by Pavel Kornev
There was nothing else that I could do.
“Tick-tock” the time slipped from my fingers. “Tick-tock.”
After Incognito had stopped working, the Silver Deadman’s Amulet started to quickly restore my Energy and I relaxed with my hands behind my head, staring at the ceiling.
I never relaxed though. I didn’t feel tiredness nor did I need rest as my consciousness became used to controlling a piece of dead flesh, which scared me the most.
The red-haired boy quietly watched the pouring rain beyond the window and didn’t distract me. I sat on the bed and started to look at the connections between the special moves. I’d only be able to judge their effectiveness in battle. It only became obvious that the combos burned far more Stamina than the attacks they contained would have on their own. This situation put very similar limitations on my abilities. One or two combos and I’d be done.
This was bad.
The room turned out to be cramped, so I couldn’t train with a two-handed sword in it at all. I started studying the updated skills of my undead side instead of swordfighting.
Deathgrip still only sucked the Stamina and Health out of my victims, but Aura of Fear now provided the opportunity for the smooth regulation of the terror inspired in those around me. That was nothing to sniff at!
The ability to scare off animals made it hard for magic users to curse or enchant me and to slightly limit the movements of warriors was great, of course, however, sometimes it was far more useful to manipulate opponents without being noticed. Who knew when I might have to seem a bit stronger and more fearsome than I was in reality?
When my Energy was completely restored, I got up off the bed and asked, “Are you hungry?”
The red-haired boy bounded up from the windowsill and laughed.
“How can you even ask, Uncle John! Of course I do!”
“Let’s go, then.”
We went out into the corridor where I held the boy back by his shoulder on the second floor gallery. “Wait!”
There was a noticeably greater number of players in the dining hall. They’d gathered around the central table where a huge and broad shouldered barbarian was using beer and breadcrumbs to draw some sort of diagram. It looked clumsy but no one joked about it. The huge man who only wore a loincloth was a level 47 Berserker and he was a member of the Black Trackers clan, with two other clan members sheltering from the rain in the tavern, even though their levels weren’t as high as his.
“This is a tributary of the Azure River,” the berserker declared, drawing a curved line on the table with his finger. “It’s the border between those that serve Light and Dark. The Dark shore is flooded, so even if there are undead there, they can’t maneuver.”
A half-elf with a shaved head that was decorated with a complex tattoo sneered. “We shouldn’t expect any help from there either.”
“Exactly!” the barbarian snapped his fingers. “This damned storm won’t let us send reinforcements by water!”
“What about using the portal through the Tower of Power?” the question on the tip of my tongue got asked by a fragile female rogue in black clothes.
“The Death Disciples are blocking the city tower with their enchantments,” the orcish tavern keeper reported as if a script had been activated by the girl’s words. “No one can leave through the portal or get into the city.”
Seriously? At least there was one piece of good news for today! Even if Garth would track me down, he wouldn’t be able to get into Stone Harbor no matter how much he wanted to. The crossing was blocked and the portal wasn’t working.
The tavern keeper’s words were no surprise for many of those gathered there, while the only conjurer in the tavern, who was wearing an azure robe and was a short man of around level 25, also warned the others. “If you get killed, you won’t return to the game in Stone Harbor, but to the previous Tower of Power. If you don’t want to battle the undead, just cut your own throat and you’ll be fine!”
“You don’t have to bother! I’ll rip the heads off the deserters myself!”
Ripper, the red-haired warrior who’d called me a scarecrow, stubbornly stuck his jaw out and asked with obvious anger, “Listen, Grakh! Why are you ordering everyone around here? Who made you leader, eh?”
The barbarian looked down at him from his impressive height and bared his teeth in a way which was just as unfriendly. “Is there something that doesn’t satisfy you, clever one?”
The warrior looked around, but none of the other players offered their support. He couldn’t count on victory by himself even with his druid friend’s support. Both the Ripper and the Thorn Master were only level 35, so the berserker could power through them like kittens in his rage. This is why the red-haired aggressor just shrugged his massive shoulders and stayed silent.
“There you go!” the barbarian chuckled and then raised his head to address me. “Do you want to come down here?”
I shrugged.
“I can see better from up here. Continue.”
Grakh pinned me down with his intense stare, but didn’t insist and drew another curve one the table.
“The followers of Light have blocked all of the mountain crossings and they’re pushing the army of the dead to the lake.” He threw a piece of bread on the table to show the position of Stone Harbor. “The Fiery Hand and Night League are outside politics and they’re competing to see who will cut up more deadmen, but they definitely won’t manage to kill them all in time. The city will be stormed very soon. The units of the undead have already reached the crossing.”
The conjurer who had previously talked of the advantages of suicide tapped the diagram with his fingers and declared, “We’re here and they are there. We’ll just waste our game time. The army of Light will strike at the rear of the undead and throw them into the river.”
The barbarian shook his head. “If the Light side wanted to do that, they would have attacked long ago.”
The archer with the tattooed head laughed unhappily. “The Light side has deliberately herded the dead over here! They just want to win Stone Harbor back!”
As it turned out, the light color of the Tower of Power that could be seen through the layer of darkness was no illusion of mine. They’d introduced the opportunity to capture enemy cities in the previous update, which provoked numerous border conflicts. While the Dark side led in the undeclared war, they managed to win four towers and only lose one of their own. The Stone Wasteland was previously controlled by the Lady of White Silence and the Shadow Puppeteer had replaced her now — a second degree entity of the pantheon of the Dark.
None of the players had initially started the game on the Light or Dark side. To establish you position, you had to join a clan or accept the patronage of one of the gods of the game world. Everyone gathered in the tavern was either a subject of the Dark side or they were still undecided. None of the Light side players were to be seen in the city — the local ruler simply couldn’t force them to take part in the defense.
“Guys, we’re doomed!” the conjurer in the azure robe whistled, showing his classic pessimistic nature. “If the zombie’s don’t kill us, the Light side will finish us off!”
“Shut up!” Grakh growled at him as he started to assign roles. That made the discussion go into an argument which even the berserker couldn’t stop. It became truly serious, which was why I descended to the first floor, threw a silver coin to the orcish tavern keeper and pointed at the boy. “Feed him.”
“Hey, scarecrow!” the angry red-haired warrior immediately asked me. “Do you take him with you everywhere like a pet?”
“Quest,” I replied monosyllabically as I activated my Aura of Fear. A miasma of insecurity and worry started to spread all around me, so the Ripper stopped bothering me and went to join his druidic friend.
They were rather strange, but even if they spent their time attacking other players, their PK marks had already gone. Even Incognito couldn’t hide a label like that.
The boy got a bowl o
f broth from the tavern keeper and took it into a corner. The orc started to count the change, but I stopped him.
“Just feed him,” I pointed at my companion. “Is that a deal?”
The tavern keeper nodded.
“Have you had this terrible weather here for long?” I asked with interest, as I listened to the howling of the wind. A driving, diagonal rain rattled the windows and the buildings seemed to shake from the foundations to the second floor from the brutal storm.
The orc thoughtfully scratched his scarred cheek and shrugged.
“There’s been a storm since the lighthouse went out.”
The small conjurer in the azure robe approached and added with a glum expression, “Stop your chatter, green one! Better pour me a beer!” When the tavern keeper turned towards the beer barrel, the endlessly unhappy conjurer chuckled. “The lighthouse went out! Why wouldn’t it? It was the storm that blew it out!”
“Karl Lightning, Level 25 Thunderbringer” I read on the system notification which came up and turned away with a condescending chuckle. The conjurer took a mug of light beer from the tavern keeper and walked off. He was either uncomfortable because of my Aura of Fear or he just had no desire to socialize.
The huge berserker decided to exchange words with me instead.
“Want to open your profile?” he asked, obviously at a loss because of my equipment. A two-handed sword, a ripped cape and the complete lack of armor were not the business card of any of the classes that were widespread in the game.
I calmly shook my head in reply. “No, I don’t.”
Grakh didn’t insist, he just asked, “How good are you with the sword?”
“Better than the undead,” I answered as honestly as I could.
The barbarian turned around, raised his hand and snapped his fingers.
“Victor! Mia! Come over here!”
The half-elf with the tattooed head and the rogue girl came over. She had disproportionally large eyes, pale skin and sharp ears, which suggested she came from some sort of night people. Victor turned out to be armed with a longbow and had black-fletched arrows peeking out of the quiver upon his back, while Mia carried a miniature crossbow.
A Ranger and an Invisible, levels 33 and 35 respectively.
“What’s you name?” the berserker addressed me again.
“John,” I replied.
“Well then, John Scarecrow, you’re going to cover these guys and be responsible for them with your head, got it?”
“I’ll cover them,” I promised, as I carefully examined my subordinates.
The half-elf turned out to be tall and wiry, with forgettable facial features. The complex red and blue tattoo that matched the color of his clothing completely covered his shaved head and also went under his hunting jacket.
The rogue girl was petite and very lovely. She obviously loved black velvet, and it even suited her. However, the girl didn’t have the best of manners.
Mia loudly drew in the air and screwed up her face. “Ugh... You really smell, Scarecrow.”
I felt like I was completely mortified, but then immediately gathered my wits and snorted. “After ten zombies you won’t smell like flowers either, darling.”
“Have you already been fighting the undead?” Victor asked with interest. The eyes of the half-elf turned out to be strange, with a violet iris.
“Yes. While I was getting to the city, I got into a fight with them,” I replied and addressed the tavern keeper because I wanted to finish the conversation as soon as I could. “Have you climbed up into the lighthouse? Shouldn’t it get fixed?”
The orc shrugged. “It’s not alight,” was all that he said.
The green skinned thug was definitely not too talkative, but I got what I wanted — the long range fighters left me alone and went to sit at one of the tables. I was left alone at the bar.
New players came down to the dining hall from time to time, some burning with the desire to fight back against the attacks of the undead, while others were swearing at the developers that had locked us in this backwater place. However, no one was in a hurry to follow the advice of the whiny conjurer and commit suicide. The mark of the deserter could make the game a lot more difficult in the future, spoiling relations with the subjects of the Dark side, not even mentioning the lost experience.
The tavern filled with noise, as there were constant arguments at the tables, but the barbarian turned out to have a great organizational talent and he completely ignored the unhappiness of others, forming the players into groups and distributing duties among them, marking the required positions on the map. The fearsome image and bad reputation of berserkers made everyone else obediently dance to his tune and no one dared to confront him. Even the aggressive Ripper and his little druid partner didn’t try to do anything.
Incognito was slowly sapping my Energy so I decided to go up to the room. But as soon as I stepped away from the bar, I heard the ringing of a bell out in the street. Then I heard more ringing again and again...
5
NO ONE WANTED to keep sitting in the tavern as everyone rushed to repel the attack of the undead. There was even a jam in the doorway.
I ran up to the red-haired boy and gave him an order.
“Go to the hills where we met during the day and wait for me there. Run!”
I ran after the players myself. The street met me with darkness, stormy wind and rain, with torches flaming in the night in a long row along the road to the bridge. There wasn’t that much confusion though — the berserker was rather astute in splitting the unit into groups of three or four people. I noticed Victor and Mia sticking together, caught up with them and ran after them, without forgetting to watch my falling Stamina and Energy.
The road turned to and fro along the hills. The water came down the stony slopes forming deep puddles, with small bridges over the wild streams appearing here and there. The straight road was much shorter, but it would be difficult in the hills in this weather even for one of the undead with night sight, while players with torches simply risked breaking their necks and legs.
We’d be in time, anyway.
We were in time.
When our motley company ran out to the crossing, there were scorpion teams busy at the top platforms of the towers and archers who were taking on bundles of arrows, while the city guards lined up with their halberds under the cover of the raised drawbridge.
As I remembered the fast current and sheer mountains, I didn’t believe in a successful storming of the city at all, although Grakh immediately started to shout at the players, making them go to their pre-arranged positions. We, or Victor and Mia to be more exact, had to occupy a hill to the left of the road. Another three archers and a conjurer that had been attached to reinforce them went to the neighboring hill. The rest of the players turned out to be armed with melee weapons and stood behind the halberdiers in case the undead forced their way through.
“Just a waste of time getting wet in the rain,” I grumbled as I sat down on one of the rocks.
“You can definitely do with a wash,” snorted the rogue.
I kept quiet, picked a stalk of wormwood and started to rub the flowers between my hands, trying to beat the smell of death at least a little. Damn the fine sense of smell of the non-humans.
The most surprising thing was that I definitely liked Mia. If things had been different, I wouldn’t have said no to getting to know her better, but I had to keep my distance for now. What sort of fun could I have in the game now?
This wasn’t a game at all anyway...
I heard the snap of the scorpions and saw how orange glowing spears flew to the other side. Something immediately made a loud thudding noise and the earth shook beneath our feet. The Death Disciples had sent a dark cloud to attack the defenders of the city in return, but the towers turned out to be defended by something darker, and the darkness inside their walls easily absorbed the attack spell.
The mountain then started to shake, as if it echoed the steps of an inv
isible giant. The spears launched by the scorpions flew to the opposite shore again and then we heard an inhuman howling. The players below laughed and started to exchange jokes, even though I could see something the size of a two story house approaching the crossing from the hill.
Had the Death Disciples managed to build a siege tower?
This was no tower, however. A huge mountain troll entered the bridge — it was dead and bloated from decomposition. The archers rained a hail of arrows down on the beast from the towers, turning into a giant pin cushion. This didn’t even make it miss a step however.
Boom! The earth shook underfoot. Boom!
“Conjurer!” Grakh shouted at the top of his voice. “Do something!”
What could a humble level 25 Thunderbringer do though? Nothing! We simply had no other battlemages in our group anyway.
The troll crossed the bridge and stepped into the gap, but it didn’t fall down into it, grabbing the opposite edge with its swollen fingers instead, unbelievably replacing the drawbridge with its own body. The dead immediately moved towards the new crossing. Quick skeletons jumped out from behind the cover of wooden shields and rushed across. A poisonous green glow burned in their empty skulls stronger and stronger and even though the archers took them out with one hit, a few of the quick creatures managed to reach the troll and used it to bound towards the raised section of the bridge.
I heard a crashing noise. The thick logs flew apart into sharp shards and this deadly shrapnel cut down the first row of halberdiers almost completely. The second row was immediately crushed by the dead as they rushed through the gates. They may have been slow and bloated from decay, but they were still there.
“Attack!” Grakh barked, and the company of players cut into the crowd of zombies, shouting and catcalling. Swords were raised and two-handed poleaxes fell upon the undead.
