Respawn: 18 and Up (Respawn LitRPG series Book 3)

by Arthur Stone

  Cheater wasn’t about to waste time.

  “I need someone who can communicate across regions. You said there was someone here like that. And I need a bow to replace my old one. A spoiled bow. I wouldn’t mind a better bow. I’m willing to consider some pricier options.”

  “So you got your bag of goodies back.”

  “Not all of them, perhaps, but yes.”

  “I’ll drink to that! Here’s to our treasure never leaving our pockets!” March said, winking dubiously as he raised his glass.

  He changed the subject immediately.

  “They brew their own beer here. It’s not wonderful, of course, but hey, it’s not so bad.”

  Cheater wasn’t picky, as long as it was cold. Anything that “wasn’t quite piss” would work.

  March had drained his glass already.

  “If you want to eat, head to the red zone. It’s a little cheaper, and the girls are easier. You’re a thrifty guy, I know.”

  Cheater was in no rush to get to the red zone. If he understood Tat’s words correctly, it was there that he had the greatest chance of encountering enemies.

  So he shook his head and diverted March’s attention.

  “You speak about my frugality as if it’s a bad thing.”

  “You know how many spores it costs to say hello across regions?”

  “No.”

  “Lots, Cheater. I’d go so far as to say a shit ton. No bitch is worth that much.”

  “How many times have I asked you not to talk about her like that?”

  “Does this girl even know she’s yours? As far as I remember, you two didn’t even have a chance to get down to business. And she hasn’t kicked you out of the party because she’s a loner, so no one else has come along to join hers. You might be kidding yourself here.”

  “Are you done? I need someone who can communicate, and I need a good bow. If you’re willing to help me with these few small things, like you hinted you would be.”

  “Stubborn as always. I guess that’s that, then.”

  Cheater nodded.

  * * *

  The “signaler” was an ugly fellow. Small and flabby, with a face that looked like he was sucking on a permanent lemon. His hair was thin, his skin greasy. His office was the kind you’d expect for such a man: a tiny room filled with tasteless clutter, haphazardly interspersed with objects smelling of pretentious modernity. Everything was dusty, even dirty.

  “So somewhere in the West Coast. Right?”

  “Right.”

  “You can’t name a cluster for me?”

  “No.”

  “That’s a problem. I need something more precise. Very precise, in fact.”

  “There’s no other way?”

  “If you really need it, I can do it. But it’ll be more difficult, and I’ll need the numerical ID of the person you’re contacting.”

  Cheater rejoiced. He could find that information in the old personal chat log. “I have the ID.”

  “It’ll be more expensive.”

  “How much?”

  “First, some background: do you know how communication between regions, or across black clusters, works?”

  “No.”

  “It requires someone with a very rare ability. Someone like me.”

  “I know.”

  “That’s not all. The ability is worth nothing at all at first. It has to be pumped intensively, and that’s a long, expensive process. One I couldn’t have done alone. Some shrewd investors have put a lot of money into my development, and they’re counting on a return. Understand?”

  “I’ll pay whatever it costs.”

  “Good. Also, the person you want to convey the message to must currently be alive and in the specified region.”

  Cheater checked Kitty’s icon in the party window for the millionth time and nodded.

  “All good.

  Based on her active icon, she’s alive. And I doubt a lone girl could leave a region, or have any reason to.”

  “Also, the communication is one direction only. I can send a message, and it will open as a chat window, but I can only send. The recipient cannot respond.”

  “Ah, I didn’t know that.” Cheater had dreamed of talking to Kitty. “There’s no way to get an answer back? None at all? I’ve been told about cases of two-way long-distance communication before.”

  The signaler shook his head. “Only in one case.”

  “Which case is that?”

  “The obvious one. If the recipient is with someone with the same gift as mine. Then, mutual communication is possible. I’m guessing that’s not your current situation.”

  “No. I doubt there’s a specialist like you in the area.”

  “So do I. We are a rare breed. There are only three of us in this whole region. And one of us is too weak to be of much use, at least for now. He can only reach neighboring regions, and not even the whole region. You’re asking for communication through two regions. Three regions away. I can do that.”

  “Great. So what’s the next step?”

  “A standard message costs two hundred spores, no more than thirty words, and each word is ten spores extra, up to fifty words total. If you need more, we can negotiate. But I’m not always able to fulfill larger orders.”

  “Two hundred spores for thirty words?” That was an unpleasant surprise.

  “Right.”

  “But I won’t even know if the message gets through.”

  “No one can give you a complete guarantee. Not everyone knows this, but black clusters reset, too, and often at the most inopportune times. Their resets can interfere with communications. In my experience, ninety-five to ninety-eight percent of messages get through.”

  “What if you send a few words at a time? Some might be lost, but the rest will get through.”

  “Fine, but each send is a separate message, with a minimum per message of two hundred spores.”

  “You’re pricier than a diamond shop, and with no guarantee...”

  “I can’t go any lower. Merchants are my primary customers. There are two caravan routes across the border, and I provide communications for them. The merchants often need my services, and these are the prices they pay. It takes time for my ability to recharge, after all, and the elixirs which speed the process are quite expensive. As is improving my stats. Sometimes I even refuse customers like you since I must save up for my core clients. You’re lucky I have an open window here.”

  “Alright. I’ll pay it.”

  “Give me the message, then, and the ID of your recipient.”

  “I didn’t expect to pay through the nose, so I’ll need some time to shorten my message.”

  “No problem.”

  “I’ll be ready in a few minutes. Ah, one last question: I assume messages are confidential?”

  “There’s no way to intercept the transmission. Or at least none that I’m aware of. As far as professional standards, as soon as I send the message, I will never speak of it again. After all, why should I disclose private information? My ability might be worth a great deal, but my reputation is worth even more. In my business, a good name is priceless. No customers want a signaler who’s a snitch. So don’t worry about me. Now, please get your message ready for me.”

  Cheater fought back tears as he discarded words, then phrases, then whole sentences, then whole paragraphs. Not that he was unwilling to spend money on Kitty, but his calculations kept him from spending too much. He didn’t know how much his new bow would cost, so he had to count every last spore.

  His prepared message had been nearly four and a half thousand words. By the end, thirty-nine remained. He wrote them down, added Kitty’s numerical ID, and handed the paper to the signaler.

  The man wryly read the written message. “‘Hello, Kitty. Coming. Sorry for delay. Obstacles. But I will get there, I promise. I don’t know when. If I can, I’ll write more. Please, dear, stay safe. Your moron who missed (at sandy hill with trench on top).’ Are the parentheses necessary?”
/>   “They’re preferable.”

  “Thirty-nine words in total. That’s two hundred and ninety spores.”

  “Can I pay part of it with yellow peas?”

  “Of course.”

  Cheater paid the man.

  “When will the message be delivered?”

  “Right now. You know the chances of successful communication.”

  “Ninety-five to ninety-eight, yes. And no guarantees.”

  * * *

  March answered in the chat that he hadn’t found any lead on a bow, and he was annoyed to be wasting time, uncompensated, on shopping for a novice rather than enjoying some blessed beer in his preferred habitat. Cheater took the hint and stopped bothering him, deciding to drop by the healer.

  There were four of them in the city, based on a flyer he had happened to see affixed to a post. No indication was given which one was the best, so he just went to the closest. He knocked and let himself in. “Hello.”

  The man grunted. “What do you want?”

  Ugh. This man was just as unsatisfied with life as the signalman.

  But Cheater didn’t turn to leave. Who knew what the other healers might be like? This one clearly had no fear that his clients would flee, so Cheater doubted the others were any more polite. “I took a pearl today. Black. I heard you should go to a healer after taking a pearl.”

  “Twenty.”

  “Twenty what?”

  “Twenty 1.75-liter bottles of Clase Azul Ultra tequila served on the belly of Miss Universe in my bed,” the healer smirked. “Come on, you’re not that stupid. Twenty greengrapes for what you want. Pay them now, or close the door on your way out.”

  Cheater swallowed the caustic reply that was brewing in his throat and silently counted out twenty spores, slamming them down on the table in front of the healer. The man carefully counted and stashed them, then walked one full circle around his client, ran his hand over Cheater’s head, and grunted back into his chair.

  “Dud.”

  “What?”

  “I wasn’t talking about you, but maybe I should have been. Look, man, it was just a pearl, not a guarantee.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Black pearls are the lowest quality, and the kind the System hands out the most frequently. You have one ability active already. I see that. So you are looking for a second. Black pearls only have a ten percent chance of giving you that. If you were looking for a third, your chance would be five percent. A fourth would be two and a half percent. And so on, if you can follow simple math. When you take a pearl and don’t get a new skill, the pearl does almost nothing. We call that a dud.”

  “Shit.”

  “You ever learn to read? Sometimes you should read the description of a thing before you stuff it down your throat. You’re lucky it was just a dud.”

  “I’m just mad because I could have sold it.”

  “You could have. But you didn’t. But hey, don’t be too hard on yourself. You’re certainly not the first, and you won’t be the last. And I said ‘almost nothing.’ The pearl should give you between 20 and 40 progress points to Talent Rank and Willpower.”

  “I got them, yeah, but I was hoping for more.”

  “Like I said, a common mistake. Alright, bye bye.”

  “Twenty spores for a couple of minutes of disappointment.”

  “Disappointment? Go find a cheaper healer if you want, then. Close the door or the flies will come in.”

  “Yeah, flies really like piles of shit,” Cheater mumbled on his way out.

  What a waste. Two and a half thousand spores. That was the going price of a black pearl. The progress points he had added to a couple of stats was hardly enough to be called a consolation. He had started to dump the best loot into his meters as soon as he had acquired it.

  After all, he didn’t want to waste any time, and he had to wait between binges to hit the safe intervals. One gold star, one gold pea, and a knotted amber strand were in total worth one thousand six hundred and twenty spores. In conjunction with the black pearl, they had given him forty-nine base stat progress points, sixty-eight bonus stat progress points, and eighteen distributable points, plus a solid increase to various meters. That wasn’t bad, of course, but he was missing the biggest prize of all: a new ability.

  The old was, of course, not as useless as he had first believed. But it was too odd, too unpredictable. He could never be sure of the result. In fact, any prediction of the result was impossible. The ability lasted only eight seconds and took a whole day to cool down. Though those values had been improved since—every ten Willpower levels increased the mana expended and added one second to the ability’s duration. And reduced its cooldown time by a measly ten minutes.

  Cheater’s Willpower was at 11. So his ability lasted for nine seconds and took 23 hours and 50 minutes to recharge. He had to keep pumping those stats.

  Just like all the others.

  * * *

  March drained another glass and slammed it back to the table as he gave his report.

  “So the bow situation is bad. Shortage of decent bows. We can discount the homemade and run-of-the-mill variants. What’s left is paltry. The crossbow situation is a little better, but only a little. I found four bows and two crossbows that matched your request in part.”

  “That’s not so bad.”

  “Hear me out. Three of the bows and one of the crossbows only match one of your requirements. The last bow has the part you want the most, converting some of the experience gained with it into distributable bonus stat points. It only transfers a paltry percentage, but they ask an arm and a leg for it.”

  “How much?”

  “Over seventy thousand.”

  “What!? You sure you didn’t add a zero?”

  “Yes. I even tried to bargain, just guessing how much you could afford.”

  “Where do people get so many spores? You’d have to clear a whole city for that! Even counting them would take forever!”

  “You could pay in pearls. The merchants accept anything for payment. But I can see that price is far beyond you, so here’s the last option: A crossbow. Common weapon of the Former. Somebody managed to plop two mods onto it, but then both went spoiled, and the owner sold it to the traders before running off to weep over his loss. He didn’t have a use for it, but you do. It transfers experience from bonus stats to two base stats: Strength and Dexterity. Some points are lost in the transfer. Not even you are stupid enough to buy it, though, seeing how they’re asking five and a half grand for it. Exorbitant price for a piece of junk, but there just aren’t many options. You could probably bargain down to five, and maybe even four and a half since shit like that can’t be in much demand. That’s all I could find with the ordinary merchants. Are you interested? If you are, I could start helping you bargain the price down, right now.”

  “Hang on a second. That’s worse than my old bow, and at a high price.”

  “This place isn’t a charity, Cheat. It’s Pyramid. It’s hell for bargain hunters. You’ll have to accept that.”

  “I’ll have no money left if I buy that.”

  “Then think carefully. You’ll have to bind the bow, too, so you don’t lose it again, and that’ll cost you five hundred or so.”

  “Looks like the only way to live a decent life here is to set up a ghoul slaughterhouse.”

  “Not a bad idea.”

  “What did you mean by ‘ordinary merchants’? Are there other kinds of merchants here?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Who are they?”

  “NPCs.”

  “Huh?”

  “Not much of a gamer? NPCs are characters, but not players. They’re controlled by programming, not by their own brains. We call them immune digis. They’re not common, but they do exist. Digis come in various categories. The lowest tier are idiots. You can tell them right away, even right at the beginning of a respawn where the infection hasn’t gotten them yet. The highest tier, elites, are impossible to disti
nguish from the humans they are copied from. Some people even think they’re not copies, that they were brought in like us, but not given player status for some reason. They have different information in their panels, sure. Otherwise they’re just like people. You won’t be able to tell without squinting at them. Usually immune digis stick to their stables. They have a complicated relationship with players which basically all depends on your Humanity. But some stables have lone digis here and there. In this one, for example, there’s one who works as a trader. When I went to see him, he said he didn’t have a bow.”

  “So?”

  “He’s a digi. They’re not easy to figure out. His shop doesn’t have a bow for me, but it might have one for you.”

  “Weird for a trader to turn down a sale.”

  “He’s not a man. He’s an NPC. He even has his own supply channels, with other NPCs. Sometimes he gets items that’ll make your jaw drop. But he won’t show them or sell them to just anyone. A lot of it depends on your Humanity, or on other stats, or on randomness the System throws in, since he’s not a player. Understand?”

  “So I might find a bow at his place. Alright. Where is it?”

  Chapter 16

  Life Seven: Bargaining

  The merchant did not resemble a digital copy of a human reassigned a dumbed-down intellect. There was nothing apparently different about him at all, in fact. Only by the information panel could Cheater distinguish that he was a digi.

  He listened without emotion to Cheater, then inquired—also without emotion— “So, buddy, where did you get all that Humanity?”

  “Various ways. Mostly for killing a great villain.”

  “What was his name?”

  “Romeo.”

  “I’ve never heard of him.”

  “Most of it came from killing him. The rest came from other deeds.”

  “Have you ever lost some?”

  “No, I’ve never gotten negative Humanity. Somethings I received nothing, but never a penalty. I’m never one to fire the first shot at a good person.”

  “I see. So why do you need a bow like this? It’s got problems, you know.”