by Dmitry Bilik
“Without your branch skill, you’re an easy target,” Hunter said.
“Says the Player who used his own branch skill to sneak up on me,” I grumbled.
Hunter pointed at the artifact by my feet. “Where did you get the stone?”
“The Chorul’s gift. Not to me, though.”
Hunter shook his head. “I shouldn’t have bought the Fog Scroll, then, but it’s probably better this way. As you can well imagine, I’m about to take your training to a whole new level. And to boost your motivation, here’s a new rule I introduce: every time you defeat me, you’ll get either a new skill or a new spell of my choice.”
“Love it. What can I use against you?”
“Anything you want. Including your time games, if you think they might help you. Come over here and give me your hand.”
I obeyed. Several lines of text scrolled before my eyes:
The Seeker is inviting you to compete Until First Blood. In case your life is threatened, your vital energy will be restored from the Seeker’s own stocks.
“Ready?” Hunter flashed me a smile that promised nothing good. It was as if something dangerous and predatory had just awoken in him which had been dormant for a long time and had now finally emerged from its slumber.
Hunter took several steps back, increasing the distance between us, and produced something that looked like a cat o’ nine tails. I imagined its heavy leather ends wrap around my leg and shuddered.
“Full contact,” Hunter warned. “Get your weapon out.”
I drew my Katzbalger and brandished it a few times, warming up my wrist, then began to circle my mentor. The only magic spells I had were Electric Arc and Freeze. Somehow I doubted that I’d be able to overcome him with a basic Destruction spell. But then again, why not?
I thrust my hand out and cast Electric Arc. My homegrown lightning hit a translucent yellow protective sphere that had formed around him and expired. This little was perfectly clear: he must have activated some kind of power shield.
Let’s see if the school of Modification might work. I cast Freeze. Strangely enough, it seemed to have worked, covering his silhouette with a faint layer of frost. Which meant I had five seconds, effective from now.
I lunged forward without taking my eyes off him. I was pretty sure he still had a few trump cards up his sleeve.
Oh God was I right. The spell didn’t seem to have slowed up his movements. Hunter stuck his right hand out, sending me flying. I heard the crunch of my own vertebrae as I landed, followed by a brief message:
End of combat
I don’t think so!
[ ∞ ]
An instant before he cast the spell, I’d somersaulted forward. It wasn’t my best effort: the frozen ground at the bottom of the foundation pit was a far cry from the soft training mats in my mentor’s apartment. Not very pleasant, I tell you.
I clambered to my feet almost within touching distance from him. If before I’d only wanted to tag him, now I really wanted to give him a good thrashing.
Still, the cat o’ nine tails was quicker off the mark. Its leather thongs wrapped around my legs, throwing me off balance.
[ ∞ ]
I lifted my leg, escaping the whip. Hunter now was in a disadvantaged position as he leaned forward with his arm outstretched. My previous fall (even though it admittedly hadn’t happened in this particular time stream) had resulted in a powerful adrenaline rush which seethed in my blood and coursed through my head, washing away every ounce of mercy within me.
I brought down my sword, aiming at his shoulder, but it just bounced off as if hitting an invisible barrier. Another sphere lit up around him, only this time it was light-blue.
It was followed by the worst hook I’d ever had in my life.
“YOU OKAY?” a voice said.
“No. I feel like meat that’s been tenderized but not yet grilled.”
End of combat
Your Unarmored Combat skill has increased to level 4.
As if I didn’t understand! My split eyebrow was proof enough. My right eye had swollen so much I could hardly see out of it.
“Don’t move,” Hunter said, casting a spell.
Judging by the fact that the pain eased up almost immediately, it must have been some sort of Restoration spell. The bleeding had stopped, too.
“What the hell was that?”
“That, my friend, was a high-level fistfight.”
“No. I mean your protection.”
“I see. That’s called Mantle. A one-off spell absorbing any non-magic damage. Like a gunshot or a stabbing.”
“I want it too.”
“If you whop me, I’ll give it to you.”
I nodded and got to my feet. Finally there was some meaning to all this ass-kicking.
Chapter 15
YOU SHOULDN’T BELIEVE those who tell you that the key to achieving your goals is to turn up in the right place at the right time. Even if you have a God-given talent in an area that seems to come easy to you, achieving true mastery takes a lot of hard work. Until then, you’re only a rough diamond in the making.
I’d always been a stubborn ass who’d never learned from his mistakes. Which must have been why I’d decided I could win Mantle during my first sparring practice. As a result, I’d nearly lost a couple of teeth (which were now pretty loose) and earned more than my share of bumps and bruises.
Predictably, I hadn’t won. To add to this, my body wasn’t up to all this quite yet, voicing its protest through giving me sharp pains in the most unexpected places with every step I took. I barely made it home.
Bumpkin immediately began fussing around, then ran off to the kitchen to put the kettle on. I wanted to tell him that this wasn’t the right moment for a hot drink but I just didn’t have the energy to speak. I flopped down onto the couch and started scrolling through the last system messages.
Your Hand-to-Hand Fighting skill has increased to level 9.
Your Athletics skill has increased to level 9.
Your Acrobatics skill has increased to level 6
Your Blocking skill has increased to level 4.
Your Resistance skill has increased to level 3.
Your Unarmored Combat skill has increased to level 6.
Your Mid-Range Armor skill has increased to level 2.
Your Illusions skill has increased to level 9.
Four more skills, and I’d make it to the next level. Only I didn’t want to embark on any rushed leveling ever again. Not only did I look like a raw steak, I really felt like one as well. Even though the combat system had duly fed me Hunter’s HP, and despite the heals I’d received from him after every bout, every time I’d had to get up and start all over again.
I grunted, turning over onto my sore side, and saw Bumpkin standing before me. Or rather, I smelled him first — a most obnoxious stench coming from a mug he had in his hands which reeked like an industrial-size garbage dump. Like a master perfume maker, he’d managed to gather every kind of effluvium in one fell swoop. A true maestro!
But is was his unusual insistence that surprised me the most. He stuck the mug in my face and said with a voice of a nurse tending a terminal patient,
“Drink this.”
“No way! Do you want to get rid of your old master and find yourself a new one?”
“Drink it! It’ll make you better.”
“I prefer less drastic ways of body cleansing.”
“Just drink it!”
Trying not to breathe, I gingerly accepted the mug and took a quick swig. It tasted bitter and nauseating, like freshly drawn milk from a cow which had gorged itself on sagebrush. I wanted to give the brew back to him but he forced me to finish it. Only then did he retrieve the mug.
I leaned back and closed my eyes. I didn’t feel special. At least I hadn’t thrown up, but now I couldn’t keep my eyes open. As I drifted off, I heard Bumpkin’s voice:
“I made it with whatever I could lay my hands on. What a shame there’s no deuceweed around! Th
en it would have worked straight away…”
I’d no idea how long I’d been out cold. I woke up instantly, as if emerging from under water. I sat up and looked around, unable to comprehend where I was exactly.
Only then did I realize that all my horrible aches and pains were now gone. I still felt as though I’d had a good thrashing but it now seemed as if it had happened several days ago.
I pulled out my cell and swiped away all the missed calls notifications. I’d only been asleep for a couple of hours.
“Bumpkin,” I called as I got up rubbing my joints.
He materialized straight away. “You’ve come round, Master!”
“What the hell did you give me?”
“Just a drop of herbal tea. It’s a family recipe. My Gran taught me how to make it. Didn’t it help you at all?”
“It did. It’s just that… Do you think you could make up another batch? Ten times as much,” I asked as the outlines of a cunning get-rich-quick scheme began to form in my head.
“If you need it, why not? Same way as I did it today.”
“Think you could make some extra?”
“Are you trying to land me in the shit? I can’t. If the Guards find out, there’ll be hell to pay. They’ll accuse me of all sorts. Only Seekers are allowed to practice alchemy, herbalism and commerce. But not house goblins. No way.”
“What a bummer!” I didn’t even try to conceal my disappointment. “It’s like laying your hands on a nuclear weapon and not being able to use it.”
“Who says you can’t use it? If you buy me all the herbs for the potion, I’ll always make you some when you need it. Wait, I’ll make up a list.
He disappeared and came back almost immediately, handing me a piece of paper covered in scribblings. I turned it around. Trust Bumpkin to have used the back side of the gas bill.
I ran my eyes over his old-fashioned, childish writing. Four-leaf baneberry, dog’s wort or alternatively some precocious blossom, datura, deuceweed, ground clematis, acrid cottonweed and a dash of hemlock.
“Excuse me, Bumpkin, but what if I can’t find any acrid cottonweed? Would the normal kind do?”
“Absolutely not. It won’t be the same effect.”
“And one more question. When did you learn to read and write?”
“My parents made me learn letters when they followed their masters to the city. Their masters were merchants, you see, so once the city founded its own fair, they moved here permanently. We used to live by the St. Makarius monastery then. Those were the days!”
His face fell. Now he looked sad and dispirited. He didn’t even dematerialize but trudged back into the kitchen. I must have touched a nerve he was unwilling to discuss with anyone but those closest to him. I needed to think of something to cheer him up.
But first I turned back to the gadget which had become the essence of a modern person’s life: the cell phone. I had a missed call and several texts from Julia, plus a couple from my Mom and a missed call from someone not on my contacts list. So I decided to do what children do: eat the soup first, and then the ice-cream. Meaning, I’d call Julia last, so that nothing else would distract me. Let’s start with the least important.
“Hi, Sergei, put this number on your list,” I recognized Arts’ voice. “It’s mine. Well, at least one of them. We’re waiting for you in the Syndicate. I just popped out to give you a call. That numbnuts has sold all the eggs he had.”
“Which numbnuts?”
“Your compatriot.”
“Traug?”
“Exactly. So you’d better make it quick before he’s completely sozzled.”
“Got it,” I hung up.
Talk about the “least important”! Now I’d have to hurry over to the Community. I struggled into my trench coat, pulled on a new pair of socks, put some shoes on and shouted to Bumpkin that I’d only be a minute and would be back with all the herbs he needed — and maybe a little something to boot.
As I walked down the stairs, I called Mom. Luckily, the reason she’d called wasn’t me but my big sister. Apparently, Lily had just been offered a good job in a company abroad (which must have involved our Dad pulling a few strings, of course).
“…and she’s just said she wasn’t going because she was in love, of all things!” Mom raved. “You’d better speak with her because your Dad is absolutely furious. This isn’t very wise of her, after all.”
That’s when I exploded. I just needed to get it off my chest. I told her everything I thought about my parents’ talent of meddling in their children’s affairs. About my Dad’s remarkable ability to help when nobody asked for his assistance. About my sister being an independent and grown-up person. And that even if her decision proved to be a mistake, at least it’d be her mistake. Not anybody else’s. Because at the end of the day, that was exactly what adult life was about.
I could hear that Mom was a bit embarrassed. She mumbled a quick “Talk to you later” and hung up, leaving me standing in the middle of the yard, phone in hand, grinning like an idiot. Sometimes it can be great to get things off your chest.
“Hey man, d’you live around here?”
A burly young skinhead stood before me. I’d seen this kind of cagey stare lots of times before. His skimpy biker’s jacket hung open, revealing a loose black T-shirt inscribed with the words “Proud to be Russian”. Four other young guys stood in front of him, two of which were almost as big as Traug.
I turned to stone as I instantly recognized both the hooligans’ leader and his sidekicks.
“Are you deaf or something? D’you live over there?”
I nodded. “Yeah.”
You can be the greatest Player in the world, see off a shedload of rachnaids, defeat a God and rescue a friend right from under the noses of Kabirids — but a regular street hood popping up in front of you can make you quake in your boots. That’s more or less what happens when a martial arts expert comes across a junkie completely off his head — he simply doesn’t get the chance to focus and get his act together. I needed to concentrate.
“There’s a young guy living near you. Skinny, medium height, black hair. About twenty years old. We’re looking for him. He’s an ex-classmate. We’re friends.”
One of the “friends” started guffawing but quickly got a dig in the ribs from one of the others.
“A young guy?” I said. “Nobody like that here.”
“You sure?”
“I’m sure.”
“In that case, d’you know an old boy? A bit of a drinker.”
I very nearly asked them whether he was also one of their ex-classmates. By now, my fear had gradually subsided, replaced by a slight irritation with them for having brought out the worst in me.
“He lives here,” I said. “On the top floor. Sorry, guys, I’m already late.”
I squeezed past them and walked the length of the yard. The hoods were busy talking among themselves as apparently, the answers I’d given hadn’t provided them with the information they needed. I turned a corner and took out the True Mirror.
God bless Camouflage! I was looking at a well-worn workman of about forty years of age, dressed accordingly in a pair of faded blue jeans, a filthy winter jacket and a fur hat pushed to the back of my head. Then the reflection rippled, changing to the way I used to look when I was still a commoner.
I had to get the hell out of here. I also had to decide what to do with these lowlifes. Although they wouldn’t be able to recognize me with Camouflage on, the very fact that they were hanging around my house wasn’t good news. Also, what was I supposed to do if they actually did find my apartment? I absolutely had to do something about them.
I called Julia and talked with her for a while, swearing on my life that we’d meet up in the evening. The girl replied shyly that she had some family staying so she couldn’t come out for long. I knew what she meant. It didn’t take a rocket scientist. Even though my hormones were playing havoc with me, a normal red-blooded male, I still had to comport myself like a
gentleman. Or at least try to.
I spent my bus ride to the Community deep in heavy thought. The game kept throwing up new surprises at me, not letting up for one moment. On the other hand, development is all about setting new tasks and completing them. It’s like this in everything you do. You can spend your whole life in your tiny comfort zone, but you won’t get anywhere. In the end, you might realize that you can’t live like that any longer, but then it’s too late to change anything. So you need to constantly expand your own comfort zone. Not try to escape it as some idiot life coaches suggest, but expand it, so that an action which used to instill fear or discomfort in you only a year ago, now becomes easy and trivial.
