on the ground. How did I miss that?

With just one swipe of his saber, the naga had taken off half my health in what was apparently a critical hit. I had already been nicked a few times, so I found myself laying on the ground with 22% of my health remaining.

You were poisoned by the blade! The poison will do 0.4 damage per second for the next minute.

Great! Just what I needed…

“Don’t move!” I heard Dix say a second before feeling warmth flood into me. My health bar climbed out of the red and back into the yellow.

The three battered warriors were finishing off the last of the nagas in the middle of the room. The floor was covered in bodies, meaning our feet were slipping on the scales of our fallen foes.

“Guys, come help me pin him,” yelled Erador. “I’m not really attacking him, but still.”

“O-o-oh,” hissed Sviss. “No-o-ow you’ll s-s-see! Di-i-ie! You light ones will a-a-all die soon! The dark lo-o-ord will come back s-s-soon, you’ll all s-s-see. The-e-en he’ll turn the o-o-orcs loose on you!”

“Not you!” Milly saw me laying on the floor. “I told you not to get involved, why didn’t you listen?”

“No worries!” I jumped up. Dix was good at his job, and I was back to full health.

The three warriors pinned Sviss against the wall and grabbed hold of his arms.

“Co-o-oward, you’re afraid to take me alo-o-one!” he hissed into my face.

“You bet I am!” There was no sense hiding that. I was about to jab my blade into him when I had an interesting idea.

“Hurry, he’s about to die,” said Turok.

I nodded and said to myself, Memory of the God.

Nothing particular happened—my muscles weren’t infused with super strength, and my sword didn’t suddenly feel light as a feather. On the other hand, my strike sapped the beast of nearly all his remaining health. My sword even slipped all the way through his body and clanged against the stone wall.

The giants shook their heads in respect.

“Well, would you look at that,” said Turok. “Not bad for a little guy like yourself.”

“Yep,” agreed Nox shortly.

Milly Re didn’t say anything, instead looking at me thoughtfully.

I realized I might have given away too much and tried to smooth things over. “Ooh, critical hit!”

“Sure it was,” nodded Milly Re. She turned to the veterans. “What are you looking at? Finish him off so we can start looting!”

A few strikes later, the surprisingly little and unsurprisingly evil creature was dead. A happy sound told me I was now a Level 46 player, and the timer in the corner blinked and disappeared.

You completed a quest: Sviss, King of the Nagas

Reward:

Part of the Snakeface action completed

5000 experience

2500 gold

Snake King Helmet

I had sure gotten enough helmets that day.

You finished Snakeface.

Reward:

Serpent’s Tooth, an active ability, Level 1: 20% chance of doing poison damage

7% less poison damage taken

To see similar messages, go to the Action section of the attribute window.

Well, that was that. Oh, wait, no it wasn’t.

You unlocked Legend of Fayroll

To get it, complete 109 more actions in Fayroll.

Reward:

100000 gold

A random legendary item matching your class

+25% of the health you have when you complete the final action

+25% of the mana you have when you complete the final action

Title: Gaming Legend

To see similar messages, go to the Action section of the attribute window.

I wonder if anyone has ever gotten that.

“What did you get?” asked Milly Re, as though in passing.

“Gold, experience, and an elite helmet,” I answered honestly as I looked over the helmet itself.

Snake King Helmet

Back in ancient times this helmet was worn by the best naga warriors, as they were in charge of protecting their king.

Protection: 460

+18 to strength

+15 to stamina

+10% protection from poison

+9% chance of doing poison damage

+4% chance of mental resistance

Class limitation: only warriors

Durability: 400/400

Minimum level for use: 52

Another nice find. It was just a shame I couldn’t wear it yet. Come on… I’d gotten two elite items and neither of them was for me. Well, the helmet wasn’t for me yet, but still…

The group got busy stripping the corpses and opening the trunks, while Erador, who still had a decent amount of health, walked around the room triggering traps.

Gold poured into my pockets, and from time to time, I declined items I didn’t need and checked items I did. A shield, another helmet, gauntlets…

Hello, there! “Sword of the Guardian of Time.” What a name! I groaned when Nox got it.

Milly turned to me. “What happened?”

“Oh, there was a sword for my level,” I said, crestfallen. “Nox got it…”

“Nox, come on, give it to the kid,” Milly quickly said to the giant. “He fought well.”

“It’s elite,” grumbled Nox. “You know the rules; I don’t want anything to happen.”

“I’ll answer for it,” she said sharply.

“In that case, open your window, kiddo,” Nox said to me amiably. “Here, take it, I don’t mind. Milly, if anything happens, it’s on you.”

I could just feel that it was my sword. I knew from the second I saw the name.

Sword of the Guardian of Time

This one-handed sword was forged by legendary blacksmith Le Jiord for one of the most famous warriors of the Borderlands.

Damage: 148-176

+20 to strength

+16% to critical strike chance

+12% to dodge ability

+9% to movement speed

+6% gold looted from dead enemies

Boosts Strong Shoulders to Level 2 (if that passive ability is learned; this happens once, while the ability’s effect is permanent)

Class limitation: only warriors

Durability: 400/400

Minimum level for use: 44

“My pre-e-ecious!” I hissed quietly.

You reached Strong Shoulders, Level 2

You can wear heavy armor.

Nox, Milly, and the other veterans looked at me with smiles on their faces, clearly remembering their first big find.

“Nox, open your exchange,” I said, surprising even myself.

Nox was taken aback, but he opened his window, and I sent him the hammer I got from the chest. I don’t like owing people things, and he seemed like a good guy. And who knows what the Gray Witch thinks of people who squander assets…

“Oh, come on,” boomed Nox. “I was just being nice!”

“Me, too,” I answered. “I don’t need that hammer, but maybe someone else does. Just don’t tell anyone from my clan—Elina would kill me.”

Nox wants to add you as a friend.

Accept?

“Of course,” I said. “Now, I have someone to call when I’m getting bullied in the schoolyard.”

Nox roared with laughter.

“Well, did we get everything?” asked Milly, who got nods all around. “Then let’s port out.”

“Milly, give me a second,” I said.

I realized that I hadn’t checked to see where we actually were. I opened my map and was struck dumb to see that the dryad was just two days’ walk away. The locations in between looked nasty, but still—two days was better than five. Though scrolls were pricey at my income level…

“Well?” Milly asked impatiently.

“Okay, go ahead,” I answered.

The portal flashed and beckoned us in…

Chapter Nineteen

In which the hero tries to get everything done at once.

We tumbled out of the portal in Selgar, and I breathed a sigh of relief. Thank God, that crazy ordeal was over. Up until the very end, I hadn’t believed it would end up a success, notwithstanding the iron-encased giants and Milly Re’s able leadership.

Dix wants to add you as a friend.

Accept?

For the first time in Fayroll, I declined a friend request.

“Wait, what’s wrong?” asked a hurt and surprised Dix.

“Everything,” I answered. “I don’t like people who try to sit off in a corner. Sure, I’m no shining star myself, and it’s not my place to judge you, but I won’t be going anywhere else with you. You’re a bit of a coward out for a free ride.”

“Fine,” Dix spat and melted into the crowd.

“Rotten little guy,” boomed Turok. “The rest of you should drop everything off in your rooms or, even better, take it to the auction together. No sense putting it off. Dix could come back with thieves, and there are more of them around here than there is dirt on the street.”

“But they can’t steal anything out of our rooms, can they?” asked Flar in surprise.

“No, but they can jump you when you’re carrying everything to the auction by yourselves. They’ll run a Warsaw on you and be done with it.”

“Run a Warsaw?” It was Milly Re’s turn to be surprised. “What does Warsaw have to do with anything?”

“You amaze me sometimes,” said Turok, flashing his teeth. “You have so much crammed into that head of yours, but you don’t know the simplest things. Running a Warsaw means stealing something, and especially stealing it skillfully.”

“Running a Warsaw actually means to destroy something.” A voice I vaguely recognized called out from the next street over. “You’re talking about getting your pocket picked. I apologize for intruding into your conversation, of course.”

“Really?” Turok wasn’t the least bit offended. “I didn’t know that. Thanks for the correction.”

“No problem. In these parts, you have to be especially careful around the hotels. Most of the thieves hang out in the alleys around them.”

“And who are you?” Milly asked suddenly and sharply. There was no answer. She glanced down the street the voice had been coming from and threw up her arms.

“Empty!”

That didn't surprise me, as I'd figured out who the voice belonged to. He was letting me know that he was there and wanted to talk to me without anyone else around.

“Well, it’s true,” I said carelessly. “But I’m too tired to go to the auction, so I’ll head over there tomorrow or the next day. Thanks, everyone, it’s been fun.”

“Thank you,” boomed Nox. “We didn’t do too badly ourselves. Plus, that was a blast!”

We said goodbye, and I walked off toward the caravanserai. Right before I got there, however, I ducked into a side street, where I immediately saw a familiar hooded figure. What struck me immediately was that there was no name above his head.

“How did you get rid of your username?” I asked in surprise, forgetting to even say hello.

“Hi. It just happened,” Wanderer answered evasively. “So, you’re doing everything with the Hounds now? Careful, if you give them an inch, they’ll take a mile.”

“No, we were just clearing a dungeon together,” I said.

“There’s no ‘just’ with them.” He obviously knew something I didn’t. “Anyway, that’s your business. I have a couple questions for you.”

“Ask away.” I didn’t mind. “Though I’ll tell you right now that I don’t know much. I try to keep my hands clean.”

“Did you tell anyone about me? About what you gave me?” The hood approached my face. “Be honest.”

I wasn’t a fan of how aggressive and demanding Wanderer was being. There wasn’t anything I owed him. If anything, the opposite was true.

“Slow down there. Who do you think you are?”

“I’m not pushing you.” The hood receded a step or two. “Sure, we barely know each other, and you’re welcome to tell me to go screw myself, but I need to know who you told what.”

I thought to myself and figured I hadn’t promised Zimin or Valyaev that I wouldn’t say anything, and I hadn’t signed any non-disclosure agreements. On the other hand, they signed my paychecks.

Wanderer assumed he understood what my silence meant, and, interestingly, he was exactly right.

“Let’s do this: if you don’t want to say anything, you can at least nod. Does that work?” He paused for a few seconds. “Tell me this: were the people you told about the landlord’s crown from the game admin?”

I nodded, very aware that that nod could cost me. Although…maybe it won’t. If I’m smart about it.

Wanderer breathed a sigh of relief. The question had apparently been bothering him.

“What’s going on with you?” I asked.

“If I tell you, I’ll have to kill you,” he said, drily cracking a joke. Or was he joking?

“Then don’t tell me. What’s your second question?”

“Where are you going next?”

“What do you care?” I grunted. “Sorry if that sounds rude.”

“You’re lucky.” Wanderer wasn’t offended in the least. “Maybe you’ll find me something else?”

“I’m not your personal gofer.” He was a smart one. Clever, too.

“I know, I know, I’m kidding. I’m just wondering.”

“I’ll be here in the East for a while,” I said honestly. “Then I’ll probably go north.”

“The long way or through the mountains?” the hood asked.

“Probably through the mountains,” I answered, my voice betraying my indecision. “Going around is too long. Probably.”

“Well, going around from the western side takes about a month, if not more.” Wanderer again seemed to be speaking from experience.

“What about through the mountains?” I was happy to get another opinion. Valent had already told me, but there was no harm hearing what someone else had to say.

“Again, that depends. If you take the pass, it’s about five days. If you go underneath the mountains through the old mines, it’ll take you just a couple days.” Wanderer paused. “But it’s bad down there. Life is tough enough in the pass, but in the mines… It’s dangerous, to say the least.”

“Like Moria,” I said, not exactly believing him.

“No, not really. We two-legged walkers—or at least the sane ones—do our best to get out of there as fast as possible.”

It appeared Wanderer had already been down there, and maybe more than once.

“Well, I’ll get to Kroytsen and see from there. Do you need anything else? I’m dead tired.”

“That’s it.”

Wanderer looked at me, shrugged, as if answering some kind of internal question, and held out an amulet that looked like an icicle or even a crystal finger.

“What am I supposed to do with that?” I asked, in no hurry to touch it.

“If you get into trouble when you’re going through the mountains, break it,” said Wanderer, all business. “Just make sure you wait until things are at their worst.”

“What will happen?” I reached out and took the glass figurine.

“Help will arrive. But if you have people there with you to see what happens, be sure you look even more surprised than they are,” Wanderer said in a tone that let me know he was dead serious.

“I imagine I shouldn’t tell anyone I got this?”

“Exactly. Okay, I’ll see you.”

“Hold on.” I wanted to ask him a question that had been bugging me from the very beginning of our conversation. “How did you find me?”

“I had help,” answered Wanderer simply.

“Who helped you?”

“I would tell you, but you’re better off not knowing. You’re safer that way, though you do have one question I promised to answer. If that’s it—”

“No, it isn’t,” I said quickly. “If you don’t want to tell me, that’s fine. The less you know, the better you sleep.”

“Quite. Okay, I’m off. Cities aren’t safe for me.”

A portal flashed, and I was left alone in the alley.

“Quite the life,” I said, turning the glass figure over in my hands. “If it isn’t one thing, it’s another.”

I was interested to see that there was nothing to identify the figurine. It was just…it.

In the hotel, I got a key from the mute receptionist, marveled once again at how inhumane the game’s creators were, and walked up the stairs to my room on the third floor.

Armor clanged above me, and I had a flash of déjà vu. There, just like the first time, was Sophius, my friend the knight.

“Hello there, lord knight.” I half-bowed.

“And hello to you, too, Sir Hagen. How’s life in Selgar?”

“Not bad. A quest here, a monster there. I picked up a few levels.”

“Good old hard work,” he said, congratulating me. “I’m leaving Selgar tomorrow, though, so I’ll see you.”

“Wait, really? Where are you going?”

“To Al-Arda,” the knight answered kindly.

“Where is that?”

“Al-Arda? It’s on the eastern coast. The second-largest city in the East. They say there’s a new line of class quests there.”

“Nice,” I said, happy for him. “You’re going by yourself?”

“No, this isn’t the West. It’s the East—you can’t make it a day on your own out here. There are about twenty of us caravanning out that way.”

“Could I see where you’re going?” I asked. “Unless it’s a secret, of course.”

“Certainly,” Sophius answered genially.

I looked at the map he showed me, and my eyes widened. The caravan would be going right by the oasis I needed to get to.

“Oh wow, I wish I could go with you.”

“You’re more than welcome,” the knight said, which surprised me. “If you have a horse, of course. Though, I guess, if you don’t have one, you can ride in the cart.”

“I can’t tomorrow or even the day after.” I clapped in frustration. “Such a shame!”

“Sure is,” agreed Sophius.

“Hey,” I asked, “will you be going by the Fattah Oasis?”

Sophius looked at the map. “Yes, we won’t be far at all.”

“You’ll probably get there around Friday morning, right?”

“Something like that, yes,” said Sophius after another glance at the map. “We’ll be making stops along the way, otherwise we could just port to Al-Arda. If we can find dungeons and other adventures along the way, we’ll give them a try. We’re itinerant knights, after all.”

“Good for you. Okay, then I’ll join the convoy on Friday.”

“Great. When we stop for the night on Thursday, I’ll send you a message. I’ll let you know if we get held up or go a different way, too, of course.”

“Thanks,” I said with complete sincerity. “I didn’t expect you to be so accommodating.”

“There are all different types of people in the game,” the knight mused philosophically. “We aren’t all just in it for ourselves.”

He clanged off down the stairs, leaving me to head up in the opposite direction. I thought to myself how easy it was to do things with knights. They were frank, and most of them were just good people.

I walked into my room, assigned my attribute points, and sat down to think about my abilities. Serpent’s Tooth was a great one, but I had to forget one of my other skills if I wanted to use it. In the end, I settled on the one I used least of all: Strength of Fire.

Strength of Fire was removed from your active abilities.

You can learn it again for free from any of the warrior instructors as needed.

Then I sorted through the ten or so items I’d collected. Some, I decided to sell, and set off to the side, while the others, I dropped into my chest as a reserve in case I was killed later. I couldn’t spend my whole life in the game waltzing around in Willie’s exotic rags. It was no longer the place, and I’d grown out of them. I dropped the sword Reineke gave me in there, as well. He and I shared a reticence to part with weapons that had served us well. I stared at Lichtenshtain’s shield for a while, but I couldn’t bring myself to risk using it. I wouldn’t have been able to forgive myself if I lost it.

Once all that was done, I logged out of the game with a conscience clear after a long and interesting day—not to mention, a very successful one.

The next morning, I left for the office. Vika hadn’t stayed the night, having told me that she hadn’t seen her sister in three days. I suspected that the real reason was that she was in no hurry to announce our relationship to the rest of the office. Good call. Someone was obviously keeping Raidion informed, though I didn’t yet know who.

We worked hard sorting through the information Diana sent us. And, just as the brothers had promised, by 1 p.m. the Raidion security officer arrived. He was a good-looking guy at first glance, aged maybe 50, and he had an incredibly compassionate face bathed in a saintly expression and ruddy whiskers. In fact, he was so sickly sweet that, if I’d had a pistol with me, I’d have had it cocked and loaded. He even had the perfectly odd last name of Figlich.

The next hour and a half were spent getting badgered with all kinds of questions about my family, life, and viewpoints. I did my best to answer in monosyllables, realizing that anything I said could be misinterpreted or twisted and used against me by the slippery customer across from me. Of course, I had the twin granite towers of Zimin and Valyaev standing between him and me, but still…

I signed reams of papers—non-disclosures, conservation notices, non-competes—until finally, he left and I could wash my hands. The nagas in the cave weren’t nearly as revolting as that cloying gentleman.

At the end of the day, after we’d already finished laying out that week’s issue, I called Zimin and told him about Figlich’s visit. Before we hung up, I had one more thing to say, “I saw Wanderer, by the way.”

“Really? The one who got the crown from you?” asked Zimin with surprise. “In Selgar?”

“Yup.”

“What was he doing there?”

“I’m not sure,” I said, somewhat at a loss for words. “He just said he was happy to see me and wanted to talk. We chatted about a few things.”

“Like what?”

“He told me how to get to the North,” I said, only barely lying.

“You think you’ll be sent north later?” asked Zimin slyly. “Why not south?”

“No, it’ll be north,” I said confidently. “Simple logic.”

Zimin laughed, which put me at ease. I had no desire to screw over Wanderer, but I was positive Zimin was already aware of our meeting. And, if that was true, there was no point not scoring a few points with the guys upstairs.

“Anything else?” he asked.

“That was pretty much it,” I answered, sniffing. “He said I should go through the pass—it’s longer, but it’s safer there.

“He’s right,” said Zimin after a pause. “The mines are a nasty place.”

“Like Snakeville?” I couldn’t help but ask, and I couldn’t help the accusatory tone that crept into my voice either.

“Who said you had to go there?” noted Zimin reasonably. “Everyone said not to, but no, you’re too stubborn for that!”

“I know; it’s my fault.”

“Quite.” Zimin, satisfied, changed the subject. “How’s the second issue coming?”

“Already laid out, so it’ll be ready.”

We chatted for a little while longer until, just as I was ready to hang up, Zimin surprised me. “I’m really glad you called me, Kif. On Thursday, we’re going to have something important for you, so stop by Raidion tomorrow at around 11, and tell the girls at reception that you’re there to see me. Oh, and bring your passport with you. Will you be driving?”

“No, I’ll take the metro. My car bit the dust a while ago, before I joined the army. It’s just me and my two legs now.”

“You haven’t bought a new one?” Zimin was taken aback.

“Oh, there’s always something.” I wasn’t about to lie. “It’s usually that I don’t have the money.”

“Okay, I’ll send a car to pick you up from home.”

“No, don’t worry about it; I’m fine with the metro.” I even felt a little awkward. “Plus, I’ll be coming from the office.”

“Stop it. I said I’ll send a car, so that’s what’s going to happen.” Zimin finished the conversation abruptly and hung up.

And, send a car he did. When Vika found out where I was going and who I’d be seeing there, she looked at me for a second in shock before diving into my closet to find a suit I’d forgotten I had. I’d only worn it three times: twice to weddings and once to a funeral. She ironed it and made me wear a tie.

My staff looked at me askance when I walked in wearing a suit, and they weren’t the only ones. The rat met me in the hallway, her expression changed, and she mumbled, “Good afternoon, Nikifor…um…Nikifor…” She couldn’t remember the rest of my name and jumped into the nearest office.

Our security guard also had a chance to ponder my newfound status when a VW Phaeton arrived for me. To be honest, I was just as impressed as he was.

I wouldn’t say that I was really nervous, though there was something like that. I was, after all, on my way to Raidion, the Holy of Holies for the Russian gaming industry. Five years before that point, there had been a dozen companies developing their own online games at a pretty high level. Then Raidion appeared on the market, launched a few AAA freemium games that included much more than the usual farming and “kill 20 monsters” quests. Their games were excellent, they had a great feel to them, and their graphics and plot were top notch. Raidion even hit the fine balance between players who spent money and those who didn’t, ensuring that the latter never felt seriously disadvantaged.

Soon, they had sucked up the lion’s share of the gaming community and were ready to launch their baby: Fayroll, a game with complete immersion, incredibly innovative technology, a steep price tag, and on and on. The result was a near-complete monopoly of the online gaming market. And, I didn’t doubt that it would have been a complete monopoly if the antimonopoly committee had permitted it. Instead, a few indie games fizzed and popped without ever quite dying out. There was strong suspicion that Raidion itself was the only thing keeping them afloat.

Raidion’s offices were housed in an enormous skyscraper in Chertanovo.[14] Everything was as you’d expect: black glass, shiny metal. Everything inside was up to snuff as well, with five gorgeous, uniformed women sitting at the reception desk to greet me when I walked in. Their wispy waists and the coquettish scarves on their swan-like necks were a far cry from the lone girl playing on her phone other companies had to settle for.

One of them smiled at me. “Good afternoon, my name is Svetlana. How can I help you? Are you here to see someone?”

“My last name is Nikiforov,” I said, doing my best not to stare at the girl’s chest, which was front and center. “I’m here to see Max Zimin, he said he’d be expecting me.”

When they heard the last name “Zimin” coupled with the familiar “Max,” all five of the girls stared at me with smiles plastered on their faces. I found a couple of those smiles rather intriguing. Svetlana clicked away with her mouse.

“Maxim Zimin is expecting you. Follow me to the elevator, please.” She stepped out from behind the desk and tapped away down the marble hall in her high heels.

“Anytime,” I mumbled to myself as I set off behind her.

She pressed the button for the 28th floor, just a couple down from the uppermost 30th. When we arrived, the elevator opened and we nearly walked right into Valyaev, who was stepping into it.

“Oh, Kif, hi.” He reached out his hand, and I quickly shook it. “How are things? Going to see Max?”

“Yup. Do you know what he wants to see me about?” I decided to just behave as I normally as possible. It’s good to be flexible, but usually, it’s best to just be yourself. I also noticed that the friendly manner with which Valyaev and I were talking had made a strong impression on the girl from the front desk. She was standing there trying to figure out who I was, even as I was thinking about something similar, if different: who were Valyaev and Zimin? I’d checked the internet but couldn’t find anything besides official press releases.

“Nothing to worry about. He has something small for you to do, though it’s pretty important,” Valyaev answered.

“Okay, I have things to do up to here, so I’m off.” He gestured with his chin, shook my hand, and pressed the elevator button.

“Follow me.” The girl retook control and walked me to a pair of oak doors featuring Zimin’s name.

“This way.” She opened the doors, and I was just about to suggest knocking when I saw that we were in an enormous waiting room. A huge desk was stuck smack dab in the middle of it for some reason, and a drop-dead gorgeous woman I thought might be around thirty was sitting behind it working at a computer.

“Eliza, good afternoon,” said Svetlana softly from behind my back. “A visitor for Maxim Zimin.”

“Name?” the beauty asked coldly.

“Nikiforov, Harriton,” I reported.

“What time is your meeting?”

“I’m not sure. He asked me to stop by around eleven and sent a car for me.” I sucked in my stomach and pulled my eyes back in from orbit.

“I see.” Eliza’s voice came alive as she smiled at me. “The newspaper editor, right?”

“Yes.” I nodded. “From the Fayroll Times.”

“Ah-ha!” I heard the girl from reception breathe a sigh of relief. She had indeed been trying to figure out who I was.

“You can go in. He said to send you in as soon as you got here,” Eliza said, pointing to the door.

I walked over and was suitably impressed by the door itself. It was wooden, though I’d never seen such an incredibly rich brown color, such gorgeous patterned inserts, or such flawless workmanship. I knocked and went in.

In contrast to my expectations, the office wasn’t that big. It was smaller even than the waiting room. On the other hand, it had a floor-to-ceiling window that looked out on Moscow’s industrial sector.

“Kif, my man, good to see you.” Zimin got up from the desk he was writing at, walked over, and shook my hand. “I’ve been expecting you; there’s something I need you to do.”

“Just say the word,” I said obediently.

“Excellent.” He patted me on the shoulder. “It’s nothing too difficult.”

“I’m all ears.” I put a look of complete concentration on my face and prepared to listen.

From the second edition of the Fayroll Times:

From the editor.

…and the kids’ brains are turning to mush from all these games. At its core, that’s a misguided notion. Your brain can turn to mush from a monotonous job, from a lack of knowledge, or from your own laziness. Games demand extreme concentration, they tax your mental abilities, and they force you to communicate with other players. That’s not what turns brains to mush.

Classes: which one is right for you?

Mages, Part 2.

There aren’t any dark mages in the game. Or, to be more precise, players don’t have access to that class or any others like it. The only death knights and witchers you’ll meet are non-player characters. Sure, many players would like to try their hand at the dark side, but at this point, they can only play characters on the light side. The only option is to go with a class in between the dark and light sides like a shaman or druid.

History and Creation of the World:

Elves and dwarves fought for long ages in an effort to determine which of them would be the favorites of the gods. That was good enough for the gods, as the feud between the two powerful races led to more prayers being offered up.

Big Happenings in the World:

…tried a ruse. Using the Curtains of Invisibility spell, the Hounds of Death rolled three siege towers right up to the walls of the Wild Hearts’ castle, which resulted in its collapse.

Excerpts from the Fayroll Chronicle:

The Dreamweavers announced that they were raising the level required for players to join their clan. The threshold had been Level 25, and now volunteers must be at Level 30 or higher. Clan leadership attributed the move to the fact that it is climbing the leaderboard.

A standoff between Gunther von Richter, an NPC, and a player named Svarozhich ended in a duel. The conflict centered on Krolina, a player von Richter claimed was the “queen of love and beauty.” The two crossed swords in pursuit of the truth. The duel lasted around 15 minutes without a winner being declared, at which point the player put down his sword. “Forget this. I don’t even know her, so she’s welcome to the title. Let’s go have some beer.” Having reconciled their differences, the duelists drank nearly all the beer at the local tavern before tearing the place apart in wild carousing.

Bottomless Stomach, a drinking competition put on as usual by the Beerdrinkers, was won for the third time in a row by Wild Willie from the Messengers clan. The winner drank a three-gallon cask of beer in one sitting, after which he stood up and even did a little dance.

As we mentioned in our last issue, yet another flotilla set sail for the shores of Rivenholm. Sadly, it found its way only to the bottom of the sea. On the fourth day out of the harbor, they were attacked by a pirate armada under the command of the infamous Admiral Van Dreek. The pirates outmaneuvered the flotilla and separated the players’ ships before sinking them one by one. Still, Rivenholm awaits, and we are sure that fleets will one day fight through storms and danger to arrive on its shores.

Chapter Twenty

In which the hero, he thinks, finally closes in on his goal.

“So I don’t need you to do anything that complicated, though it’s really important.” Zimin gestured toward a chair in the corner of the office and sat down in another right next to it. “Want a drink, by the way? As a not-very-realistic character once said in a book, ‘What sort of wine do you like at this time of day?’”

“No, thanks,” I said. “I don’t drink this early. I’m not a big fan in general either, to be honest.”

“Maybe tea or coffee?” Zimin was the picture of courtesy.

“Thanks, I’m fine. Really. You have me on the edge of my seat, though, so what do you need me to do?”

“Here it is.” Zimin crossed his legs. “This evening around nine you need to head over to Ibrahim’s dukhan in Selgar. You can’t miss it.”

“The one next to the auction, right?”

“Look at you! Well done. Exactly. Sit down, order something, and wait.”

“For what?”

“Not for what; for whom,” Zimin said pointedly. “There’s a 50/50 chance a player will stop by and try to get to know you. Your job is to introduce yourself to him, have a few drinks…”

“Drinks?” I’ve seen quite a few things in this life, but that was the first time I’d ever had an employer telling me to get drunk, even if it was in a game.

“That’s probably the only way,” said Zimin with a smile. “And, he’s the kind of guy you just can’t refuse. Anyway, when he has you nice and buzzed, he’ll probably start asking you questions about the quest the dryad gave you.”

I looked at him, startled. “But nobody knows about that…?”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Zimin said. “You know, I know, and Kit knows. And what two or even three people know—”

“I haven’t told anyone!” I did my best to clear my name, especially given the fact that it was the truth.

“I don’t doubt it,” Zimin said gently. “It just looks like we have a leak, and Nikita and I are trying to figure out where it is. We’re pretty nervous about it.”

I calmed down when I realized I was just the bait for the trap. That I was perfectly fine with, and I couldn’t care less about whoever they caught. That’s what they get for being a rat. I couldn’t imagine they’d actually kill him; they’d probably just beat him up a bit and maybe try to get something out of him.

“So why don’t you have security take care of it?” I asked.

Zimin grinned. “They’re fine when it comes to having a chat with someone or more physical confrontations, but they’re out of their depth in the game. Here, we need someone who understands the realities of the gaming world. Once we have the information from you, we’ll cut loose the dogs. So, are you all set?”

“All set,” I replied lightly. “Though, I do have two questions.”

“Well done,” Zimin said, praising me once again. “My guys would just run off to go get the job done, but it’s important to take the time to think about it, ask questions, and put together a strategy. Go ahead, ask away.”

“There’s a little problem,” I started awkwardly. “I’m a bit of a lightweight in the game, so I’m afraid I’ll get drunk and accidentally ruin everything.”

“Understood,” Zimin said without a shadow of a smile. “That could be a problem. When you log into the game, you’ll find a beaker full of red liquid in your bag. Drink it, and you’ll be fine.”

“What will that do?” I asked, making sure I was covering all my bases.

“You’ll be able to drink him under the table. Once you have the elixir in you, you’ll be fine. And your second question?”

“And the system won’t consider the potion outside assistance?”

“Why would it? This has nothing to do with your main quest; it and the potion are completely different. Was that your second question?”

“No, that was just a follow-up question. My second question is different: what am I supposed to tell the player that finds me?”

“Very good question. Excellent. The key, in fact.”

Zimin got up, walked over to the wall across from the window, and pressed a button. The wall split down the middle and separated. It turned out to be less wall and more shutters designed to look like a wall. Behind the shutters, was an enormous map of what looked to be all of Fayroll.

“Here, look. What are you sitting there for? Come over here.” Zimin gestured me over.

I walked over and froze in my tracks. The map was incredible; not only was it huge, but it also looked like it was interactive. I bent to look closer at the area around Kroytsen and saw a structure nearby called the Three Kings Bridge. It was almost as if I could see people walking across it.

“Focus!” Zimin tugged on my sleeve.

“This is incredible. I’ve never seen anything like it!” There was no hiding my enthusiasm.

Zimin nodded. “And you won’t see anything like it again. There are only three of these maps: one each for me, Valyaev, and our boss. Anyway, you can say you found the dryad here in a cave that recently opened up.” Zimin jabbed a finger at a place on the map with a cave named Mayrog. It wasn’t far from Fladridge, right in the Dark and Scary Forest the nasty old woman asked me to carry her firewood to.

“I found her and?” I awaited the next part of my instructions, my gaze fixed on the map.

“You helped heal her since she was badly wounded, and she thanked you by saying that you could do a series of quests to unlock a secret quest possibly related to the gods. Go ahead and describe her, and make it accurate. He can probably imagine what a dryad looks like. Just make sure you describe how she looked at the beginning, back when she was nasty looking.”

“And?”

“Fall asleep from the beer and wait until he leaves. And that’s it; you’re done. Just don’t forget to call me afterward and let me know how it went.”

“Whenever? Or the next morning?” I had no way of knowing what Zimin’s schedule was. Maybe he goes to bed at 9 p.m.

“Any time; I go to bed late,” he said quickly, dispelling my theories. “This is really important.”

“All right, consider it done.”

“Good luck! Oh, and by the way,” Zimin said with a smile, “the paper’s second edition was great. I thoroughly enjoyed reading it, and even the boss apparently liked it. And, the Old Man can be picky with things like that.”

“We do our best,” I said modestly. Why did he call the boss the “Old Man”? Although, we call ours Mammoth, so…

“I can tell. And about your girl, the good one you have.” Zimin patted me on the shoulder. “Oh, I know you’re dating, you can’t hide that from me. But don’t worry about it, I don’t really care about that stuff so long as it’s consensual. But did you officially make her your deputy?”

“Yep,” I said. “And, they gave her a raise.”

“Excellent. We’ll have to give her a little something, too. People are everything.”

Zimin walked me to the door and called over to Eliza. “Please make sure Mr. Harriton is taken wherever he wants to go.”

He shook my hand and walked off.

I’d already noticed that everything at Raidion happened quickly, and that time was no exception. Fifteen minutes later, I was in the same Volkswagen on my way home, as I had decided against going back to the office. The appraising and ingratiating glances of the girls at the reception desk had given me a nice warm feeling, and I was beginning to see the charm and appeal of cozying up to the elite of the world.

Once home, I took a nap, called Vika to give her the good news of her additional if hypothetical pay raise, and told her that, if she stopped by that day, I would probably be in the game. I was happy to hear a “sounds good, I can wait” rather than the usual “you’ve got to be kidding me with your games.”

I hung up the phone and wistfully realized that the little honeymoon period I was enjoying would soon be coming to a close. As soon as women get the tiniest beachhead of power over men, they begin waging a perfidious war of conquest for the men’s freedom and time. Freedom, women think, is not something men should have, as it gives them too much leash for superfluous thought and action. And, time should be dedicated to them—the women. So, you have to enjoy it whenever you are in that beautiful part of the relationship where the woman is still on her best behavior and content with at least a semblance of democracy and gender equality. It doesn’t last forever…

That evening, at half-past eight, I was standing next to Ibrahim’s dukhan. I had decided to stop by a bit early just in case. My confidence, I should add, in the success of my operation had been boosted in my room when I guzzled a potion from a vial that had appeared in my bag.

Astute Drinking Companion

This potion lets you drink as much alcohol as you want without getting drunk. However, you will still appear drunk to the person or people you are drinking with.

Minimum level for use: unlimited

Duration: 6 hours

Class: unique, one-time use

I was surprised to see that it was unique. It probably cost quite a bit, especially given that potions, in general, were far from cheap. I also remembered that I still had the potions I’d gotten in Fattah Cave, not to mention that scroll. Leaving the latter for another time, I pulled out the potions, checked the description, smacked my lips, and put them back in the chest.

Health Potion

Restores 2500 health.

Minimum level for use: 60

Duration: instantaneous

Class: usual, one-time use

It was a shame they weren’t for my level. On the other hand, I didn’t have that far to go to Level 60.

The dukhan was just what I assume one would expect from an Eastern eatery of the Middle Ages. Carpets were strewn haphazardly around the room, guests were reclining on them, in the center, a slender woman was performing a belly dance, and a fat man with a shaved head ran trays to and from the people on the carpets. There was also the second floor, though I couldn’t tell what was going on up there. Is that how Eastern cafes actually look? I had no idea, though that’s how they looked in all the movies I’d seen.

As I stood there looking around, a one-eyed man came over. “Hello, sir. Are you here to eat or just to observe?”

“To eat,” I answered, coming out of my trance. “You aren’t Ibrahim, are you? Sayyid, the guard, said that your kebabs are the best in the East.”

Ibrahim broke into a smile that gave his crooked face a look reminiscent of a bandit.

“Ah, Sayyid talks too much, though in this case, he’s right. Go ahead, there’s an open spot over there with a good view of Guldjian.”

“Ibrahim, you know, I’m not really used to lying down while I eat,” I said, gently declining his offer. “You don’t happen to have tables, do you?”

“Of course, we do,” the man said, clapping his hands. “Go up to the second floor. I’ll be up soon to take your order myself.”

The second story was very un-Eastern, which I was happy to see. Trying something exotic is fun, but eating lying down… Not for me.

Ibrahim walked up the stairs, took my order, told me he’d soon be back with everything, and left. I decided to finally check out the scroll as I waited for the food and possibly for my drinking partner.

It looked old, even ancient, and I was afraid to unroll it. I had the feeling it was about to fall apart in my hands. Doing my best to open it carefully, I finally got it to where I could read…nothing. The text was written in some unknown language.

You have a new quest offer: Through the Centuries

Task: Read the old scroll you got in the cave yourself or find someone else who can.

Reward:

500 experience

Other reward: variable

Accept?

Well, wasn’t that Russian of the developers? Go, though I don’t know where; read, though I don’t know what; receive…something. I accepted the quest, though the whole thing was strange.

“Ah, the forgotten scroll,” I heard a voice say.

I looked up and saw a potato-like nose, a beard, and a helmet with horns. Standing in front of me was a dwarf named Stavros—at least, that’s what it said above his head.

“Why ‘forgotten’?” I asked.

“People get it pretty frequently. They spend time trying to figure it out, give up, and forget about it. Nobody’s read it,” explained the dwarf. “Nobody even knows what language it’s written in or what kind of reward it gets you. Do you mind if I sit down?”

“Be my guest.” I hospitably gestured toward a neighboring chair.

The dwarf huffed as he made himself comfortable and then bellowed down the stairs.

“Landlord, beer for me and my friend, right away!”

That confirmed it; he was the player I’d been waiting for.

His plan was simple, as he got to work getting me drunk. He was very relaxed about it, however, as we laughed and joked the whole time. He was a pleasant person to talk and drink with. If I hadn’t known that he needed something from me, I would have enjoyed the chance to get thoroughly smashed with someone like him. But, the potion was hard at work, and my thinking remained crystal-clear even if I began to look more and more drunk from the outside.

“Tell me hic this. Have you seen a player with hidden quests?” An hour later, he asked me the question I’d been waiting for. “Seen him for yourself?”

I looked around, motioned him closer with my finger, and whispered in his ear. “I don’t mind saying this to you, but you can’t tell a soul.”

“Not a word.” The dwarf struck his chest with his fist.

“I’m the player!” I hissed proudly.

“Are you serious?”

I recited the story we’d put together complete with all the details, lacing truths mostly about how the dryad looked in with the lies. Finally, I told him the name of the place I’d been given.

“You’re kidding me!” Stavros scratched his beard. “So it’s real!”

“Yu-u-up, but you don’t t—don’t te—” My head nodded until it was laying on the table and I was snoring as naturally as I could.

The dwarf, judging by what I could hear, downed the rest of his beer, sat there for another minute, dropped a few coins on the table, and left.

I waited ten minutes and looked around. Stavros was nowhere to be found. The money he’d left was more than enough to cover the check, and I was soon on my way back to the caravanserai proud of the job I’d done.

After logging out of the game, I gave my report over the phone and got my hard-earned adulation in return. I was skeptical, but I went to sleep—alone. Vika, it appeared, had gone home. Or somewhere else…

The next morning, I woke up in a great mood. Things were going well both online and in the real world. In fact, they were going so well online that I was scheduled that day to finally get to a place that until recently had seemed almost imaginary. And, there I was—probably. We’ll see.

The first thing I did when I logged into the game was to throw my pile of to-sell items into my pack. I didn’t know where I’d be sent in the near future or if I’d even be in a city with any sort of active trade. You could never tell with those dryads.

I walked out the front door of the caravanserai and heard a familiar ding. It was Sophius letting me know that everything was going according to plan and that their caravan would be going past the eastern side of the Fattah oasis in about two hours. If I didn’t want to miss them, he said, I’d better get started. I also noticed two letters with money from auctioneers who’d apparently sold some of my items.

Having priced my goods a bit lower than the going rate to make sure they sold quickly, I left for the market and bought three portal scrolls from a vendor. One I decided to leave in my chest, while the other two I’d take with me. It was pricey, but there was nothing else for it. I used the first one.

Needless to say, nothing much had changed at the oasis in the few days since I’d last been there. The same palms swayed over the brook, and I caught a glimpse of the low entrance to the cave. I sat down next to a palm tree and scanned the horizon in what I thought was an easterly direction.

The hot breeze coming in from the desert, the rustle of the palm fronds overhead, and the monotonous landscape just about put me to sleep. In fact, I would definitely have fallen asleep if I hadn’t first noticed horsemen appearing just at the edge of my line of sight. It was exactly who I’d been waiting for.

I quickly jumped up and sprinted toward them, getting sand in my shoes as I did. The caravan was moving at a decent pace, though not too quickly—noble knights are never in a hurry. Where would they be hurrying to? Great feats of valor are never rushed.

“Ah, there you are,” said a sweating and breathless Sophius. “Gentlemen, this is my friend Hagen. He’ll be spending some time with us since he can’t very well wander around the desert on his own.”

The knights waved iron-encased hands and saluted with their lances as their horses neighed their greeting. I responded with a half-bow and piled into the wagon that trailed the band. It was much better than the cart I’d been promised thanks to the covering that sheltered me from the sun.

“How far will you be going with us?” asked Sophius, riding over. “You showed me, but please do so again to make sure we don’t get mixed up. What if you fall asleep and miss it?”

I pulled up my map, pointed to the spot, thanked him, yawned, and…nodded off. The only reason I woke up was that somebody was prodding me. It turned out to be a lance wielded by Sophius.

“Get up. Get up, Hagen. Otherwise, you’ll have to walk quite a bit further.”

“What happened?” I asked with a start.

“Nothing, just look over there on the horizon.” Sophius pointed at a spot that was barely visible.

“Yes?” I nodded sleepily.

“That’s your oasis,” he explained. “It’s about two hours’ walk from here. It’s starting to get cooler, so walking won’t be too bad.”

“Thanks so much!” I again bowed to the kind knight.

He nodded his helmeted head in reply.

“And thank you to you all,” I said to the rest of the knights.

They wished me good luck and rode off. As they did, I glanced up at the sky to see that I’d been napping for quite a while. The day was drawing to a close, and I needed to hurry. As I trotted along the sand, I wondered to myself if the dryads all lived off in the middle of nowhere. This was already the second one I was wearing my feet down to the nub to find…

It was almost dark by the time I got to the oasis. Long shadows crept across the sand, and there was a faint chill in the air. I walked under the canopy of palms and looked around. The copse the poor soul of the West lived in wasn’t much, of course, but it had a certain flair. This dryad, on the other hand, was roughing it. The oasis was a forsaken hole that could barely claim the title—it had ten decrepit palms and one larger one around a mere trickle of water.

“Hello? Ogina the East! I’m supposed to bring greetings from your sister, the one in the West, and help you!” I shouted, figuring that the dryad probably didn’t venture out to see people herself. Her looks and way of life probably weren’t much better than her sister’s.

Something rustled under the roots of the big palm tree, and out popped a small, bent figure wrapped in a rag. I felt nothing but pity.

“You poor thing,” I said, shaking my head. “Your sister even looked better than you.”

“Eiliana?” croaked Ogina’s barely audible voice.

“The very one.” I nodded. “She looks great now—as good as new!”

“I know, I can feel it,” the miserable creature mumbled. “You’re the one who helped her?”

“Yes.” There was no contradicting the obvious. “And, I’m here to help you, too.”

You completed a hidden quest: Find Ogina the West.

Reward:

7500 experience

Piece of dryad armor: High Grass Boots

Ability: Wolf Soul

“You’re finally here,” whispered the dryad. “I made it.”

“Did you think you wouldn’t? You’re immortal, aren’t you?” I was taken aback.

“Time. Time doesn’t just erode the body; it burdens the soul. And, when your soul isn’t complete as it is, that’s a terrible burden to bear,” moaned Ogina.

“It isn’t complete? What do you mean?”

“When the Goddess left and sent us forth to walk the path of suffering we’re still treading to this day, each of us lost something. Eilina was given death, and I… The part of my soul that feels hope was taken and given to Mandiblefighter. Ever since then, I’ve felt pain, sadness, and death, but not happiness. Happiness is hope, and I have no hope. It’s a terrible life.”

“Yes, your Goddess sure enjoys her little games,” I grumbled ironically. “How could you do something like that to people?”

“Such is our fate,” said Ogina, bursting into plaintive tears.

“It’s okay,” I said, trying to calm her down. “I’m here now. I’ll save you all. Just tell me what to do so we can get to the explosion in the sky, and you turn into a beauty like your sister.”

The dryad stopped crying and rubbed her tears away from her wrinkled eyes with her two fists. “You have to return my soul. The part Mandiblefighter has,” she said dubiously.

“And who is Mandiblefighter?” Getting information from this dryad was like pulling teeth.

“A spider. He’s big and scary.” Ogina threw her arms apart to show exactly how big and scary the spider was, though the effect was underwhelming thanks to how short she was.

“That’s it? I just have to kill a spider? Great!”

“So you’ll do it?” The dryad’s voice was fading.

“Of course!” I winked dashingly at her.

You unlocked Soul of the Dryad.

This is the second of the Children of the Goddess series of hidden quests.

Task: Retrieve the part of Ogina the East’s soul kept by Mandiblefighter.

Additional task: Kill Mandiblefighter.

Reward:

10000 experience

Item matching your class: variable (at least elite)

Random boost to one of your attributes

Ability to unlock the third quest in the Children of the Goddess series

That was a suspiciously long list of rewards for just killing a spider. I didn’t have much choice, however, and I figured I could pick up a few more people in Selgar if I had to.

“Thanks, hero,” the dryad said, again bursting into tears. “I’ll be waiting for you. I can’t hope, but I’ll be waiting.”

“Waiting is better than nothing,” I said before moving back to the business side of things. “Where can I find this spider?”

“On the edge of the desert next to Makh-Talag, an abandoned city. You won’t have to look for him, though; just blow into this whistle when you get to the city.”

The dryad dug around in her rags and held out a small silver whistle.

“Be careful, warrior, he’s very strong. You won’t be able to kill him by yourself.”

“Got it. Want an apple?”

She nodded. I handed her an apple that had probably been bouncing around in my bag since Fladridge.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be back soon!” I ported to Selgar and headed toward the already-familiar caravanserai.

Once there, I looked over what I’d gotten from the dryad and yet again swore. What is she asking me to do?

High Grass Boots

Made by elven blacksmiths at the order of the Great Dryad Natalina.

From the Dryad Armor set

Set includes:

Crown of Leaves

Autumn Evening Breastplate

Sunlight Gauntlets

Deep Water Greaves

High Grass Boots

Morning Light Signet Ring

Hot Noon Amulet

Protection: 220

+34 to wisdom

+25 to intellect

+26% ability to parry

+12% light damage

+18% mana restoration speed when calm

+12% friendship with animals

Durability: 1220/1220

Minimum level for use: 60

Class limitation: only mages, druids

Cannot be stolen, lost, or broken

Does not disappear from the holder’s inventory after dying

Using the entire set offers the following bonuses:

3 random abilities for mages or druids

+40% chance of doing damage with the power of nature

+25% chance of unexpected aid arriving from the Fayroll animal world

I had the feeling the dryads were laughing at me with their rewards. First, there was the sword I could neither use nor sell. Though, at least, I’d be able to use it eventually… Here, my case was hopeless, and, again, I couldn’t sell it. If armor appeared at the auction that nobody had ever heard of before, it would be a race to see which of the clans’ security officers would hunt me down first. And, of course, Gerv and Elina would kill me…

At least the ability was something I could use. Well, to be fair, it was fantastic: I could summon a wolf. It wasn’t a pet I had to exercise and take care of; it was a fighting beast that appeared for a short time and a specific reason.

Active ability: Wolf Soul. Lets you summon a wild animal that will fight on your side for one minute.

The wolf’s strength and health amount to 15% of your own.

Activation cost: 70 mana

Recharge time: 90 seconds

Note: the wolf’s strength and health will grow as yours does, though the cost of summoning it may increase at higher levels.

It was a great ability, but it also forced me to pick which one of mine I wanted to forget. In Passing or Serpent’s Tooth? I left Fayroll still puzzling that over in my head.

When I left the game, I followed my nose to find that Vika was working her magic in the kitchen. Suddenly, a thought crossed my mind, Should I marry her? I shook my head to clear it of nonsense like that and visited the Fayroll site. Okay, let’s see what kind of little spider I’m supposed to squish. Wait a second…that’s not little at all!

I realized why the reward for killing it was so impressive. Although, compared to the spider, it was more underwhelming than impressive…

Chapter Twenty-One

In which we find that mutual benefit is always a good thing.

Long story short, that Mandiblefighter was no “little spider.” He could barely be called a “big spider.” Instead, he was a furry mountain with a Teutonic cross on his back, enormous mandibles, and all the rest. He was one of the few epic monsters there were in Fayroll, the kind a clan could take out and boast about for years to come. However, nobody had seen him over the past year and a half or two years. When the developers added the quest to the game, they pulled him back into reserve to make sure he was there as a surprise for anyone doing the quest. Color me surprised.

I sat and watched a clip recorded when the beast still roamed the East. The entire Flagmen clan was trying to take out Mandiblefighter, though they were having a hard time of it. The creature spat poison, lashed out with his legs or whatever they’re called, and occasionally dove into the sand only to pop out of it somewhere else to send ridiculous debuffs at its assailants. The battle ended with the clan winning, though I’d say only about 20% of them made it to the finish line. They had started with about 400 decent players. What was I saying about finding people in Selgar? Yeah, right…

The situation was bad, and that was putting it lightly. Sure, I could theoretically put together a pickup group—but only theoretically. In practice, there was no point, as epic monsters like that can only be taken down by a well-trained force commanded by a knowledgeable leader and excellent coordinator. There’s no point in even discussing trophies; the slaughter would be over well before it came time to distribute them. One more problem was that I had to survive. But, the most important issue was that I wasn’t at liberty to say how I’d been able to find the arachnid, and I’d have to—maybe not at first, but eventually.

That last thing was the reason why I couldn’t ask my clan for help, only there, it was even worse. I’d have to explain why I hadn’t let my clan know about the whole series back at the beginning. Then Zimin would be all over me for telling my clan about the quest, which he told me I wasn’t allowed to do. There was no point involving the Hounds. I had no idea who would pose a bigger threat to me if I did: Elina or the Gray Witch. Elina would take out all her emotions on me, but the Gray Witch…who knows?

So, there I was with a hidden quest and an epic monster—the dream of any normal player—not to mention a goal that I could just about reach out and touch.

“Oh, wow, who’s that scary guy?” I felt Vika’s breath on my ear and realized she was standing behind me.

“Him?” I shrugged. “A monster that’s about as unnatural as it gets."

“What a weird name. Although, I guess it works for a spider that big,” said Vika in surprise as she studied the picture carefully.

“It is what it is.”

“Where does it live?” Vika bent over and tried to read the text on the screen.

“In the past.” I pointed to the date of the clip. “I’m collecting material for an article I might write about elite monsters.”

“Oh, can I write it?” she jumped in. “The other three are always tapping away at the two columns they each have, and all I ever do is dig through messages. I don’t get any practice."

“Be my guest,” I said. “Although, you’re already in a much better position than they are.”

“How is that? Just be careful talking about positions—don’t jinx anything,” Vika answered, arms akimbo.

“Yeah, just what I need.”

Vika smiled slyly, and I decided to change the subject away from that minefield.

“Let’s count. You’re my assistant, that’s number one.” I bent over my first finger.

“I’m sleeping with you, that’s two.” Vika bent over my second finger, playing along.

“True,” I said. “Zimin knows who you are, that’s three.”

“That should really be number one.”

“You’re talented and beautiful, and you write well, that’s four,” I said in conclusion. “Oh, and you’re a great cook.”

“That doesn’t have anything to do with it. And, how do you know I write well if you haven’t read anything I’ve written?” asked Vika with a toss of her head.

“The fact that you’re a good cook is more important than anything.” I disagreed with her on that point. “When I’m full, I’m happy. And, life is easier for everyone when I’m happy. About your writing, I’ve heard the advice you give the other three—it’s on the money, succinct, and clear. That means you know how to pick out what’s most important and portray it in a winning light. What else do you need to prove your talent? You’re the best!”

Vika wasn’t about to argue with that, so she sent me off to wash my hands before eating. And oh, how we ate.

The next morning I woke up bright-eyed and bushy-tailed with a solution to my problem. My plan was tricky and riddled with “ifs,” but it was worth a shot. There wasn’t an alternative…that I could see, anyway.

“What are we doing today?” asked Vika, stretching lithely like a cat.

“I have some things to do in Fayroll, but nothing too pressing. I gather you have a suggestion?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” she answered, scrunching up her nose.

“Oh, I don’t know” is a magical and mighty phrase. Women who use it understand perfectly well that, at that moment, a thousand different possibilities chase each other through their man’s head: from “figure out how to amuse me” to “sweetie, I’m pregnant.” What they’re actually thinking, well, only they know that. And, in some cases, even they’re in the dark.

Experienced men, however, know how to head their women off at the pass. “Okay, then I’m going to go have a smoke while you figure out what you want. It might be a good idea to buy a robe for you to have here, maybe some slippers, a toothbrush… Anyway, you’ll figure it out.”

Off I went to smoke. The magic words “good idea to buy” had been planted, and Vika’s mind was working away in the right direction. Sure, shopping with women is always tough, but shopping with a woman you’ve just started living with isn’t that bad. She hasn’t cut loose her predatory side yet and still enjoys the little things—a trip to the mall, for instance. That isn’t too terrible, and it doesn’t even take that long. I didn’t expect that it would be more than three or four hours. In comparison to Saturdays with the missing (thank heavens) El and our seven- or eight-hour shopping marathons, that was nothing. Most important was to make sure that Vika didn’t try to talk about our feelings. I had to make sure there wasn’t anything like, “So, if we’re buying things for me to have here, does that mean that we’re…blah, blah, blah.”

“Think of anything?” I asked when I got back.

“Yep!” She nodded. “Tell me this, though. What does it mean that we’re buying things for me to have here?”

Oh, damn it. Here we go. I knew it!

An hour later, I’d assured Vika that it meant everything to me, though she still had all the freedom she wanted (I think that actually disappointed her a bit), and we decided we weren’t going to say anything at the office (as if the people working there were blind). Then, we finally left.

The transparent blue sky and the lengthening skirts showed that summer was coming to a close. Autumn was on its way in, but it still wasn’t all the way there yet.

“Why don’t you have a car? Do you not have a license?” asked Vika.

“No, babe. I have a license, I just don’t have any money. Or, at least, not enough money,” I answered honestly.

“That’s a shame. It would be faster if you had a car, and definitely easier,” she said, clearly disappointed.

“Agreed. But we’ll take the metro and a bus. That’s longer, but it’s more romantic.”

“Where’s the romance in that?”

“We’ll be squashed up against each other, and we’ll have to fight off the wild horde of weekend shoppers,” I said, creasing my brows severely.

I should note how impressed I was with how thoughtful and calm Vika was. She didn’t yell at the woman who bumped into her with her shopping cart, she didn’t wave her fist at the manager and threaten to call that one person she knows, and she didn’t think everything wrong in the world was my fault. She even let me stop by my beloved KFC, even if she only got a piece of some cake for herself. Maybe she’s on a diet? That didn’t keep me from stuffing my face, though. Ah, how I love their chicken!

When I finally logged into the game, I was full, in a great mood, and confident that my plan would work. Some days, you know that everything’s going your way.

I walked over to the first mailbox I came across and sent a short message to Gedron the Elder.

Ring. Selgar. One-eyed Ibrahim. Meet me in an hour.

An hour later, I was walking into the dukhan. Ibrahim saw me with his one good eye, came over, and gushed his Eastern greetings.

“Oh, what a pleasure! I swear on the health of my youngest son, it’s like a holiday! You returned to my humble dukhan! Would you like the usual table upstairs?”

“Yes, my good man,” I said, clasping a hand to my heart. “Bring me some wine and something else. I have a friend named Gedron coming soon, so please send him up when he gets here, but do your best not to attract any attention.”

Ibrahim slyly winked his one eye and whispered his response.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it!”

Ibrahim was about to leave when I asked him a question that had been bothering me for a while. “Ibrahim, why is your establishment called a ‘dukhan’? I thought a ‘dukhan’ is a small store.”

He grinned. “Well, that’s because it used to be a store. I traded lots of little knick-knacks. Then I started selling wine, and then pita bread. Then different herbs and spices. After a while, it turned into more of a tavern, but everyone was so used to calling it a ‘dukhan’ that the name stuck.”

When he brought Gedron the Elder over to my table ten minutes later, the latter was obviously impressed by all the winking, whispering, and general secretiveness going on.

“Thanks, Ibrahim.” I nodded to the dukhan owner and handed him some gold. “Buy your youngest son some honey halva. Kids love it.”

Ibrahim was flattered and left us, promising to be back in half an hour with “the very best kebab in the city, the best city I’ve ever seen.”

“As if he’s been in other cities,” muttered Gedron, slipping off his hood and sitting down at the table.

“Wine?” I asked, gesturing at the pitcher with my chin.

“No,” answered the Elder, a bit annoyed.

“Is something wrong?”

“What do you think? Some little squirt,” said Gedron, looking at my level, “okay, padawan, sends me a message, and I have to drop what I’m doing and run over like we’re on some sort of date.”

“To past glory!” I said, deciding to drive home the point by raising my glass of wine. “Not to mention your promise!”

I wagged my finger at him.

“I remember. So, what does the master wish? Gold? Silver? Kill someone? Conquer all of Rattermark?”

“Well, I need money, though not from you. I’m not quite ready for world domination yet, but that part about killing someone, yes. That I need. How many soldiers do you currently have?”

My question obviously took Gedron by surprise.

“About 400 people. That’s everyone that’s left in the clan.”

“And what kind of people are they? Veterans, newcomers?”

I could tell that Gedron was starting to get nervous. “Why do you care?”

The conversation was already going where I wanted it to go, but a little more pressure couldn’t hurt.

“What you need to realize,” I said, talking down to him, “is that the fact that I ask something means I need to know the answer. Your answer is the difference between your clan benefiting from an incredible chance or not.”

“What chance? Why did you ask me to come here?” Gedron was obviously nearing his boiling point. “You want to me to repay my debt, no?”

“Are the two mutually exclusive?” I asked calmly. “Sometimes, they can go hand-in-hand.”

“Ridiculous…”

I went back to the main issue. “So, what about your clan?”

“Three hundred veterans,” Gedron answered sullenly. “The rest are between Levels 20 and 60. Mostly warriors with a few mages.”

“What about healers?”

“We’ve never had many of them. There are a few, but that’s it.”

“That’s a problem…” I shook my head sadly.

“What, you’re trying to declare war on someone?” Gedron laughed. “You can forget about us in that case; keep the ring. We’re staying out of wars for a while—too busy rebuilding at our new spot. No new wars.”

“Oh, come on, look at me. What war could I want? Where’s your new spot, by the way?”

Gedron looked at me, obviously trying to decide if he should tell me. He made up his mind. “In the North, not far from Kaiger, a city close to the Great Ice Wall.”

“Very helpful,” I said, chuckling. “I haven’t been to the North yet, though I’m thinking about going.”

“You should, there’s plenty to do there. And it’s cooler there than here.”

It certainly was toasty in the dukhan.

“So why are you asking me about my clan?”

“Before I tell you that, let me ask you one more question.” I squinted at him.

Gedron huffed his frustration, though he nodded.

“How’s recruitment going?”

“Not great.” He even pounded the table with his fist. “Terrible, even. The defeat has definitely played a role, but still. Things are bad.”

“And what if your clan, or, at least, what’s left of it, did something that got all of Rattermark talking about you, would that help the situation?”

“Obviously.” Gedron looked closely at me. “Advertisement drives business, but what are we supposed to do? A flash mob? A wet t-shirt contest?”

“Your clan is going to kill Mandiblefighter,” I informed him calmly.

Gedron sat there quietly for a second before reaching out and feeling my forehead. He poured some wine, downed it, and responded just as calmly. “Even if our clan were able to kill him—something I personally doubt—the whole thing is impossible. Mandiblefighter’s been gone for two years now. Nobody’s seen him or heard anything from him.”

“Let’s just say that I know where he is and how to get him to come out,” I said quietly. “Yes, I do, and I also know that beating him would triple your ranks at the very least. And, one more thing: if you fight him, I’ll call us even. It’s a win-win for you. Even if you lose, you don’t lose anything, since the people you have with you are obviously the faithful core. One more defeat won’t scare them away. I’ll give you your ring back, too, so you benefit however things turn out.”

“You know, if there’s anything you’re not, it’s altruistic,” said Gedron harshly. “What do you get out of this? And, that’s just the first question I have. Why aren’t you asking your clan or the Gray Witch’s clan for help? You’re friends with them, no? And how did you find Mandiblefighter? Why do you need to kill him? I get nervous when I don’t understand what’s going on.”

Got him. The negotiations had started, which meant that all I had to worry about was cutting the best deal possible. Although to be fair, I only needed two things.

“Good questions.” I settled back into my chair. “Smart questions. But, let’s do this: you don’t ask me any questions, and I’ll pretend that you were the one who led your clan to victory. You found a long-lost elite monster and beat it, proving that the Wild Hearts are still a clan for warriors and heroes.”

“Do I look like an idiot?” Gedron stared at me with carefully studied indignation painted over his face. “I don’t think so. You’re the one who needs people to stay in the dark, and especially about you taking us to Mandiblefighter. Your, oh, what’s her name…”

I realized who he was talking about. “Elina. Elina the Wise.”

“Right, ‘the Wise,’” said Gedron with a laugh. “Look who she let into her clan. Anyway, she’ll tear you a new one. The Witch will probably help.”

“Let’s not beat around the bush. Are you interested in my offer? If you are, let’s figure out the details; if not, I never saw you.”

Gedron looked at me, thinking. A real leader, I realized with respect. His clan was in ruins, and he was still holding on to the brand.

“Okay, we’re in,” he said finally. “But, there are a few things we need to figure out.”

“Of course.” I mentally rubbed my hands together. “Not just a few things; we also have to decide what we’re going to say to the game community and your clan.”

“Not to mention yours,” he teased.

“Agreed, though that’s more my problem.”

Having made up his mind, Gedron immediately jumped into the nuts and bolts. “Also, how are we going to divide the loot?”

“That’s an important issue,” I answered. “Quite. What do you usually get from elite monsters? I haven’t found anything on the forums.”

“Of course, nobody writes anything,” grunted Gedron. “That’s classified information. I’m not sure what we’ll get from the spider—I’ve never killed him. The only epic monster I’ve ever killed is Ruh, the bird.”

“Where was that?”

“In the South. He was brutal, and he had a nasty beak. There were 500 of us, and we got a set item, three elite items, two flasks full of scarce blood our craftsmen were beside themselves to see, gold, and a quest scroll.”

“A scroll?” I perked up.

“Yup. Sometimes you get a quest scroll from epic monsters. How do you think you unlock new questlines? That’s the best-known way. Plus, the player who had the actual quest got an additional bonus. A chef’s surprise, so to speak.”

“I didn’t know that. Interesting!”

“That makes sense. You could count all the quest scrolls that have been found in Fayroll on two hands. We got one when we killed Ruh.”

“Who got it?”

“Nobody in particular, the clan got it. We gave it to an assassin, since it was class-specific. Then he turned the reward back in to the clan.”

“We need to split the reward, so it’s fair.”

Gedron looked at me attentively.

“I get anything for my class, no questions asked. If it isn’t for my class, I don’t get it. Everything else… You and I flip a coin for each item. Let luck decide it—I think that’s fair.”

“‘Fair’!” cried Gedron sarcastically. “My clan kills an elite monster, which is far from a given by the way, and then we have a fifty-fifty chance of getting anything for it.”

“Oh, please,” I said, scrunching up my face. “You know as well as I do that the loot is secondary.”

“Loot is never secondary, even if you’re talking about some measly goblin,” Gedron said with conviction.

“Okay, what’s your counter offer? I’m all ears.”

“You get everything for your class, and my clan gets the rest.”

“Oh, aren’t you the generous one?” I threw my hands in the air. “I don’t have to share anything with you. I have my one wish, in case you’ve forgotten, but I’m an honorable person, so I’m willing to give you part of the loot. For example, all the items we get for crafting.”

“And any scrolls,” he added.

“Not a chance! We’ll flip for the scrolls, as well as for any jewelry since it’s not class-specific.”

“Let’s at least give my clan two-thirds!”

“Nope, we each get half,” I said firmly. “Also, nobody can know about our agreement. We’ll take care of the coin flip before we leave the location.”

Gedron smiled crookedly. “Aren’t you nervous about me flipping? I’ll be the one with the trophies.”

“Nope,” I answered. “You’re not that kind of person. If you were a rat, I wouldn’t have given you a second thought back there in the dungeon.”

“So, nobody can know anything? What about your clan? We’re going to record everything and publish it later, so people are going to find out.”

“I’ll tell my clan that you invited me as thanks for what I did for you in the dungeon. You know… You found out about Mandiblefighter somehow, though you didn’t tell me how. And, you’ll back me up on that. You can introduce me to your clan as an old friend—from an enemy clan, of course, but, hey, stranger things have happened.”

“Your clan hasn’t found out about our deal?” asked Gedron with surprise.

“Of course, they have. I told them right away.” I grinned.

“You sly dog; that wasn’t our deal.” Gedron grunted.

“What do you mean? You weren’t allowed to tell anyone, but there was nothing like that for me. It was up to me if I wanted to say anything. So, are we agreed?”

“Let’s go over this one more time,” Gedron said. “You’ll take us to where Mandiblefighter is, we kill him, and then we split up the loot: you get everything for warriors, and we get everything for other classes, we get everything for crafting, and we flip for scrolls, jewelry, and anything else there is. Our debt to you is paid in full, and you return my ring. Correct?”

“Exactly. You just forgot one thing: you never, under any circumstances, tell anyone that I was the one who took you and your clan to Mandiblefighter. You found him yourself.”

“But if Mandiblefighter takes us out, our debt is still paid. Right?”

“Right. Shake on it?”

“Deal.”

We shook hands.

“Are you going to call your friend to enforce the deal?” asked Gedron with a smile.

“No, no point in that,” I said, shaking my head. “Neither of us gets anything out of betraying the other.”

“You’re a slippery character, but my offer for you to join our clan is still there,” said my new brother-in-arms. “Think about it.”

“Thanks, I appreciate that. Maybe I’ll take you up on it at some point. Anyway, let’s figure out the time and place.”

“For the time, let’s go tomorrow. It’s Sunday, so everyone will be in the game. We can move out around 3 p.m. There’s probably no point in waiting a week or a month to see if we can pick up some new recruits, so let’s just get it over with. As far as tactics go, I’ll talk with the clan masters and hash out a plan. You’re the one who knows the place.”

“Have you heard of Makh-Talag?”

“It isn’t far from here, out in the desert,” said Gedron, scratching his head. “An abandoned city.”

“There. Just stop by here for me first—ten of three here at the dukhan—or you can send someone.”

“Why here?” asked Gedron, taken aback.

“Well, first, I can’t imagine that Makh-Talag is that small, so it’ll take us a while to find each other. Second, I haven’t been there, so how am I supposed to get there tomorrow?”

Gedron roared with laughter. “I won’t come myself; no sense giving people a reason to gossip. Do you remember my treasurer, Mato?”

“The halfling? Sure.”

“I’ll send him. Okay, see you, Thunderbird. We’re going to have an interesting day tomorrow. Maybe we’ll even go down in history, and they’ll put our picture in the papers. Do you read the Fayroll Times?”

“Of course,” I answered. “It’s great.”

“Seriously. I started buying a newspaper for the first time in ten years. They do a really good job. Okay, I’m off, see you tomorrow.”

Gedron left. I sat there a little while longer, paid the check, and headed toward the caravanserai. I’d need a good night’s sleep before our adventure.

Chapter Twenty-Two

In which our hero sits back and watches.

This may sound strange, but I was nervous. It was something like the feeling I used to get before exams, first dates, and major KVN competitions. I would describe it as a mixture of fear that you’ll look bad, anticipation, and anxiety—something I hadn’t experienced in quite a while. As the years go by, that type of worry is generally replaced with more well-founded and judicious fears: the thought that you might lose your job and have no money to live on, or that someone might key your car in the night. Welcome to the bourgeois, everyday life. Maybe the change happens as you grow older because you stop believing in miracles? You no longer believe there’s a chance you could pass your exam without knowing something, that the girl you’re going to see could be pleasant and easy-going, or that you could win the semifinal in your KVN’s top league with terrible material. Or maybe it’s that we have too much fat clogging our brains? I’m not sure.

Whatever the case may be, that Sunday morning, I woke up with the same mix of elation and trepidation I used to feel when I was younger. Vika realized something was going on. “Is everything okay? You’re kind of jumpy today.”

I assured her that everything was fine and that I was just feeling upbeat because my apartment finally had a woman living in it. Vika perked up and dashed off to do something—drink coffee or clean the bathroom maybe.

Incidentally, I wasn’t lying. It was the first time in a long while that my apartment was clean, I wasn’t hungry, my clothes were ironed, and nobody was yelling at me. I found the icing on the cake when I opened my wardrobe, and nothing fell out of it. My clothes were lying on the shelves or hanging in a row on hangers that seemed to have appeared out of nowhere. It was impressive, and I was starting to wonder if things were perhaps too perfect.

I paced from corner to corner, watched some TV, smoked half a pack of cigarettes, and finally checked the clock to see that it was half past two and time to jump into Fayroll. Sure, I could have logged in sooner, but what was there to do? There wasn’t any point going out to farm, so the choice was between pacing around in the game or out of it.

A few minutes later, I was standing near the dukhan waiting for the halfling. Ibrahim walked out and was overjoyed to see me.

“Well, hello! Ah, you’ve been coming to my dukhan every day now. You’re like a brother to me! Come on in, have a bite to eat, relax. We have an ashik coming who sings like you wouldn’t believe. About life, about fate—you should listen!”

Rolling his eyes back, Ibrahim started singing with what I could only describe as a terrible voice.

Tie my pauldrons on tighter

Look back on my past with wonder

Pick up an arrow

Send it soaring toward an orc

Send it soaring toward an orc

He looked at me when he finished. “Genius, no?”

“Definitely,” I answered. “True art!”

“Oh, Fatima’s coming. I have to go.” Ibrahim suddenly was in a hurry. “If you want, come on in. We’ll relax, sing something, have something to eat. I’m saying this to a brother, not a customer.”

He dove into the dukhan, closing the door behind him. At the same time, a woman walked over. Her name was Fatima, I surmised, and she was wearing a paranja.[15]

“Hello, warrior,” she said in a melodious voice. She sounded fairly young.

“Good afternoon,” I answered. “Why is he so scared of you?”

“Once, people called me Fatima, Fatima the daughter of Ali-Mameda,” I heard from under the paranja. “Now, they call me the Messenger of Sorrow. I see what has not yet come to pass, what will be, and what may be. I see and pass that on to people. Nobody remembers the good news, and they think I bring sorrow because all they remember is the bad. But that isn’t true—life is painted in more colors than just white.”

“Agreed,” I said, “but people don’t like when you foretell trouble. Everyone hopes that it’s their neighbors who will have problems and not them.”

“Well said,” agreed Fatima. “And, what about you? Are you prepared to hear the truth about yourself?”

“I’m not sure,” I said frankly. “Probably. Though, maybe not.”

“Give me your right hand,” said Fatima. “I want to look at your palm.”

“Here you go.” I held out my hand.

Fatima spent a good three minutes gazing at my palm before letting it go and looking up at me. “Well?” I asked. “I hope I won’t be dying a terrible death soon?”

“There is death,” answered Fatima, “but not yours; there is the death of another person. But, as soon as that person dies, death will remain always near at hand.”

“Oh, wow,” I said in surprise. “That does make sense—we’re all mortal.”

“No,” Fatima answered with a shake of her head. “Death did not come looking. You called, and it came at your invitation. It came, but not for you. While it will protect you, don’t believe it, as that is but for a little while.”

“Okay. What else do you see?”

“Battles and long roads, cold winds, and icy caves, sun, and waves, power and fear, friendship with the dead and enmity with the living. But, that’s not what’s most important.”

“What is?”

“Most important is that you must one day choose the right path.” The voice in the paranja was deadly serious. “There will be a moment—perhaps today, perhaps a decade from now—when you will find yourself at a fork in the road. At that moment, you will have to make a fateful decision from which you cannot return. One path will be wide and easy; the other will be difficult and dirty. Along one, you will walk with a friend; along the other, you will be accompanied by an enemy. At the end of one, will be a life worse than death; at the end of the other, will be a death better than life. Find your way, and you will not face the shame of the past. Goodbye.”

Fatima finished talking, spun around, and quickly walked away from the dukhan.

“Wait, I…” I started to call after her, but she had already disappeared around a corner.

I stood there, thought back on what she’d said, and realized that I had no idea what any of it meant. Paths? Friends? Fortunetellers, apparently, are the same everywhere—the only way you can understand their riddles is if you’re already drunk. And, even that doesn’t always help.

“Hi. They sent me to come get you, right?”

Still pondering Fatima’s words, I looked around to see a halfling with a head of curly hair and a frown on his face. “Hey, Mato. It’s been a while,” I said amiably.

“Not long enough.” He wasn’t exactly hostile, but his tone was chill.

“Why? I didn’t think we were enemies?” I asked in surprise.

“No, except for the fact that you leveled our citadel and left us practically without a clan,” muttered Mato, looking around. “Other than that, everything’s great.”

“Okay, time out,” I said. “Otherwise, I’ll remind you how the whole thing started, you’ll yell at me that it wasn’t like that at all, and we’ll start fighting right here on the street. I couldn’t care less about that, so let’s just head to the abandoned city, okay?”

The halfling nodded and opened a portal.

What I saw when we got there was massive. The portal opened on a small hill that offered a view of the desert. On either side, were huge dunes, turning the space in front of the hill into a large ravine. At the foot of the hill, the Wild Heart warriors had been marshaled.

“Ah, there you are.” I heard Gedron the Elder’s voice behind me and turned to see him.

“Here we are.”

“Just in time. Let’s step over this way for a second.” He took me by the elbow and walked me over to the side.

“Where is the spider going to be coming from? Years ago, he would jump out of the sand, but what about now? My forces are lining up and asking me questions, and I have no idea what’s going on.”

I hesitated. Really? Where would he be coming from? The dryad hadn’t told me anything. She just gave me the whistle, and that was it.

“I think he’ll be coming from where he always did.” I decided to go out on a limb, figuring that the one place he wouldn’t be coming from was under the hill.”

“You think or you know?” asked Gedron.

“I think. If I knew, I would tell you.” He’d already gotten a rise out of me.

“Come on, we already have our strategy ready—we spent half the night coming up with it.” Gedron looked at me sharply.

“I get that. You just tell me when you’re ready to start, only be quiet about it,” I told him. “And, make sure I stay covered. The rest is up to you.”

“Okay, we’ll be ready to go in ten minutes.”

Gedron walked over to a group of players that were apparently the clan’s high command and started giving orders.

Since everyone there besides Gedron was making a point of ignoring me, I had the chance to leisurely look around. The view from the hill was excellent. The troops were split into three columns, each five players wide. It turned out to be true that there were mostly just warriors left. There weren’t more than thirty archers, all of which were dug in on the flanks and the top of the dunes. On the other hand, they all looked to be seasoned veterans. Each of them had dug up small trenches waist-deep to make sure they were prepared for whatever the beast decided to throw at them.

At the foot of the hill, I saw a group of ten mages and just as many healers, which, I presumed, was the clan’s entire reserve. Next to them, was someone I recognized: Diord, who I recalled was the clan master. He was waving his arms around as he explained where everyone was supposed to stand and what they were supposed to do.

I wouldn’t say that I felt reassured. What I saw paled in comparison to the might of the Hounds gathered by the walls of the citadel—and that wasn’t even their whole clan. Judging by the conversations the three tanks had had with Milly, they didn’t even have all their veterans. And there in the desert…well, it was the shattered fragments of a has-been clan.

That’s when I understood the strange smile I’d seen on Gedron’s face the day before. What we were facing wasn’t just a battle with an elite monster; it was a battle that would determine if the clan lived or died. If they lost, the clan would be doomed to collapse. The last warriors, mages, and archers of the Wild Hearts gathered there still believed, if weakly, that the clan could rise again to new heights and new victories. But if they lost, even that last belief would flicker and die. It’s hard to stay on top when you’re weak, and that’s what they’d come there to prove—that they still had strength and belief in themselves.

It crossed my mind that I knew nothing about the city itself. Why and when was it abandoned? By whom? I’ll have to—

“Hey, you. Gedron wants to see you.” Mato walked over.

“That’s ‘Laird Hagen’ to you,” I said sharply. “Talk to your own furry people how you want, but you’ll respect me.”

“You don’t think you ought to be a little more careful?” He was no longer hiding his distaste for me. “You’re not feeling nervous at all, La-aird?”

“You know, I’m not,” I answered, closing the distance between us. “Touch me, and they’ll bury you right there where you stand. And, Gedron himself will do the honors since I’m his guest. Then, you can bet my clan will chase you around the whole of Rattermark, and I’ll be the one leading the chase. Get out of my way, you mangy-furred dog.”

I pushed him aside and walked over to Gedron, who was looking out over his army. The clan was ready for battle. Three squads of fifty warriors formed a triangle with one in the center and two flanking it near the dunes. The rest of the troops were waiting on the other side of the hill. Sure, the spider wouldn’t be trying anything terribly strategic, but having too many soldiers involved at once still meant that they’d be getting in each other’s way.

The archers were stretching their bows in their trenches. From what I could tell, they—along with the mages who’d been pulled back almost to the hill—would be the ones to begin the battle. Farther to the left, the healers were getting their last instructions on who to heal in what order. The mages were buffing everyone around them—you can never have too much protection. Diord was arguing with one of them named Kriyen.

“You’re telling me you can’t cast Will of the Court three times?” he shouted.

“No, I can’t!” responded Kriyen. “I only have so much mana! And Will of the Court takes so much that I’ll have nothing to do but pick up some cleaver and start hacking when the battle starts.”

“Well?” I asked Gedron, pulling myself away from the spectacle. “Is it time?”

He looked at his forces and roared in their direction. “Are we ready?”

The swordsmen erupted with the clash of blades on shields—that was a yes.

“Let’s do this.” Gedron nodded to me.

“All right,” I said, nodding back. “Just one thing. Are we all on board here?”

“What are you talking about?” He shook his head.

“I mean, nobody’s invited me to join the raid yet.” I smiled innocently.

“Ooph,” Gedron said, embarrassed. “I forgot—really.”

And I believed him. You can tell when someone really forgot and when they’re lying.

Gedron the Elder invited you to join a raid: Death to Arachnids.

Accept?

“Nice name.” I shook my head and laughed.

“We do what we can,” answered Gedron. “Okay, summon him—everyone’s waiting!”

“Hey, what happens to whoever dies here?” I’d been wondering that.

“They go back to their last save point and wait for the battle to end. Once we kill the spider or it kills all of us, they’ll be able to port back. We won’t be able to port out either once the battle starts.”

Not the worst option. I figured I’d be able to get my hands on the spider’s body one way or the other. Either with my shield or on it, and in the latter case, I might even be able to get my belongings back.

I winked at him, pulled out the whistle, raised it to my lips, and blew into it. There wasn’t much of a sound, though a message did pop up.

You used the whistle to summon Mandiblefighter. Get ready—a child of Darkness is coming!

“Okay, hold onto your hat,” I told Gedron. “Here he comes!”

“As long as he pops up where we’re expecting,” he said with surprising calm. “Otherwise, we’re all dead men.”

The sand near the entrance to the ravine rippled, a few whirlwinds kicked up, and then everything settled back down.

Swordsmen crouched behind their shields; archers notched arrows in their bows. For another thirty seconds, it was so quiet I could hear the sweat dripping off the halfling. Then, suddenly, and with all due drama, the silence was broken by a boom. A spider of Biblical proportions exploded out of the center of the ravine (our first piece of good news). Although to be fair, we only called the enormous monster a spider for lack of a better term.

Its gigantic round body was protected in places by bone armor, and it had an equally round head with glistening, saucer-like eyes and a toothy mouth out of which loomed long mandibles that glowed a sickly green color. That was all held up by eight long legs bent at the knee and securely covered by a chitin shell. Mandiblefighter’s entire body was covered in thick hair or fur; I couldn’t tell which.

He flew out of the sand, landed on his feet, and threateningly clacked his mandibles while simultaneously glancing around and debuffing everyone there.

You are taking mental damage. For the duration of a minute, you run the risk of having a panic attack, at which point you may temporarily leave the field of battle.

So, he’s playing mind games with us.

“Archers, fire!” barked Diord. “Left flank, charge! Mages, start working on him!”

Everything happened at once, though the result was underwhelming. Arrows hurtled toward Mandiblefighter from both sides, though they didn’t do much damage. Only a few of them hit the beast’s body; the rest clattered off the boney armor or failed to penetrate his hairy skin.

“Go for the head” yelled Gedron tensely. “The head and the eyes! Put out his lights!”

The mages threw curse after curse at the sand creature, but I couldn’t tell if they were actually having an effect.

Just then, the first wave hit the spider—the clan’s lowest-level fighters sent in to gum up the works. I noticed that, when they got there, they all went straight for one leg rather than the chaotic slashing I expected to see. None of them managed to land more than five strikes.

Mandiblefighter dipped his head and swept the protrusions jutting out of his mouth across the sand. It happened so quickly that most of the warriors didn’t even have time to react before they were hacked apart. The first cocoons appeared on the sand as acid spit finished off the first wave.

“Right flank, and then the center, in fifteen seconds. Center: get there and disperse,” again shouted Diord. “Mages, keep it up!”

The right flank hurled themselves at the spider, and soon the center rushed in to join them. The right flank’s strategy was the same as that of their predecessors, while the center fell back in an effort to get the spider to attack them.

The warriors had already seen what happened to the first wave, and so the spider’s second sweep didn’t have nearly the same deadly effect. A few swords buried themselves in the creature’s head.

The archers kept firing in an attempt to blind the spider. His constant movement made it hard to hit their target, but somebody ended up finding his mark—the light in one of the spider’s saucer-eyes went out. He bellowed in pain and unveiled our next surprise: a burst of flame that knocked out nearly the entire wave coming in from the right flank.

Replacements joined the remaining fighters, this time made up entirely of veterans. Just as I’d figured, the lower-level players were there to jump in and die, leaving the veterans to finish the spider off.

Mandiblefighter started to fall back, his health beginning to wane. But, oh, so slowly…

His was obviously not one of Fayroll’s intelligent races, but he could tell which direction the stinging needles were coming from and jumped toward the left flank in an effort to finish off the annoying little people there. He was generally successful, killing almost all the archers on that side. Then he went back to the remains of the first three waves. They came at him from the left, still hacking away at his leg.

“Archers, cease fire!” ordered Diord. “Left flank, get ready!”

The spider again fell back to the ravine and demonstrated yet another trick: a spider web shimmering all the colors of the rainbow swept over all the warriors nearby, and they were slaughtered to a man. In their place, however, appeared a group from the left flank. They were able to finally take out the spider’s first leg and quickly start working on the second.

The spider tried his mandible swipe again, though this time it was much harder. He had to move backward in order to swing all the way around, and the troops at his feet quickly dispersed as soon as they saw him begin the maneuver. Losing a leg obviously made him much clumsier.

The healers were hard at work healing the troops in front of them and drinking elixir after elixir. The mages, unfortunately, were still having no effect—Mandiblefighter seemed to be immune to magic.

“Center, go!”

They were just in time. Only a dozen warriors were left by the spider, though they were having an easier time with the second leg.

I finally figured out what Gedron and his team’s plan was. A frontal assault would have been suicide, as Mandiblefighter was too strong for four hundred players, but taking out two legs on one side would either take him down or render him practically immobile. Three would certainly bring him crashing down. Then Gedron’s troops could take their time shredding him like cabbage from the sides and back.

A couple minutes later, the next group from the right flank joined the battle.

“Reserves, get ready!” bellowed Diord.

“If they don’t take out that third leg, we’re goners,” said Gedron calmly. “We won’t have anyone left.”

The third group, in the face of potential death, used the spider’s inability to turn around to hack desperately at the third leg. The troops left over from the two groups in the second wave took another debuff that killed most of them in a poisonous cloud of acid.

Finally, the third leg broke, sending the spider crashing down onto the sand.

“Archers, fire!” ordered Diord.

They popped out of their trenches and started firing at the spider, who was trying to get up.

“Reserve, let’s go!” Diord issued the command and joined the charge himself.

The cream of the clan’s crop had all apparently been held back in the reserves, and they rushed in to push Mandiblefighter’s health bar steadily lower.

The latter was still trying to fight back, and he managed to kill ten unwary warriors with a stinger that suddenly popped out of his hindquarters. A few more died from his poisonous spit, but ten minutes later, he breathed his last.

An agreeable sound told me that Mandiblefighter’s death had jumped me up two whole levels. Just two more to Level 50! How much experience must he have given in total, given how many there were of us?

Silence reigned for a second until the remaining fighters shouted in triumph. It sounded something like how I imagine wild cavemen sounded after they brought down a mammoth. The group there, however, may have shouted even more loudly than their ancestors—they were announcing that the Wild Hearts weren’t dead. Dead clans don’t kill elite monsters.

Portals flashed, and out poured the remainder of the clan to hug the survivors and look for their belongings.

Gedron, who seemed to have gone limp, turned to me. “You know, I didn’t think it was possible. Not even until the very end.”

“Don’t tell anyone that,” I said, offering a piece of heartfelt advice. “Forget you ever said those words and go talk to your clan. They’re waiting for you.”

Gedron walked down the hill and over to Mandiblefighter. “We did it,” he said to his clanmates. “We did what no one else has been able to do in two years! I’d like to see anyone who dares call our clan weak come here and do what we did today.”

Well, aren’t you clever? Nobody would come, and nobody would do what they did because nobody else had the whistle. Even I didn’t, as it had disappeared immediately after I used it.

“What did we get?” shouted someone from the crowd.

Gedron reached into the carcass. “Gold, special spider venom, a medallion called the Black Widow, two things for archers, and…you know, forget it. Otherwise, you’ll start bragging about the loot, and we don’t even have a clan storehouse!”

Everyone laughed in relief at his simple joke and headed over to take pictures of themselves with Mandiblefighter’s body.

I saw my chance to get the item I needed and walked down the hill. Everything besides some tomfoolery in front of the camera would look suspicious, and the fact that I belonged to the Thunderbirds meant that I’d be fought and killed. And, what if the body disappeared before I could get back?

I ran over with a question for Kriyen, who was standing there. “Hey, can you take a picture of me, please?”

Kriyen squinted at my name and clan before giving in to the generosity that comes with victory. “Sure, go for it.”

I posed as the Great Spider Killer, slinging my sword over my shoulder.

“Okay,” said Kriyen, “I got it.”

“Hold on, can you do one more?”

Kriyen grimaced and stared at me.

I laid prone on the body, pretending to tear it apart with my bare hands. A small item slipped into one of them.

You received a crystal vessel holding part of Ogina the East’s soul.

I had it! Finally…

You completed a hidden quest: Soul of the Dryad.

You retrieved the part of Ogina the East’s soul kept by Mandiblefighter.

To get your reward, go talk to Ogina the East.

“Good?” asked Kriyen.”

“Yep,” I responded in relief. “That’s it.”

“Hagen!” I saw Gedron waving to me from the hill and walked toward him.

Chapter Twenty-Three

In which our hero yet again tries to balance between two poles.

“Open your exchange,” said Gedron succinctly as soon as I got over to him.

“Of course,” I answered in kind. “It’s never a bad time for trophies.”

Two items dropped into my bag: yet another helmet and, to my surprise, the Black Widow medallion Gedron had mentioned.

“Wait a second.” I looked at Gedron. “What’s the medallion for? We’re supposed to flip for it, no?”

“Yep,” said Gedron simply. “But, I’d like to propose something different. I’ll give you the medallion, which, incidentally, is from a set, and you let me keep the scroll.”

“What’s the scroll?” I asked inquisitively.

“A good one,” admitted Gedron after a second’s hesitation. “A really high-level mage ability.”

“How high?”

“For Level 170 and higher.”

I whistled. “That’s quite the valuable scroll,” I couldn’t help but notice. “It’s more a weapon you can use to rule the world, and certainly not something people exchange for set items.”

“Oh, please,” grunted Gedron. “That’s not the kind of person you are—I can see that. Or do you think you’re the only one who would have stopped to talk back in that dungeon? You’re slick, I’ll give you that, but you aren’t just some unscrupulous jerk. Plus, I didn’t have to tell you about the scroll. So is it a deal?”

I thought about it and figured that we reap what we sow, and sometimes many times over. “Deal. Open your exchange.”

I sent him the ring, which I’d picked up before heading over to the dukhan.

“The agreement has been completed, and I return this signet ring to Gedron, the Elder. The Wild Hearts and their leader have fairly repaid the debt they owed me,” I said loudly and solemnly.

“Thanks.” Gedron walked over and shook my hand. “You were obviously using us to take care of a problem you had, and I figure you probably had a hidden quest, but thanks anyway. And, remember that the Wild Hearts are waiting for you. Oh, and one more thing: if anything else like this comes up for you, just let us know.”

“You’ll join just for the fun of it?”

“Of course not—for a small share.” Gedron laughed happily, and I joined him.

“Your people won’t give you any trouble about the medallion? Throwing it away and all that…”

“That’s my problem.” Gedron glanced over at lighthearted clanmates with a satisfied look on his face. “Where are you going now?”

“I have things to do. You know how it goes…” I answered evasively.

He wasn’t the kind of person I wanted to be sharing my plans with. Of course, he was already an ally, and we had a good relationship, but still… Trust in God, but tie your camel.

It was a shame that I passed up my fifty-fifty chance of getting that scroll, but sometimes you need to think of things besides greed. Gedron was a smart guy. He could count, and he knew he owed me one—his official debt may have been paid off, but he knew he still owed me after that deal. The Hearts are in the North now, so that might come in handy. I’ll probably be heading up that way sooner rather than later. I was pretty sure my next wonderful little dryad friend would be in the North.

I walked down the hill to where everyone was still busy hugging and pulled up the internal messaging system. There was one more thing I had to take care of.

Elina, hi. Are you online?

I didn’t have to wait long for an answer.

Yes. What happened this time?

To me? Nothing. Something happened that everyone’s going to be talking about tomorrow.

You’re scaring me. What’s going on?

It’s a lot to write. Maybe I should stop by? I can tell you the whole thing.

I’ll be waiting for you.

I pulled out my portal scroll and was about to use it when I clapped my forehead. I hadn’t stopped to see what I’d gotten from Mandiblefighter besides the dryad’s soul. I started with the helmet.

Tradon Helmet

One of the few items left behind in Fayroll by the Tradon tribe, who, at one point, lived on the Gruskat Plateau before leaving to follow the True Noon.

Protection: 440

+16 to strength

+15 to stamina

+13% chance of parrying opponents’ blows

+9% chance of stunning an opponent for 10 seconds

This item is hard to damage.

Class limitation: only warriors

Durability: 380/380

Minimum level for use: 47

Not a bad helmet, though my Snake King Helmet was better. Still, I decided I would keep it in my chest rather than sell it. And what about that medallion?

I was about to check it out when my eye caught something strange. A small wind kicked the sand up around the hill, though there were two small spots that interrupted the smooth lines. Somebody had been standing there. Somebody, it looked like, with very hairy feet.

I didn’t suspect Gedron for a second—he had no motive. We’d also parted on good terms, so he had no reason to come after me. Sure, he knew I had a hidden quest, and a nice one at that if we I was summoning monsters like Mandiblefighter, but he had other things to worry about. His clan was on the rise. Maybe he’d come back to me in a few months, but not before then. Judging by the nasty looks he’d been giving me, chances were it was his security guy. Okay, I’ll take care of you. Just let me check out the medallion first.

Black Widow Medallion

Made for Master Sam, a heroic snake-fighter, in honor of his victory over Tu-Shu, an enormous arachnid.

From the Spider’s Sting set

Set includes:

Black Widow Medallion

Black Widow Ring

Protection: 340

+18 to agility

+24 to intellect

+18% protection from poison

+14% light damage

+17% damage done with piercing weapons

+8% mental resistance

Durability: 880/900

Minimum level for use: 65

Class limitation: unlimited

Can only be equipped with 55+ intellect.

Cannot be stolen, lost, or broken.

The following bonuses are unlocked by using the full set:

1 random class ability

+20% movement speed

+15% chance of finding hiding places and treasure

A great item, to be fair, but meaningless for me. Although, on the other hand, there’s no such thing as a meaningless item. There are just items you haven’t figured out how to use yet.

Okay, my inquisitive scout friend. It’s show time.

I opened my portal and set my arrival point as the Thunderbirds’ clan fortress. I wonder what kind of alarm system they have for unwelcome visitors.

There turned out to be no such alarm system. A stupid scout named Vikky, though, was bereft of his ability to blend into the shadows when he turned up right in the middle of the fortress courtyard surrounded by a dozen of our veterans and, to add insult to injury, a bewildered Elina.

“Hagen, who’s your friend?” she asked me.

“Oh, he’s no friend of mine, he just decided to come along for the ride apparently.” I was enjoying the situation.

Vikky tried to use his ability, but there appeared to be some sort of magic block around the clan fortress. Realizing the futility of his efforts, he froze and peered around with a hunted look on his face. What he saw was a group of kind, smart, and honest players who were starting to slowly and inexorably hem him in.

“Run, little boy,” I said. “While you still have the chance.”

Vikky squeaked, slipped between somebody’s legs, and shot off like a bullet for the open gates. He melted off into the field on the other side of the walls. Once he’d gotten far enough away from the hooting and hollering of my clanmates, we saw a portal flash open.

“And now could you explain what all that was about?” asked Elina.

“Certainly, madam. Right here or in your office?”

“Let’s go, Mr. Chivalry.” She sighed, and we walked into the fortress.

I had only been there twice, and not for a while, so there was no outpouring of emotions resulting from being back home.

“You don’t come by very often,” said Elina, as if reading my thoughts.

“Ah, so much to do.” I sighed sincerely. “Not a spare minute.”

“True. The storm, getting married, and who knows what else?” responded Elina in agreement.

I nodded. It was true.

Finally, we arrived at Elina’s office. I noted that it was fairly small and plainly decorated—she was impartial in her tastes, I concluded.

“You thought I’d have trophies on the walls and piles of gold?” She smiled. “No, I like it simple.”

“No, nothing like that,” I answered. “I already figured out that we’re a more ascetic clan.”

“Does your tongue ever stop wagging?” Elina frowned. “It’ll get you in trouble one of these days.”

“There you go getting angry for nothing. I may crack my jokes, but I have information for you. And a present, too.”

I pulled out the medallion and handed it to Elina. She glanced at it and stared at me.

“Where did you get this?”

“Gedron gave it to me. After the show.”

“What show? Can you please just explain everything that happened like a normal person without all your wisecracks and double meaning?” She was starting to lose her cool. “It’s impossible to talk with you!”

I sat down in a chair near the table and gestured for Elina, who was shocked at how forward I was being, to sit down in another, before beginning my story. Except for the part where Gedron invited me to watch the raid or even participate in repayment of my debt and to get back his ring, it was identical to the truth. I also added in that we’d flipped for the item I’d just shown Elina. As an unpleasant person once said, the crazier the lie, the easier it is to believe it.

I wasn’t sure how much Elina believed my tale, though she listened with interest.

“Of course, you didn’t think to record all of that,” she said when I finished.

“It wasn’t that I didn’t think to,” I answered in an effort to regain some of my standing. “I was afraid to. Who knows what they would have thought? They were looking at me like I was the plague as it was.”

“Well, obviously, after the battle… So, it looks like the Wild Hearts are back from the dead.” The little mistress of a large fortress left the room, giving me an order as she did. “Sit there and don’t move a muscle.”

She was back soon. “Let’s go.”

“Go where?” I asked reasonably.

“Where we’re supposed to go.”

“Where is that? I’m not supposed to go anywhere. I’m hungry and tired, so I’m just supposed to be going home.” I had guessed where she was taking me and balked at the prospect. It wasn’t a horrible idea, though I was certainly not in a hurry…

“You can wait; we all want to go home. Here, have a biscuit.” She put a biscuit in one of my hands and pulled me away by the other.

We quickly walked back down the same corridors we’d just traversed. Out in the square, Elina opened a portal and quite literally dragged me inside. Let me tell you, the fortress—well, more of a castle, really—the Hounds of Death called home was monumental and built to last centuries. The high walls of the outer circle were made out of enormous boulders, while it almost looked as if the inner castle was made out of a single piece of stone. The courtyard was enormous. As soon as we walked out of the portal, a young man wearing the Hounds’ colors came over to us.

“Milady Elina?” he asked.

“Exactly.” She bowed her head slightly in assent.

“The mistress is waiting for you and your companion. Follow me.”

He walked toward the fortress with us in tow, leading us down hallway after corridor after passageway. Judging by what could only have been an incredibly circuitous route, I wondered if the young man in front of us worked as a taxi driver in real life.

Finally, we stopped in front of a massive oak door. He knocked.

“Yes?” came the answer.

“Mistress, Elina the Wise, clan leader of the Thunderbirds, and a companion named Hagen are here,” our guide barked out sharply.

“Send them in.”

We entered an office that also had very little luxury to speak of. In contrast to Elina’s complete lack of décor, however, there were a few decorations. It was elongated, with a massive table at one end that had the Gray Witch on one side and two chairs on the other. Two cabinets and a couch rounded out the furniture. There were two swords and a staff hanging on one of the walls. On the same wall, was a board covered in at least fifteen pendants featuring some kind of emblems. Behind the Gray Witch, was another board, though it had only five pendants—one of them, I noticed, was our clan’s. On the next wall, was yet another board covered in pendants. I was pretty sure I knew what the boards were for.

“Good afternoon.” Elina curtsied, her arms stretching out to either side.

“Greetings!” I followed her lead with a bow.

“Oh, come on, my friends, forget the formalities,” said the Gray Witch, who remained seated with a happy smile. “Sit down. I’m very glad to see you. Hagen, I see you recognize the Fayroll heraldry?” The Witch gestured to one of the boards with her chin.

“Yeah, it’s interesting. That’s your list of conquests?” I pointed to the board with a few pendants.

“Yep,” the Gray Witch said proudly before gesturing to the wall behind her. “And these are our friends.”

“And these are the ones you’re not sure about.” I waved at the third wall.

“Exactly,” said the Witch with a laugh. “So, what are you up to this time, my irrepressible friend?”

“Well, I went to see Mandiblefighter,” I answered lightly. “Remember the big spider that used to be around?”

“Yes. But nobody’s seen him for quite some time if I’m not mistaken.”

“Somebody has,” I responded. “I got quite a good look at him just half an hour ago.”

“Where was that?”

“By Makh-Talag, an abandoned city.” I gestured behind me. “In the East.”

“What was he doing there?”

“How should I know? Gedron invited me…”

Once again, I wove my slightly altered tale. The Gray Witch listened with keen interest, not interrupting me once or asking any questions, though it was hard to tell from her face what she thought of the whole thing.

When I finished, she sat across from me for a whole minute without saying a word. Her fingers drummed on the table. “So Gedron,” she said finally, “invited you himself?”

“Yup. We met in Selgar at that one-eyed Ibrahim’s place. He offered me an exotic trip to see an elite monster and some kind of bonus in exchange for the ring.”

“Yes, that was a good ring,” continued the Witch thoughtfully. “Elina, I think it was from the Fistandantilus set. Is that right?”

“Exactly right, mistress,” my clan leader responded.

“So, the ring in exchange for the chance to see that and a few free levels—an even trade, I’d say. How many levels did you jump, Hagen?”

“Two.”

“I was right. And, what was the thing he gave you?”

“Things, mistress,” I said, ignoring how Elina’s face twitched. She’s only seen one, after all.

“Which?” The Witch wasn’t looking at me. “A decent helmet, elite—not for the clan,” I said, glancing at Elina. Her face was stony. “And a set medallion.”

“He gave you something for a set?”

“Yes, though it isn’t anything special without the other half of the set.” Elina jumped into the conversation handing the Gray Witch what we were talking about.

The latter looked it over. “Agreed. The limitations and attributes aren’t great. On the other hand, if you paired it with the ring, which we have in our clan storehouse, it wouldn’t be bad at all for a mage below Level 100.”

“You have the second item?” asked Elina with surprise.

“Yes, we have quite a few things,” the Gray Witch answered unflappably. She rang a small bell on the table, and the young man we’d come with appeared.

“Flavio, my friend,” the Witch said to him, “please go to our clan storehouse and bring me the Black Widow Ring.”

“I’ve never seen a complete set,” I said.

“You’re about to,” answered the Gray Witch with a smile. “Easy-peasy.”

A few minutes later, Flavio came back with a small box containing a signet ring that featured a spider carved into a stone. He placed it on the table. Elina put the medallion next to it.

“And there’s the set,” the Witch said. “The smallest one in Fayroll, though, I think there are two or three more with just two items. Lichtenshtain’s equipment, nightshade, and something else.”

“I think our clan would be happy to give you this medallion as a symbol of our friendship,” pronounced Elina stiffly.

“Quite the contrary,” answered the Witch. “The ring is the weaker item in the set, and the party with the better item gets the whole thing. That isn’t our rule; you know that. So, I insist you take the ring. I would love to see you wear the set personally, in fact.”

Elina wasn’t about to argue and instead bowed to the Gray Witch in thanks.

The Witch turned back to me. “Well, my friend, did Gedron mention where he’s holed up now?”

“Yes, he did,” I answered. “He’s in the North now, closer to the ice. He said it’s quieter there.”

“Good choice,” the Witch answered. “I think he’ll probably lay low for another half a year, though people are going to start joining his clan after that victory. What do you think, Elina?”

“Of course they will, but they’ll mostly be lower-level players. He’ll have to train them, so I think he’ll keep his distance for at least a year.”

“Why did you come running to us, Hagen?” The Gray Witch changed the subject. “We would have heard about everything tomorrow, no? Maybe even today.”

“Yes, and then you would have come after me wondering why I hadn’t said anything,” I said with a laugh. “I was better off telling you right away.”

“Good point!” The Witch laughed with me. “That we would have. Did Gedron say anything about us?”

“Not that I heard, but why would he share anything like that with me? He even sent a scout after me to see where I’d go.”

The Gray Witch glanced quickly at Elina, who nodded.

“Well, once again you’ve made me a happy camper,” said the Witch, rubbing her hands. “I should spend more time with you, what with all your adventures! Some people play this game for years without ever having anything to write home about. You’re definitely pushing right on ahead; you’re already up to Level 48.”

“I do my best, mistress. The higher your level, the better!” I said briskly.

“Agreed. That’s how I was, too. So, where are you going now?”

“North, definitely north.” I waved my arms again. “I’m tired of all this heat; it’s exhausting.”

“Heading north, you say,” the Witch said thoughtfully. She rang the bell once more.

“Flavio, bring Fitz here, please,” she said to the indefatigable youth.

Soon, a dashing warrior with a red mustache walked into the room. I couldn’t help but recall Peter the Great’s observation that officers should look rakish and oafish so their commanders wouldn’t be too worried about how intelligent they were.

“You called for me?” He stood at full attention.

“I did. You’re the one taking the low-level group north, right?”

The warrior hesitated a second before responding. “Correct, mistress.”

“Excellent. Take this young man with you.” She gestured at me.

Fitz looked me up and down before coughing into his fist. “Well, mistress, he’s a bit weak for the trip. We’re heading through the mines, after all.”

“So, be careful with him. He’s a personal friend of mine who’s done a lot of good for the clan and me personally. I think you can keep him safe where you’re going. Take another veteran with you—Miurat, for example.”

“Miurat?” Fitz grimaced, but quickly followed it up by saying, “As you wish, mistress.”

“When are you leaving?” asked the Witch.

“On Wednesday at 10 a.m. from Kroytsen,” responded Fitz.

“Excellent. So, my friend,” she continued, turning back to me, “be at Kroytsen’s northern gate at 10 a.m., and don’t be late! Our rule is to wait five minutes and then leave without whoever didn’t show up in time. They wouldn’t even wait for me. Isn’t that right, Fitz?”

“Correct, mistress, we wouldn’t,” barked Fitz.

“Okay, you’re free to go, but send in Fiosi, please.”

Fitz left, and the Gray Witch cast an appraising glance at me. “Well, you’re dressed much better than you used to be. There isn’t even anything to give you.”

“And, you don’t have to, of course,” I said, embarrassed.

“Oh, please. Good relationships are valuable, and loyalty is invaluable.” She looked over at Elina, who had turned bright pink.

Fiosi walked in, and I waved in greeting. He looked at and even recognized me, though it obviously took him a second.

“Fiosi, my dear, this brave young man isn’t looking that bad these days, though his breastplate isn’t what it needs to be. Could you find him something for his level in the storehouse?”

“Something…what?” Fiosi looked at the Witch, needing more details.

“Something stronger, since he’ll be going through the mines by Kroytsen. He’s my friend, and I don’t want his armor letting him down.”

“Got it.” Fiosi walked out of the room.

He was soon back with a gorgeous breastplate that had some pieces of cloth dangling artistically from it.

“I remember that one,” the Gray Witch said with a smile, getting up and jabbing the steel a few times with her finger. “Cedric wore it once upon a time.”

“Cedric Sekira?” asked Elina.

“Yes, we got this breastplate in a dungeon somewhere in the Borderlands. Cedric had a few levels on Hagen, but he loved it. It looks good, for starters.”

“You’ll give it back when you grow out of it,” Elina said to me pointedly.

“Elina, the boy can decide for himself what he’ll do with it. This is a present, so it belongs to him now,” the Gray Witch said gently. “Go ahead, put it on!”

I took the breastplate from Fiosi—elite. Today’s my lucky day! Everything I’d gotten that day had been either elite or from a set. I just needed to make sure my luck didn’t turn.

Gray Dog Breastplate

Once belonged to the Gray Dog, a great warrior from a line of noble werewolves that once lived on the banks of the Krisna.

Protection: 520

+19 to strength

+22 to stamina

+6% to critical strike chance

+12% to dodge ability

+10% chance of disarming your opponent with a powerful strike

Class limitation: only warriors

Durability: 460/460

Minimum level for use: 47

“Wear it with honor,” the Gray Witch told me. I bowed in reply.

“And, where are you going right now?” she asked next, hinting that it was time for us to leave.

“To Selgar,” I answered. “Then offline—I’m exhausted.”

“After the day you’ve had, I’m not surprised,” agreed the Gray Witch. “Okay, off you go. Elina and I are going to talk about some secrets. You know, girl talk.”

She waved her hand, and a portal appeared right there in the room.

She’s incredible, I thought.

“Thanks for everything. Your servant.” I waved to them both.

“Stay in touch!” She called after me.

I shook Fiosi’s hand and bowed to Elina, who threatened me with her finger, before stepping into the portal.

Selgar was as noisy as ever. I got to the caravanserai, walked into my room, and logged out immediately. I didn’t have the strength to go see the dryad. There was one other reason, however. I had the feeling I was being followed, this time by someone much more dangerous than the clown from the Hearts.

I sat there for a few minutes thinking about what Fitz was there for. Is he supposed to be a comrade in arms or will he be there to keep an eye on me? An escort or a guard? Soon, I decided that it didn’t matter too much either way. The most important part was that I had more battle-worthy companions for my trip northward than smugglers—and I didn’t have to pay for them. Although, those mines… After Snakeville, I trusted popular opinion.

Realizing that my thoughts were beginning to get mixed up in my head, I went to sleep. There was plenty to do the next day.

Chapter Twenty-Four

The last one, in which our hero gazes at the mountains and fall comes to Moscow.

As I was falling asleep, something important slipped into and right back out of my mind. I tried to remember what it was, but I was already too far gone and soon drifted off to dreamland.

The next morning, however, I remembered what I’d forgotten the day before. Well, actually, I’m two days late. I’d forgotten to wish Karina, my friend and colleague, yet another happy eighteenth birthday. I checked the clock to see that she, along with the rest of the country’s working population, was already up and called her, starting with profuse apologies and ending with well-wishes.

Like any true native of the city on the Neva,[16] she calmly and laconically told me that she wasn’t offended—she was long since used to how forgetful I was. I also took the opportunity to congratulate her on the release of what I was “absolutely convinced” was a fantastic book. My obligation fulfilled, I hung up the phone.

Then, I went to smoke a cigarette, thinking about how I could probably use a break from the game. The trip through the mountains would be draining, and I could use some rest. On the other hand, I knew there was little hope of quickly getting to Kroytsen that Wednesday. I still needed to go see the dryad, and the Hounds would certainly not wait for me. With a heavy sigh, I made up my mind, put out the cigarette, and climbed into the capsule.

My phone interrupted me before I could log in. I checked the screen: Zimin.

“Kif, good afternoon. Well done!”

“What are you talking about?” I asked warily.

“What else?” He was taken aback. “I’m talking about how elegantly you handled your problem with the quest.”

“I did my best,” I told him modestly. “It was definitely a balancing act!”

“We’re aware. Valyaev and I believed in you. And, really, you’re making fantastic time. We figured it would be winter by the time you left the East, and here…you’re just blowing through it!”

“Yeah…” He was suspiciously effusive in his praise.

“Oh, and thanks for what you did the other day,” he continued. “I mean, that conversation you had in the dukhan.”

“I hope I did everything right?”

“More than. You were fantastic.”

“So your plan worked?”

“Like clockwork. Take it from me, the smartest people are always so sure of themselves, their invulnerability, and even their ability to crack tough problems that you can trip them up with the simplest of tricks.”

“I’ll remember that,” I replied.

“So, you did a great job,” repeated Zimin. “Anyway, you have things to do, and I have things to do. See you tomorrow, Kif.”

“You need me to come over? It’s just that tomorrow, I was planning on being in the office,” I said with some worry creeping into my voice. “We have to release the third issue.”

“Don’t worry about it,” laughed Zimin. “Everything will be fine.”

And he hung up. What…? It was hard to believe that last phrase when he ended the conversation so abruptly with it.

Nothing had changed in Selgar. From the window in my room, I could see people scurrying to and fro: traders, players, water carriers, city guards. To be honest, I preferred the East to the West. If it had been up to me, I’d have stayed for a while. I would have liked to visit the abandoned city and maybe even the local assassin’s castle—purely for interest’s sake. Alas, I wasn’t completely my own man. Who am I kidding? I’m not my own man at all.

Having dropped the armor I didn’t need into the chest, I counted up my savings. Not much had been added to the coffers over the past week. I had about 20,000 gold, which wasn’t much. I still needed to buy a couple portal scrolls, too, so I was more or less broke. It was just a good thing I was getting a free ride through the mountains. I doubted I would have had enough to pay what I assumed were exorbitant rates.

Once I left the caravanserai, I spent some time meandering the streets. I didn’t trust the nice people I’d chatted with the day before and thought they might have set a tail on me. After a dash around the city that included a stop to buy scrolls, I ported from a side alley to where the dryad was. I pulled it off suddenly and had my sword out and swinging by the time I got to the other side of the portal, just in case someone had jumped in behind me. Either I wasn’t being followed, or my tail decided not to follow me into the portal.

The filthy and bedraggled dryad crawled out from under her palm and looked at me expectantly. “Well?” she blurted out, tapping her feet. “Didn’t work?”

“Why not?” I answered cheerfully. “We people are adventure-seekers and brave heroes—we do what we say we’ll do.”

With that, I held out the crystal vessel. She took it in her shaking hands and held it up to the sky. “I’m free! The prophecy is coming true! I’m me again!”

The same fanfare cut loose and, just as with the previous dryad, the palm Cinderella whirled her way into a golden cocoon. I’d already seen the spectacle, so I didn’t fall back on the sand in shock. Instead, I enjoyed the show and waited to see what she would look like after the bang.

She looked excellent, needless to say, and she had an eastern flair to her: a wispy waist, baggy silk pants, a half-veil, and all the rest. That was the real Ogina the East, and I enjoyed watching her float in the air.

“My hero, you saved me! You did the impossible!” she said in her newly bell-like voice.

You completed a hidden quest: Soul of the Dryad

This is the second in the Children of the Goddess series of hidden quests.

You retrieved the part of Ogina the East’s soul kept by Mandiblefighter.

Reward:

10000 experience

Sir Adrian’s Gauntlets

+5 to stamina

Ability to unlock the third quest in the Children of the Goddess series.

“Tell me, hero,” Ogina said, fluttering down and taking me by the hand, “are you going to continue what you started? Will you help my other two sisters?”

“Do I have a choice?” I sighed. “As if…”

“You always have a choice,” said the dryad. “Everything depends solely on your goodwill.”

“I wish that were true…” I sighed again. “Anyway, this is pointless, so let’s forget it. Yes, I’d be happy to help your two sisters.

You unlocked Find Hilda the North

This is the third in the Children of the Goddess series of hidden quests.

Task: Find and save the keeper of the northern reaches.

Reward:

7500 experience

Set item that was considered lost in the depths of time

Random class ability scroll

Oh, wow, the stakes are getting higher. But, of course, that meant the problems I’d have completing the quest were getting bigger, too. They didn’t just hand out set items and class scrolls. Although, maybe that was just incentive so I’d keep pushing forward? And, didn’t I say I’d be going north? Right again.

“Hurry, warrior. My sister is suffering, and sadness racks her heart,” the dryad said, clasping her hands over her chest.

“I will,” I promised. “That’s where I’m going next.”

“Then I’ll get to work here. The centuries haven’t been kind to my lands! When you come back a year or two from now, you won’t recognize it here. It will be a lush garden you can wander through.”

“Hold on a second, my lovely green friend.” The dryad was about to take off. “Can you read this by any chance?”

I gave her the scroll I had stored in my bag. She’s one of the Ancients, so maybe she knows something.

The dryad turned the scroll over in her hands, licked it for some reason, and handed it back to me.

“No, these symbols don’t mean anything to me.”

“But maybe you have some idea?” I asked, disappointed. I had figured she’d be able to read it with ease.

“How should I know?” Ogina shrugged. “I can’t read—nobody ever taught me. My job is to take care of nature.”

That made sense. They’d never had good old Lenin to tell them how they should “learn, learn, learn.” If they had, I would already have known what the scroll said.

I put it back into my bag and opened a portal.

“Okay, dryad, see you around.”

Ogina the East and I waved to each other, and I ported to Eiberger. It was a four-hour trek from there to the Three Kings Bridge, and who knew how far from there?

The spot where the Wild Hearts’ powerful citadel had so recently stood was bleak and lifeless. Boulders marked where the walls had been, though everything was wrapped in vines, desolation, and silence. How quickly time erases the past.

I perched on some rubble that gave me a good view of my surroundings and precluded anyone coming up behind me before pulling out what I’d just gotten from the dryad.

Sir Adrian’s Gauntlets

Belonged to one of Fayroll’s greatest knights and duelists. Some knights, sadly, are killed by the flu rather than the lance.

From the Knightly Collection set

Set includes:

Wilfred’s Helmet

Sir Nigel’s Pauldrons

Sir Adrian’s Gauntlets

Molton’s Cuirass

Black Rose Belt

Mihal’s Greaves

+46 to strength

+40 to stamina

+28% chance of a stronger sword strike

+19% to dodge ability

+7% chance of piercing straight through your opponent

+17% life energy restoration speed

+15% damage done by the Straight Through ability

Durability: 2400/2400

Minimum level for use: 90

Class limitation: warrior

Cannot be stolen, lost, broken, or gifted.

Does not disappear from the holder’s inventory after dying when coupled with at least two other items from the set.

The following bonuses are unlocked by using the complete set:

Three random active class abilities

Two random passive class abilities

+3 to one random attribute

+15% to your chances of getting items from dead enemies

+13% life energy

Why was I not surprised? I would have been shocked if I’d gotten something I could put on and use right away. No, it had to be one more tantalizing toy fading off deep into the future. It also means I’m out the 1500 gold it’ll take to port back to my room, so I’m not carrying this thing around with me through God-knows-where. Back to Selgar it is…

I should note that “God-knows-where” turned out to be peaceful and calm. Of course, I may have just gotten lucky.

A good portion of the trip, I spent walking along the banks of the Belyanka, a wide river with a lazy current, and didn’t meet a single soul—NPC or otherwise. Even the animals were peaceful. I saw deer, rabbits, and a bunch of other little herbivores. That gave me plenty of time to think over my next editorial for the Fayroll Times, sing a bunch of songs, and finally, after several hours of walking, see off in the distance an enormous bridge stretching the width of the water. The Three Kings Bridge itself.

Even from that far away, the bridge looked imposing, and up close, it was mind-blowing. It featured soaring spans, figures of the kings or some other great warriors of the past on either side, and enough room for eight horsemen to ride across side by side. In a word, architectural might at its finest.

You unlocked Great Wonders of Fayroll

To get it, see the other seven wonders of the Fayroll world (Seen so far: 1)

Reward:

Title: Curious Traveler

+3 to intellect

A painting of the last Fayroll wonder you see for your hotel room (if you have one)

To see similar messages, go to the Action section of the attribute window.

So, I guess curiosity can do more than just kill the cat! I made a mental note to see where the other wonders were located. Three intellect points I didn’t need to fight and claw for sounded great.

I walked along the bridge, spat off the side into the river below, paid the fine the guard demanded, and, basically, did my best to act like your everyday Russian tourist abroad.

On the other side of the bridge, was a wide road paved with the yellow bricks I knew so well, though it had a row of small trees planted along either side of it. The landscape was gorgeous, the breeze was delightful, and I was getting close to my destination. What else does a traveler need to be happy?

And so, I took the odd-looking person with the disheveled head who jumped onto the road to be nothing but a mere nuisance. “Ah-ha!” he shouted, waving a club around his head. “I have you now! Get ready to be killed and robbed.”

There are many ways to take words like that, especially when they come from a Level 45 player wearing leather armor and equipped with a club, and especially when they’re said to a Level 48 player bedecked in heavy armor with a sword tucked into his belt. Most players, however, take them to be nonsense or some kind of joke.

Just in case, I looked around and pulled out my sword. Is there someone else about to jump me from behind while I’m looking at this guy? The road was empty, and nobody was visible on the other side of the trees.

“Is this some kind of mistake?” I asked cautiously as I watched the swirling club.

“What mistake?” he replied. “I rob everyone here!”

“But you look pretty shabby,” I noted. “I guess you haven’t been getting very lucky recently?”

“No, not so much,” he agreed, his face crestfallen. “Though, I’ll definitely kill you.”

He threw himself at me, doing his level best to smack me in the head with his club. Suffice it to say, I finished him off quickly and with ease. He had no idea how to fight, and clubs only work against swords when there’s a large gap in levels. I looked down at his cocoon once the deed was done and decided to leave it there. He was obviously missing a few marbles, so I felt bad taking his things. He didn’t even have a PKer tag. The people are bizarre around here, I concluded before setting off.

I was almost to the city when I saw him again. The unlucky bandit was running toward me, underwear flapping in the wind.

“Are my things still there?” he asked.

“They were, though I’m not sure if they still are.”

Without another word, he quickened his pace. I shook my head and walked into Kroytsen.

Kroytsen is the last city before the Rina Mountains. Founded by King Konn the Second as an outpost to hold back ice yeti raids between the First and Second Wars of Hatred, it is famous for…

It had been a while since I’d been in a city with a backstory. It was beautiful, too. I was in a hurry, however, as I had my last few things to do before we left.

I stopped a guard. “Excuse me, sir, could you tell me where the local instructors live?”

“Which one are you looking for?” the guard asked.

“The one that teaches warriors.”

“That would be Instructor Stynil.” He went on to tell me how to get there.

With everything that had happened in the past few weeks, I’d completely forgotten that I had at least three abilities to collect. It was time to stop putting that off. Although to be fair, I already had more good active abilities than I could use.

Stynil’s house was easy to find. What does he make? Model ships, maybe?

As it turned out, that instructor wasn’t making anything at all. He was just sitting on a bench outside his house gazing into the sky.

“Good evening, instructor,” I said with a bow. “Am I interrupting anything?”

“Not at all, warrior. What brings you here?”

“I’d like some abilities. I’ve heard about you all over—”

“Oh, forget all that,” the instructor said. “They forgot me a long time ago. Sure, we had our day in the sun, but how long has it been? Anyway, I see you can learn three active abilities, only I’m not sure how useful they’ll be for you. There’s already quite a bit you know how to do.”

“I guess so,” I said modestly. “Can you offer something else?”

“I can offer you just one active ability, though it’s a very good one, and three passive abilities.”

“Or?” I’ve never been a fan of surprises.

“Or three active abilities, though they’re only so-so.”

“How good are the passive ones?”

“They’re useful. If that’s what you’re looking for in passive abilities,” explained the instructor.

I thought for a bit and agreed.

You learned a new active ability: Upend, Level 1

Gives you a 60% chance of knocking your opponent off their feet, disorienting them for ten seconds as well.

Activation cost: 60 mana

Recharge time: 40 seconds

You learned a new passive ability: Sturdy Armor, Level 1

Gives the armor you’re wearing 50% protection against wear and tear.

Can be leveled-up by repairing your armor in a timely manner.

You learned a new passive ability: Straight and Narrow

Gives you a 20% chance of finding the path that will take you where you need to go when lost in a labyrinth, forest, or anywhere else.

You learned a new passive ability: Diplomat, Level 1

Gives your persuasive abilities a 25% chance of avoiding fights in some situations where they aren’t inevitable (The best battles are the ones you don’t fight, no?).

Can be leveled-up depending on the quantity and quality of the conversations you have.

The old man was right; they were some great abilities. I happily paid him 500 gold and headed for the local headstone to wrap up the day. I linked and removed Serpent’s Tooth from my list of active abilities. Upend was much better.

Then, I checked over the list of abilities I was left with.

Sword of Retribution

Bloodletting

Wolf Soul

Memory of the God

Upend

Not a bad selection, if I did say so myself. I hoped Bloodletting would level-up soon, as well.

“Somebody sent Coliunya running off in his underwear again,” I heard someone say to their companion as they walked past the headstone. “He just can’t get enough.”

“They’re going to leave him naked one of these days,” the person next to him responded. “We’ll all have to chip in again.”

“Excuse me,” I said, jumping in. “Are you talking about the guy on the road who tries to rob people? The one with the crazy hair?”

The pair stopped and turned toward me. “Were you the one who killed him?” asked one of them.

“Well, yes.” There was no sense concealing it. “What was I supposed to do? He came at me waving his club around.”

“Did you take his things?” asked the second, fairly harshly, I might add.

“No. He seemed kind of strange, so I left them. There probably wasn’t anything there anyway…”

“He is strange,” they explained, this time in a normal voice. “He used to be a pretty high-level player, though something happened in real life and something bad happened to his head. Ever since then, he hasn’t exactly been crazy; more just not quite right. He’s always there on the road pretending he’s a highwayman, though he’s never actually killed anyone. People kill him all the time, on the other hand, and sometimes they take his things. When that happens we all chip in and buy him some new outfits. We feel bad with him running around naked like that.”

They left, and I thought to myself about some greater good there might be in the game. In real life, we shy away from or squeamishly feel sorry for halfwits like that, and here, people were helping him out of the goodness of their hearts. Which world is better, I ask?

The headstone I linked to was right next to the northern gate, and so I walked over. It opened out onto the nearby Rina Mountains. I could see light from the setting sun playing in the snow caps, and it was as if I could see even beyond them to the headache I had waiting for me. Beyond them was the North, an expanse swept by cold winds, cruel warriors, and powerful enemies.

Vika and I got to the office well before the sun came up the next morning. She had spent the previous evening telling me how much information Diana had dumped on her. It was true—the week had been a busy one in Fayroll.

At about noon, my phone rang. It was Zimin. “Kif, good afternoon. Go over to the window.”

I walked over and looked out to see rain pattering on the cars in the courtyard. “And?” I asked tentatively.

“What’s next to the door of your building?” Zimin’s was enjoying his little game.

I looked again and saw a new-looking Chevrolet Impala, though it was the 1967 model. Where did that piece of gorgeousness come from? It had been my dream since… Okay, it’s always been my dream!

“Yep!” I heard Zimin say on the phone. “Guess how we found out how much you like old American cars, and how we got a new Impala. We had it made just for you—a perfect, handmade replica.”

I started to mumble into the phone. “But that’s so expen—”

“Stop,” said Zimin. “This is a bonus. You’ve been a huge help to us, and we have the right to reward outstanding employees. We also have the right to penalize the ones who cause problems, too, by the way. So, go down, there’s a guy sitting in the car. You have to go with him, fill something out, sign something… I don’t really understand the whole thing. He’ll explain it to you and take care of everything.”

“Thanks…” My embarrassed mumbling hadn’t stopped.

“Forget it. Oh, also,” Zimin continued, his voice tinged with sadness, “we had some bad news here at Raidion: an employee died. He was young and incredibly talented. You’ll get a fax soon, and I want you to put the obituary on the front page of the Fayroll Times along with his picture. Di will send you some options—pick whichever one you want. Oh, and do whatever you have to do to touch up the text, all right? Just make sure the keywords are there: we’re all grieving, it’s a tragedy that he’s gone… You know what I’m talking about. Okay, I have to run.”

He hung up without bothering to hear my last “thank you.”

“Kif, a fax came for you,” said Vika as she walked over. “It says: ‘For Nikiforov’s eyes only.’”

I turned the piece of paper over to find a young, good-looking man smiling up at me. Just 37 years old, the game’s chief administrator. Gone from a heart attack. I guess you can work yourself to death. I read the text without paying much attention until a familiar name popped out at me.

Many Fayroll players remember with fondness the fun, raids, and even just conversations they’ve shared with a dwarf by the name of Stavros. And not one of them knew that they were actually playing with the game’s chief administrator, someone who had practically absolute authority within its bounds. He never bragged about his position and certainly never used it to his advantage. His position in the game was won fairly, just like yours and everyone else’s. But Oleg Talitsyn has left us—forever. The Raidion family, and also…

Stavros. The potato-nosed dwarf I’d told about the cave. It’s the simple tricks the smart ones never expect…

“Wow, so young,” said Vika, who had been reading over my shoulder. “What can you do, though? Man is mortal. The trouble is that mortality sometimes comes to him so suddenly. Bulgakov[17] said that, right?”

“Yes,” I said without thinking. “Woland.”

“That’s a shame. You’re just living your life until in a second…” She laid her chin on my shoulder and sniffed in my ear.

I looked out the window at my new car. A few wet leaves had already fallen on it from the trees around our building. I should have taken that moment to think about what I should do, how I should do it, and what was going on, but, for some reason, only one thought came into my head: Fall sure does come quickly in Moscow.

End of book two

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Book recommendations

I want to recommend Realm of Arkon, a great series written by a friend of mine: G. Akella (Georgy Smorodinsky). He is one of the most popular and best-selling LitRPG authors in Russia. Book one is currently available for free on Amazon.
https://www.amazon.com/Patch-17-Realm-Arkon-Book-ebook/dp/B015QMQ8V6/

Blaise Corvin is a leader of the American LitRPG movement. He is best known for gritty characters and action scenes. Delvers LLC is his first, and most well known series. Check for his books here https://www.amazon.com/Blaise-Corvin/e/B01LYK8VG5/.

Endnotes

[1] Karpov: A popular Russian crime drama.

[2] Patronymics: Used with first names in Russia and other Slavic countries to convey respect. For instance, Semyon Ilyich is his first name and patronymic, rather than his first and last names like Harriton Nikiforov.

[3] Denial-of-service attack: An attempt to make a machine or network resource unavailable to its intended users, such as to temporarily or indefinitely interrupt or suspend services of a host connected to the Internet.

[4] Palace Square: The main square in St. Petersburg.

[5] Red Square: The very center of Moscow, separating the Kitay Gorod commercial district from the Kremlin walls to the east.

[6] Michurin: A Russian practitioner of selection who created hybrid plants.

[7] Krasnoyarsk taiga: A thick forest without roads that is nearly impassable.

[8] Vereya: A small town close to Moscow.

[9] Shashlik: Meat marinated and roasted on a spit.

[10] Dmitry Donskoy: A 13th-century Russian prince considered the founder of Moscow. There is a monument in his honor in the city center.

[11] Gopnik: Young, generally uneducated people who have earned a reputation as aggressive but minor criminals. They are famous for their peculiar style and for constantly eating sunflower seeds.

[12] Yamamoto Tsunetomo: A samurai of the Saga Domain in Hizen province known for his aphorisms.

[13] Poleyns: A component of armor that protects the knees.

[14] Chertanovo: A northern region in Moscow.

[15] Paranja: A traditional Central Asian robe for women and girls that covers the head and body.

[16] The city on the Neva: St. Petersburg.

[17] A great Russian author (1891-1940) who enjoys a cult following. Woland is one of his characters.

Table of Contents

- The Road East
- Table of Contents
- Chapter One
- Chapter Two
- Chapter Three
- Chapter Four
- Chapter Five
- Chapter Six
- Chapter Seven
- Chapter Eight
- Chapter Nine
- Chapter Ten
- Chapter Eleven
- Chapter Twelve
- Chapter Thirteen
- Chapter Fourteen
- Chapter Fifteen
- Chapter Sixteen
- Chapter Seventeen
- Chapter Eighteen
- Chapter Nineteen
- Chapter Twenty
- Chapter Twenty-One
- Chapter Twenty-Two
- Chapter Twenty-Three
- Chapter Twenty-Four
- Endnotes