The Dead Rogue

by Pavel Kornev

  A perception bonus: a “Watchful Stare” ability allowing you to sense when somebody’s eyes are upon you

  +10% to Stealth

  Was that it? So much for my great expectations! I should have learned a new combat or fencing technique instead. What a predicament!

  Still, I couldn’t undo what I’d just done. Never mind. I’d survive.

  “There’s the dragon coming,” the boy suddenly said, wrapping his wet shirt tighter around his shivering frame.

  I awoke from my musings. “Where do you see him?”

  Then I saw him myself, his gray shadow flitting over the landscape.

  The bone dragon flew toward the city. He was gliding really low, tracing every curve of the hills below like a rocket with magic wings. Some kind of haze enveloped him which concealed his outlines, turning him into a shapeless blob of matter. Grass withered in his wake; the trees crumbled to weightless dust which covered the scorched earth.

  Even from this distance, I sensed the weak traces of death magic he exuded, both alluring and repulsive at the same time. I’d already experienced that with the fragment of the Sphere of Souls.

  The dragon sped towards the city. Having reached its outskirts, he soared upwards, banked into a steep turn, then dove onto the Tower of Power under the cover of the smoke that filled the air.

  The shadows closed up but the creature broke through their barrier with remarkable ease and hurried on. It took me some time to realize that only momentum was now keeping it aloft. The creature crumbled to bone dust which then rained down on the nearby roofs.

  The Shadow Puppeteer had destroyed his very soul.

  I’d never seen anything like it!

  Oh. Would the dead manage to take the city before the powers of Light defeated them? Or should we expect Dark reinforcements?

  Doubtful. The weather was getting worse. The sky had darkened; gusts of piercing wind had brought more rain.

  The wind was ripping the hood from my head. I clung on to it, wondering what I should do next. Was it worth it trying to get to the Tower of Power and then die a hero like all the other players? What good would I be to them? Probably none.

  Still, sitting here on this wind-lashed hilltop wasn’t an option, either.

  How about the lighthouse? I peered at its far-off tower, its spire assaulted by lightning. After some hesitation, I decided to check it out. It had been mentioned too many times in too many conversations to be an empty word.

  And even if it were, what did I lose? Time? It wasn’t as if I was in a hurry to get somewhere.

  “Come on, now,” I told to the soaked boy. We followed a narrow trail down the hill only to start going up the next one.

  The courtyard of the farm was strewn with dead zombies. I activated Incognito. I really didn’t want to waste any internal energy but I had to, otherwise they’d never let me anywhere near the portal. No amount of trinkets like that “Defender of Stone Harbor” achievement would help me then.

  Actually, the achievement bar was still only 75% full. Should I go and smoke a few deadmen?

  Hardly. The subjects of the Tower of Decay gave the hills a wide berth. And trying to attack them in the city or by the bridge would have been way too risky.

  It was settled, then. I had to go to the lighthouse.

  I FOLLOWED A MAZE of trails meandering over steep hill slopes, gradually closing in on my goal. The sky overhead darkened ominously. Lightning kept hitting the silvery figure on the lighthouse’s roof. The black thunderclouds swirled into twisters while the gusts of wind very nearly blew us off the path.

  The rain didn’t help, either. I was soaked to the skin.

  I kept casting glances at the boy but he didn’t seem to mind. He waded barefoot into the puddles without complaining about the cold or the wind.

  Shit. I seemed to have gotten used to considering him human. And he was no more than a bunch of pixels. Did they even have pixels here? It didn’t matter, anyway. He was only part of a program code, admittedly useful but no more than that. Program code don’t get cold.

  Neither did I, come to think about it.

  A wet, miserable Executioner is a sorry sight, let me tell you.

  The wind was growing fiercer. The sky had grown dark. Now the lightning started hitting the trees around the lighthouse as well. I felt uncomfortable thinking that the hilt of the flamberge behind my back would act as a lightning conductor. I wasn’t looking forward to receiving a mega-million-volt strike which would roast me alive. Not a good idea.

  I wound my head back into my shoulders and quickened my pace. The trail led uphill. The lighthouse tower loomed before me, reaching for the sky, its spire piercing the low clouds.

  My ears rang with the constant thunder. The countless flashes of lightning flickered in my eyes. I ducked into the wide opened door without even checking it for any potential traps.

  I didn’t give a damn about them. Lightning was a much bigger threat.

  The floor inside the lighthouse was covered with footprints. It looked as if a whole squad of warriors had taken refuge here. The sensation of being watched sent shivers down my spine. I turned to look but saw no one, so I stepped up onto a spiral staircase which encircled the inner wall of the tower. It went down as well but I had no business to be there.

  “Wait here,” I said to the boy, then began my ascent.

  The lighthouse proved to be quite tall. Very tall. From the outside, it hadn’t appeared half as big as it actually was. I kept walking along the narrow staircase which had no railings at all. From time to time, I came across narrow slits in the thick wall. At first I could see the roofs below, the hills and the raging lake. Then the view was concealed by the wisps of low clouds and the flashes of lightning which hit the spire.

  The thunder grew ever louder. The air filled with the tang of ozone. My hair stood on end with the static. I really didn’t feel like going on — but coming back from halfway there seemed rather stupid. I’d wasted so much time I might just as well persevere.

  By the time I’d reached the upper level, I was almost crawling on all fours. The wind hit me in the face, threatening to blow me into the bottomless stairwell. I was scared witless.

  A game? I beg to differ!

  How long had I n=been here already? A month? This place just felt too real for me. Scary real.

  I reached the doorway and took a peek.

  The crystal resting on its pedestal was the size of a mountain troll’s head. It was gray and listless. Dead, I’d say. Its force still pulsated within it but its magic had ceased to glow: rather, it seemed to infect everything around it with its strange disease. It seemed to poison the world, turning it bleak and unwelcoming.

  It hadn’t touched me, though, I was already dead, anyway. Dead as a doornail.

  Still, even a deadman like myself felt uneasy next to this loathsome object. I began backing off. For a while, I scampered down the steps backwards on all fours. Then I scrambled to my feet and hurried down.

  It would have probably been quicker to just jump down. I ignored the provocative thought and quickened my step, counting the stairs.

  One, two... In the end, I lost count and stopped doing it. Pointless. And once I’d finally descended, I stared at the dark mouth of the basement with suspicion.

  The place must have already been stripped of every bit of loot by the countless players before me. Going down there was a waste of time. Then again, why not?

  This wasn’t the real world, after all. What if the game had a surprise in store for me there?

  Gingerly I stepped onto the muddy step.

  “Uncle John!” the boy called me. “Can I come with you? This place is so scary when you’re alone.”

  The atmosphere inside the lighthouse was indeed remarkable oppressive. The wind whistled through the window frames. The powerful walls shuddered every time the building got hit by a lightning. I felt sorry for him.

  “Come on,” I said, then remembered. “Won’t it be too dark for you there? I’ve
got no lamp.”

  The boy pulled a torch out of its wall mounting and relit it with a practiced hand, using his tinderbox.

  “All done!” he grinned a toothy smile.

  We started down the steps. In the uneven torchlight, I noticed traces of fire on the stone ceiling. We came across a thick door ripped off its hinges. A bit further on, the passage must have once been blocked by some rusty bars which had now been forced open. A picked lock lay on the stairs nearby.

  We continued our ascent. The spiral staircase seemed to be leading deep into the mountain. The stairs were littered with clumps of earth flattened by the boots of earlier passersby, human and not. I cast wary glances at the ceiling but the masonry seemed to be stable.

  But the provenance of the earth remained a mystery.

  Finally, the stairs brought us to a horizontal corridor. I made the boy stop and listened. The silence was perfect. You couldn’t even make out the sounds of the thunderstorm.

  I paused, listening, then continued our wary advance. I looked intently underfoot but saw no signs of any traps. The tunnel was lined with half-burned torches mounted on the walls; every time we passed them, the boy relit them. Soon an entire string of lights glowed in our wake.

  In front of us thought there was nothing but darkness.

  For some, the fact seemed to unnerve me somewhat. Scared me even.

  That wasn’t normal. A deadman wasn’t supposed to be afraid of the dark.

  Having said that, there was no knowing who might have found refuge in this dry, dark basement.

  Or should I say, a crypt? This wasn’t just any old basement. This was a tomb.

  Here, the walls were lined with empty burial vaults. After some time, we started coming across some that must have been closed and sealed. The slabs of stone which covered them bore all kinds of names and other symbols, the most common of which was that of a phoenix.

  The further we went, the more masterful the carvings were, as if the later burials had been performed already at the time of the city’s decay.

  “Uncle John, is this where they buried the lighthouse men?” the boy offered.

  I shrugged. It definitely looked that way.

  For a while, I was afraid of grave robbers but it didn’t appear as if any of the graves had been desecrated. I couldn’t see any bits of skulls or chewed bones lying around. Only footprints in the dirt.

  Then the corridor opened into a large underground hall with a vaulted ceiling. The boy walked along the wall, lighting the torches. I didn’t need light, so I made my way to the center and stopped by a deep hole in the floor.

  Here, the intricate marble tiles had been broken. The floor was strewn with fragments of stone and clumps of dirt.

  “What is it, Uncle John?” the boy asked after he’d finished his rounds.

  I looked into the jagged hole. It appeared to be five or six foot deep.

  I shrugged. “A grave?”

  Indeed, it was a grave. Very recently robbed, too. The footprints on the dirty floor were very fresh. The robbers must have been here less than a week ago. Judging by the grave’s luscious engravings, this was the resting place of someone really important. Having said that, why on earth would robbers, after having taken all the jewelry, weapons and precious armor, also pilfer the coffin?

  Or had there even been a coffin?

  Coffin or no coffin, they must have had a deadman there, that’s for sure. I already turned to go when a ghostly groan echoed behind my back.

  I drew my flamberge — but my opponent turned out to be a spirit. Just a shimmering white cloud.

  Great. Where was my Soulkiller?

  “Help me!” the ghost wailed. “Help!”

  “Stay away,” I warned him, backing toward the door.

  “Are you all right, Uncle John?” the boy asked, concerned. “What happened? Who are you talking to?”

  I cast a quick glance at him. The ghost noticed it.

  “He can’t see me,” he explained in a normal voice. “Only those in possession of sorcerous skills can talk to the world of spirits.”

  I chuckled. Sorcerer, of all things, I was not. “You don’t mean it!”

  “Deadmen too. But they’re not interested in talking.”

  This had struck a sore point, so I hurried to change the subject. “What do you want?”

  “I want you to return my body to my grave!” the ghost demanded.

  Immediately, a new system message appeared, offering me a “Stolen Remains” quest. Still, I wasn’t in a hurry to accept it.

  “What’s in it for me?” I asked instead.

  “I am the first lighthouse keeper and the Grand Master of the Order of the Silver Phoenix!” he announced.

  If he’d wanted to impress me, he’d failed miserably. “You were the first lighthouse keeper,” I grinned. “Now you’re only a pile of bones. Literally.”

  His aura began to blink and ripple. Still, the ghost had restrained his anger and turned my attention to rewards.

  “If you bring my remains back, I’ll share with you some of the Order’s sacred knowledge.”

  I snorted.

  My skepticism hadn’t gone unnoticed. The ghost raised the stakes. “A lot of things have been revealed to the world of spirits. I know about your interest in the Deadman’s set. If you help me, I’ll get one of its items for you.”

  “Which one?” I demanded.

  “The one you need most.”

  The promise was vague to say the least but something in it had piqued my curiosity. I’ll tell you more: this guy knew how to hook me.

  “Agreed!” I said, accepting the quest. “Where are your bones now?”

  “They’re in the hills to the east of here,” the spirit told me. “Not very far. Less than a mile, I think. They’re in some sort of dungeon. But the exact location I don’t know.”

  The glow faded as the spirit had left the tomb. I didn’t fancy staying there, either.

  “Uncle John!” the boy demanded, bursting with curiosity. “Who were you talking to just now?”

  He cut himself short and gasped, “Uncle John!”

  “Watchful Stare”!

  My new ability pierced my heart like an icy needle. I swung round. A black shadow slid through the corridor against the backdrop of the string of torches.

  The stranger must have realized he’d been discovered. He stepped calmly into the tomb. It was Karl Lightning, the sorcerer from the tavern.

  He grinned and said without further ado,

  “Listen up, Scarecrow! I just happened to overhear your conversation. D’you mind if I join you? It would be easier together.”

  Lanky and scrawny, he didn’t strike me as an experienced player. But if there was one class of players you should never judge by their appearances, it was the sorcerer.

  I hesitated, then offered him my conditions,

  “The Deadman’s set item is mine. The sacred knowledge is yours to do what you want with it. Alright?”

  “Sure,” he accepted my terms and offered me his hand, apparently in a hurry to shake on it. “You can send me the invitation.”

  Something glinted in the sorcerer’s hand. My deadman’s nature kicked in at once. Instead of shrinking back and asking him questions, I attacked him first.

  My attack was swift and powerful

  “Sudden Strike”! “Powerful Blow”! “Claws of Darkness”!

  I invested my all into a shove to his stomach. My hand dug deep into his belly. My fingers closed around something supple and slimy. I retrieved my hand, pulling out a bunch of bluish guts.

  The sorcerer froze, his mouth open in silent agony. An amulet dropped from his slackened hand onto the floor.

  Stun: 00:24... 00:23...

  Twenty seconds was plenty.

  I drew my flamberge from behind my back, took a broad swing and pointed it parallel to the ground, aiming at his skinny neck. I whipped his head off with one blow like a seasoned executioner. A fountain of blood spurted up to the ceiling. The sorce
rer’s beheaded body stood a moment, then collapsed convulsing to the floor.

  “Critical hit”! Player Karl Lightning has been killed!

  Experience: +1 094 [9 678/10 750]; +1 094 [9 722/10 750]

  Undead, the level is raised! Rogue, the level is increased!

  PK mark: 06:00:00 ... 05:59:59 ...

  The relationship with the Swords of Chaos Clan has been changed. Current status: enemy.

  What the hell? The PK mark I could understand. After all, I’d attacked him first. But that was no reason to make me the clan’s enemy! Even though the sorcerer was apparently a clan member, blacklisting me was a bit too rich!

  Shit!

  I cussed and kicked the headless body. Then I forced myself to cool off and picked up the amulet. I didn’t have enough Intellect to read the intricate black symbols that covered its silvery surface. Also, it made my fingers go numb, so I hurried to put it away into my inventory.

  I could still swear he’d been about to kill me. I just hadn’t given him the opportunity.

  In any case, it was too late now.

  I heaved a sigh and frisked his body. On top of the amulet and some money, I also became the proud owner of a magicless leather jacket with no stats. I didn’t even try to put it on. In fact, I was about to chuck it out when I looked at the boy standing by the wall. I hurled the trophy clothing to him. “Come on, try it on!”

  He promptly obeyed. Even though the jacket reached down to his knees, he was grateful.

  “Thank you, Uncle John!”

  The sight of the beheaded body didn’t seem to faze him in the slightest.

  It certainly didn’t faze me, either. I was much more concerned about my enemy status with the third most powerful clan in the local rankings. Ditto for the PK mark which my Incognito couldn’t conceal.

  In any case, it wasn’t as if I would come across any players in the hills. So off we go in search of the ghost’s pilfered remains, then! But first, I had my stats to take care of.

  8

  I DIDN’T THINK long about which stats to improve. I increased strength, agility and evasion. As for professional skills, I once again chose fencing with two-handed weapons, bringing it thus to the third level. This didn’t make me a killing machine yet, but at least I wasn’t some shabby newb anymore, either. Also, the skill was passive which meant it was active all the time and not only when wanted. Plus it didn’t require any stamina. It was all pros and no cons.