The Way of the Clan 8

by Dem Mikhaylov

  Every second "several" monsters were born, a couple of mushrooms grow, several kobolds were reborn. And the players standing at the intersections were responsible for ensuring that no single enemy got into the main passage. All the monsters were destroyed immediately after birth. From the hands of our defenders broke fire flares and stone debris, arrows and bolts. Swords and axes descended relentlessly, daggers and spears rushed to the targets. Some apparently particularly dangerous passages were completely covered by walls of sparkling glistening ice.

  In the shortest possible time, the clan of the Scarlet Cross, led by a playful bunny, had done everything possible to turn the dark and dangerous dungeon into such an ordinary place that it was possible to send a group of children from kindergarten here, without the teacher. And they would come back completely unharmed.

  Accompanied by foreign warriors, we moved at a quick pace. We turned to a dead end, where a dark-haired girl in an emerald dress touched the wall a few times with her fingers, and then the floor opened with a roar, and steep steps appeared. One of the secrets of the Nest, unknown to us before. And in fact, the descent was very close to the exit. Very convenient if you need to quickly get to the bottom.

  "For how much do we agree not to share this passageway’s location?" The rumbling voice of Bom inquired from in front of me. The echo of the half-orc's voice spread over all the nooks of the Nest in his question: "For what amount? For what amount? For what amount? The amount? The amount? "

  “Hmm ... good idea,” I said.

  "I think so too," Bom nodded. "We will start trading with twenty thousand gold."

  We used two more passages to descend. Down to where one of the most serious battle took place for my team — not including Orbit. He had much experience in “other” lives.

  There were no problems with monsters. The proteus were killed in packs. Moisture evaporated from the fungi. The water hovered in the air in trembling clots, it seemed that time had frozen and we were wading through corridors filled with stasis. Then the Kobolds appeared before us.

  Kobolds are charmers in their cloaks — I remembered that much. There were so many here you could not count them. The corridors nearest to the dead end were so densely packed with the enemy that you could not squeeze between them. The proverb about herring in a barrel was vividly called to mind.

  “Destroy them!” The order of the Crusader gave rise to a fiery storm.

  The next half-minute the corridors were filled with burning death, permeated with hails of stone and glass fragments. The kobolds screeched and groaned, the players shouted. Malice stood with a sour face, looking with unconcealed contempt looking at the magic of the Crusaders. The expression on his face could be interpreted as: "And you are fighting with this nonsense? And you even win sometimes? It is amazing..."

  But I was more interested in what was going on here. The presence of so many kobold spell casters testified in favor of the Orbit hypothesis. His version was almost confirmed. Again. What kind of porridge was cooked in the bald head of that crazy prophet? And then, what kind of crazy mixture raged in his father's head, that he considers his son only half of himself, and his daughter was "not at all like me"? I would not like to meet him on a narrow bridge over an abyss.

  While I was meditating, the fight finished. Enemies were gone.

  The place of our previous battle had changed dramatically. Now all the walls and ceilings were covered with ugly daubs depicting various creatures, fiery rivers, black clouds pierced with dark blue lightning, crosses, triangles, bars and runes. I did not see anything meaningful. Scenery. Ordinary scenery. And the impression was that they were trained hastily, and drew everything in a hurry.

  And what was interesting - the drawings appeared right before our eyes.

  "And how did you anger the demons?" I asked, looking at the painted walls.

  “What? - The Crusader stared at me.

  “This dungeon wall,” I began. “I'm not a genius. Far from being a genius. But I will not believe that these low-level kobolds have learned such powerful and reliable magic that they can pull this off. And your clan members are constantly on the patrol the Nest, and they would not keep silent about the eerie room with a bunch of terrible drawings depicting hell.”

  The Crusader was silent, but by the way he slowly looked around the walls, it was clear that he had already been here. Nevertheless I poked a finger into the tiny figure I noticed in the uppermost corner, hiding behind a rock ledge. And as soon as I saw the drawing, all the nonsense on the wall suddenly formed into one clear picture going from left to right, showing events in chronological order.

  “The whole scheme itself, according to which kobolds call the werewolves and send them somewhere ... it is absurd. As if there was no time to come up with a coherent legend about vindictive dark kobolds... and blah-blah-blah... And yet ... look there,” I said, pointing a finger at the corner of the wall. “Is this the demon? Maybe. I even know what to call it. Maybe, an Immortal. And everything seems to be starting with this - the whole picture. Which is more like the footage of a film.”

  It was impossible to make a mistake.

  A lonely little figurine slightly hidden by a stone ledge.

  The figure seemed to be ordinary. Humanoid. One silhouette hovering over the black clouds. But a halo was above his head. One hand pointed to the dancing of the ugly creatures at the bottom. With just a smidgeon of imagination, you could see the werewolves attacking someone, and tearing them to pieces. Furthermore - burning houses and entire villages. People falling and perishing in the clutches of a continuous avalanche of monsters. A watchtower with a red flag barely standing — the rest, hidden by fire. Was this not a scarlet cross?

  “That is how I see it,” I was even more inspired, realizing that I had gained the attention of several listeners. “The Immortals sent a great punishment on you. First, monsters, then attacks on villages and the cattle. Soon it will be even worse. People will run away from the land of death, the place where death reigns. And in the end, the very last citadel will collapse. Is not what is depicted here the Armageddon of the Scarlet Cross? I will repeat the question – how did you dishonor the Immortals? They are literally, in open text, promising to erase you from the world ...”

  Silence in response. Looking at the Crusader, I added:

  "I do not owe you anything. There was no fault of mine in this mess. The Immortals just needed a small springboard in order to invent a dark legend. And all the troubles of the Scarlet Cross are because of the Scarlet Cross itself. Therefore, we will go down and catch the white proteus ourselves. Good luck.”

  "Good luck," answered the Crusader, barely audible, his gaze fixed on the tiny figure of the Immortal, roughly drawn on the wall.

  "G-g-g-goodbye,” Orbit drawled.

  “Ros, was that really you?” Kirea asked, almost poking me in the back with her weapon.

  "What came over you, boss? Damn…” Bom was impressed.

  “The devil knows,” I confessed. “It happened suddenly. One thing is for sure - we will have nothing to do with it! The trouble is not because of us. And not because of Grim. As for the white proteus - we will catch it ourselves. And they will not get the privilege to help. No need for them to start shouting that they have done us great service. And their fate is not up to us now, to be honest. Let them scratch their napes and think about their sins…”

  “Quite right!” Whisper cheerfully declared. “We will manage ourselves! By the way, I photographed everything - every picture. Our artist will restore it in full size.”

  “What for?”

  “To put in one of the halls of Barad-Gadur!”

  “What for?”

  “It is terribly interesting! Why such a raid from Heaven? What did they do? And how can their misfortune bring us something good?”

  "And how can their misfortune bring us something good?" Repeated Roska

  “Oof,” I exhaled, and said, from the heart: “We have nothing to do with it! We came to catch a white
proteus! And then, midnight has already passed, and we still have much to do...

  Chapter Ten.

  A sharp change of course. There is the bright edge. And there is Dark Edge.

  Did we get a white proteus?

  It is silly even wonder.

  Was it hard to catch a fat earthworm caught on the hot midday concrete, where to the nearest puddle or pile of earth was no less than five meters away?

  Very easy. But, in fact, you did not even have to catch it. It was enough to put a jar filled with damp cool soil next to it, and the worm would rush there with all its might. It only remained to tighten the lid.

  And it happened like that. Exactly according to schedule and plan. So clearly and easily that I almost dislocated my jaw, yawning with boredom. As well as the rest of my companions. At the sight of such a clear organization of events, the truly chaotic Orbit began to feel sick— the poor fellow buried his face in the palm of his hands and I heard him moaning, his confounded mad soul beginning to reject the order. Terrible torture, I suppose, torture ... I was already sorry that I brought the bald seer here.

  The Scarlet Cross kept their promise. Organized all as necessary.

  At first, the entire lower level of the Nest was cleaned up with massive fighting magic. Then, mounted on the giant proteus, the leader of the kobolds was backed up into a corner, where he curled up and moaned softly, dreaming only of one thing – to die as soon as possible.

  His steed, however, flew to one of the rocky hillocks surrounded by water and froze in amazement - everything around him blazed with a blue droning flame. The heat was so strong that the fish were turned into ready-made dishes.

  The White Proteus panicked...

  Then the wall of blue fire moved apart like magic, and a dark passage appeared. The huge proteus rushed down the passage. And at full gallop struck into the wall of a cell made of gnome-hardened steel. Standing on the roof of the cage, with a careless kick of my foot, I triggered the lock and the door slammed down with a clang. The beast was in the cage. The trap shook, vibrated, but did not break— the cage was designed to capture much more intense monsters of Valdira.

  And so I caught the white proteus.

  The game system was shamelessly deceived. Still - try to catch such a creature alone, without the help of two clans, without their incredible equipment, like the very cage delivered here by an expensive teleporter, and you would get no result.

  At the most solemn moment, when the blue flame of opal at last hissed and disappeared, revealing the captured proteus and me standing on the cage, everyone yawned amicably. Orbit fell to his knees, bent over the mud and shook in a fit. Roska, who was standing next to him, sympathetically patted him on the shoulder and looked at me with reproach. Well then, she thought... my beloved dad became too correct and decent, and delivered my beloved uncle into torment. Where were the crazy jumps and dives? Where were the cries and exclamations? Where was the fight for life and death?

  "Hmm ..." said Malice, stepping towards me. "Nice job…”

  “Aha,” I responded sarcastically. “It was so hard.”

  “Right,” the magician brushed me aside. “Everyone! To me! A slight change in plans.”

  “What happened?” I asked. “Trouble with the fleet?”

  “Do not jinx it!” Malice replied in a low voice, pulling out a scroll of mass transfer. “No. It is just that we cannot go to the Gyhle underground forges. The recurrent orc military campaign began there. And this time the main military camp of orcs, trolls and harpies is there in Forges. Inside and above them. No reason for us to get in there. We will go somewhere else.”

  “Where?”

  "You will find out soon," the wizard snorted. Making sure that we were all near him, he activated the spell.

  “And the animals?” I managed to ask. “The proteus?”

  "They will be transferred too."

  A brightly flashing light carried us away. In the shimmering magical glow, I managed to see the huge figure of the Scarlet Crusader standing there. The head of the clan, The Scarlet Cross, was in extremely serious reflection. What had happened? Why had the "prophetic fresco" at the site of the death of Grim the Inconsolable so zealously predicted the death of the clan of the Scarlet Cross? How did they manage to annoy the immortals so much?

  But my thoughts of other people's troubles quickly disappeared from my head, as soon as I saw the place where the next round of my digital fate had brought me.

  The Dark Edge.

  The most terrible, monstrous, dense and deadly forest in the game, stretching for tens and hundreds of kilometers in all directions.

  Nothing could compete to this forest in the number of impassable thickets. Yes, in the world of Valdira was full of other large forests. Located to the south of here was a large forest west of Akelrome. Perhaps, you could say the trees there were older and higher. But the southern forest was completely different - bright, well-groomed, healthy. They were ruled by the Valdira elves. The main stronghold of druids of all stripes and races.

  It is like comparing a neglected wild garden with a well-kept greenhouse.

  And most importantly - most recently I had been dying to break into the Dark Edge with all my heart. There were many important things here.

  What kind of strangeness? A coincidence? The second time I was brought to a place associated with the Silver Legend in one way or another. In the Nest, I received a locket and got a special cloak to enhance my reputation, after which I was able to receive an audience of the local collector of the clan of the Scarlet Cross. I do not think it was true that their friendly relations are so strong that the Scarlet Crusader could openly enjoy an erotic rendezvous within the walls of the estate with the owner's daughter. But some things can be kept secret.

  Here, in the Dark Edge, was one of many settlements of forest giants. It was rumored that this was the place where one more part of the Silver Legend - a cuirass.

  A coincidence... It is just a coincidence that we ended up in Darklands. There was no game destiny leading me to goal.

  And it was only because of another war that we were here. Damn orcs. They launched a war in the north-west of the continent, besieging Barad-gadur and the entire volcanic plateau east of here. And they, together with the harpies and trolls, now howled somewhere to the south-east of Algora.

  But here, it was surprisingly quiet and peaceful. Like in a tomb. Darkness all around. Chaotically scattered trees, so tall and thick that the mind refused to perceive them for something wooden - it seemed that these were granite cliffs sticking out of the earth and covered with vegetative carpet.

  There was light - it was coming from everywhere. A sort of twilight with many dangerous and looking shadows, hiding something unknown. And whispers ... whispers from everywhere ... hoarse and thin, mocking and inquiring, formidable and cowardly. The Dark Edge was terrible. The pressure on the psyche was colossal. One wants to get away from there quickly - if not to the sunny expanses of green meadows, ideally, then at least to a small glade under the starry night sky.

  Orbit shone with happiness...

  His thin, cheeky face was again filled with calm, the expression of deadly boredom mixed with nausea had disappeared. He with great hope he watched an incredibly giant snake silently descending from one of the vines directly above the head of an unsuspecting Whisper. The snake opened its mouth and rushed to the neck of the spy. He did not move from his place — just sharply waved his hand, and the sharpened blade of a curved dagger sliced off the head the snake.

  "Aw ..." sighed Orbit, looking disappointedly at Whisper.

  "Aw ..." sighed Roska.

  I did not have time to say anything. The magician of the Sleepless consulted a notebook with a blue cover, slammed it, and then began to act.

  "We're there," he said happily, grabbing me by the elbow and pulling me along behind him. "Come, falcon."

  "What are we doing here?" I asked, expecting to hear another delusional instruction on obtaining some necessary points o
r percent of mana.

  “We are improving you,” Malice said. “Ros, I was given such clear and rigid instruction on your development that I am now afraid to go to bed. All I imagine is the Baroness, standing with a sharpened sickle at my bed, and she stands at my feet, and not at my head. And she looks at me with a smile of the Mona Lisa, as if asking - have you, Malice, worked hard today? Did you raise Ros’ level of Mana today? Or should I cut your legs off?”

  “That was a joke, right?”

  "Let us go!” Said Orbit.

  "If you want protection, stick close to Malice..." Said Whisper, grabbing Orbit and, grinning maliciously, watching as Roska grabbed Orbit by the arm, whining something about “please don’t get hurt Uncle Orb…”

  Uncle Orb? … but I was worried about something – the moralizing and mocking in the voice of Whisper.

  “Really?” I decided to clarify in the first place.

  “Be quiet,” said Malice, but the spy waved him off and, letting go of the bald elf, turned to me.

  “Malice has a lot of tasks. They give him the most serious work in any quantity and at any time of the day. And who is to blame? He himself!”

  "Explain," I said, trying to smooth my daughter's unruly hair. It did not turn out well. I found five hooks woven into it. My daughter was completely mad with fishing!

  "Malice was asking a lot," Whisper replied, watching the mammoth Kolyvan fall out of the second teleport. "Too much. And he always got what he wanted.”

  “Shut up!” Malice was outraged.

  "You don’t agree? You are so brazen that you might as well! Whisper constantly begs for something. Begs! I ask for things sometimes — a new item of rare quality and appearance, ingots of divine silver to repair my chain, some elixirs. However, above this I do not climb! And what about you?”

  Malice was silent. He jerked his shoulder irritably, scratched his head and sighed heavily.

  “Exactly!” Nodded the spy. “Spells of the ancients! He asked! Prayed! A unique legendary staff – he begged! The Scarlet Baron swore that you were tearing your hair out! He said that you bought a plane ticket in real life, arrived directly to the Baroness and stayed on the lawn for two days, like a fucking neophyte in front of the Shaolin monastery! And got the legendary staff! And now you do not even use it ...”