The Way of the Shaman [06] Shaman's Revenge

by Vasily Mahanenko

  “In that case I don’t understand why you’re pestering an old ailing goblin instead of asking your father directly…”

  “Because I can’t go to Vilterax. I don’t know how to get there.”

  “I don’t understand—that’s what’s keeping you?” There was so much surprise in the goblin’s voice that I couldn’t help but sense some trap. “You don’t know how to get to Renox and so you decided to distract me from my grave and solemn business? You know it has been a while since I’ve punished you, student!”

  “Former student,” I corrected the goblin just in case, but immediately collapsed to my knees from Kornik’s deafening roar.

  “I’ll show you what it means to be a former student! Tomorrow morning I expect you to appear before me in Anhurs! I’ll show you a former teacher in action!”

  A notification appeared informing me that I had received several temporary debuffs and a handy explanation for what was going on:

  You have incurred the wrath of your teacher. Speak to him to receive your punishment. Quest type: ordinary, class-based.

  Kornik left my head, leaving me alone with my thoughts about the eternal question: ‘What just happened?’ The hell with the punishment—it couldn’t really be that bad given that this was a game. They’ll force me to help some old lady or something like that. It ain’t scary. What’s interesting is why I chose to get in touch with Kornik instead of Draco? That was a bit dumb of me. If there’s anyone who can tell me about the reasons for why Renox adjusted the Kreel’s quest assignment, it would be my Totem.

  “Come here, Draco!”

  “Coming, brother.”

  “You called?” An enormous Dragon appeared right beside me a second later. Draco arrived in his true appearance, once again stunning me with his proportions. You can’t help but tremble a little when you’re staring into a giant, toothy maw that’s as big as your whole body.

  “I did,” I replied, sighing with relief when my Totem, or pet as the Supreme Spirits had referred to him, shrunk to a manageable size. “Tell me, why has Renox allowed Kreel to kill the Shadow Dragon without me?”

  “Because you were too long taking your rest, brother. The Shadow Dragon began to grow in power. A little longer and he will join Geranika. Can you imagine what’ll happen if the Emperor of Shadow acquires a Dragon?”

  “Judging by the way you say that, nothing good…”

  “Precisely. No one knew when you’d return and no one wanted to rush you—you’d had your share of trials as it stood. So Renox met with Kreel, presented him with the Titan Armor which can withstand the Dragon’s flame and sent him into battle.”

  “Renox gave something to Kreel?” I echoed surprised. “Why would the Titan accept a gift from him?”

  In the brief time I’ve known Kreel he’s struck me as a bit of a role player. He wasn’t simply playing with a Titan avatar—he was a Titan, with all the hate of Dragons and desire to become the first and best that came with that race. Of course, everyone gets to choose how they’ll lose their minds in this life, but in my view this was too much.

  “When Kreel saw the armor, his jaw just about fell off,” grinned Draco. “This wasn’t just an item. Renox gave him one of the nine items in the Divine Set of the First King of the Titans.”

  “Divine?” I echoed surprised. “Is that some new item set?”

  “No, it’s just that before his death, the king was carried away to the Celestial Empire. And items that we call Legendary here are called Divine over there. I guess the word just stuck in my mind, so that’s how I refer to the set. The Legendary set of Nabudhossar, the first king of the Titans, was given to him by the Ancients and others whose names have lots of letters and are hard to pronounce.”

  “Hang on, you said one of the nine items. Where are the rest?”

  “One already belonged to Kreel—the sword, I believe. Father only had one, and it was tied to a certain class. As I recall it, he said that he knew someone who knew someone who knew someone who knew about the other items. What do you need them for? They’re for Titans.”

  “Life’s long,” I shrugged. “Who knows when I might have to need to strike a bargain with Kreel.”

  “Oh! A plan for the future. Then okay. Listen, what are you doing here alone in the forest? And so far from Malabar…These are the Free Lands, aren’t they? And isn’t there some strange shadowy place nearby?” Draco twitched a little as he asked this last question. It was like the thought alone revolted him.

  “We’re going to do some fighting. Want to join us?”

  “Like you need to ask! Who are we going to fight against?”

  Having told Draco the story about how I’d stumbled across this Dungeon, I couldn’t talk him out of running ahead to do some reconnaissance. The Dragon swore to stay out of any trouble he came across and dashed off to observe the Shadow Wolves. In the Totem’s own words: ‘That’s a sight to behold!’ Well, anyway, he’s a Level 200 Dragon and the wolves aren’t even at a hundred and fifty yet.

  After Draco left, I opened my mailbox again and began reading the reply from the game admins:

  Dear Mahan,

  Thank you for your inquiry…

  We’d like to bring to your attention that we are currently offering a new service—you may now transfer your character to a different faction…

  We wish to inform you that at the current moment your sensory filter is turned all the way up to 100% and your level of sensory perception is therefore at 0%. In order to increase your sensory perception, please visit the nearest client affairs office located at the following address…

  We wish to remind you that in the coming months there will be…

  Today was clearly not my day. Kreel, Kornik, Renox and now the damn admins! Why the hell are they telling me that I’m playing without any sensory perception if I can feel the cold wind blowing on my skin right this instant? And what about the dull ache from those debuffs Kornik blessed me with? Or the taste of the various supplies I have in my inventory? This is impossible!

  Unwilling to file this in the to-do box, I penned two more letters. The first was addressed to Barliona tech support with a request to figure out why it is I’m feeling things when I shouldn’t. The second letter was a little less straightforward:

  Greetings Kreel!

  I agree—it took me a bit longer to make a decision than I expected. Congratulations on receiving a unique item. I hope you’ll manage to collect the full set. Five million is a bit too much for a First Kill. Here’s my counter offer: I need two items from this Dungeon. Of my choosing. Any two I point to. I’m not interested in the money—you can have an Imitator divide it. In exchange for all this, I’ll give you a clue for the next item from the Legendary item set of the Titan King. Give it some thought. If you complete the Dungeon without me—I’ll keep this info to myself.

  Shaman Mahan. Dragon.

  Having read the letter several times and considered it from all angles, I pushed the ‘send’ button. Let Kreel think about what he wants to do next. Then I looked at the mass of unread letters and sighed heavily—as much of a jerk as Barsina turned out to be, at least she did her job well. I didn’t feel like going through over ten thousand requests to join my clan, so I created a special folder in my mailbox where a script could dump all the offers.

  Hang on, I’m being a little thick here.

  Why would I need to go through this on my own? This is Barliona, after all! A world where everyone wants to make a buck. Would it really be that difficult to find some bewitching Samantha among the player community to sort my mail with a wiggle of her nose? Someone with a post-grad degree and a hundred credit hours’ worth of qualifications in hiring people? Why, there must be hundreds of players like that! Why do I have to do this on my own, trying to figure out why a given player really wants to join my clan? All I have to do is grant the relevant authority to some person who specializes in this!

  No sooner said than done! I saved my current coordinates and blinked to Anhurs. Any w
ay you spin it, Clutzer is right—the clan must continue to exist. And if so, it must contain more than just me. I needed people, I needed warriors, gatherers, and craftsmen. I needed the same people that Barsina had recruited so skillfully and later shuffled to Phoenix—just as skillfully. I needed my own mob to get my back!

  When I stepped out of the clan servicing center—it turns out that Anhurs has one of these organizations—I was perhaps the happiest player in Barliona. This wasn’t even a center so much as an ordinary clan full of clerks who offered a complete set of clan services, beginning with management and ending with raid group recruiting based on player compatibility. I explained what I wanted and, twenty minutes later, became the happy holder of a player recruitment contract. And hardly had I signed the contract, when my mailbox sighed with relief and the girl sitting across from me gasped—all the letters begging for clan membership were forwarded to her as my new head of recruitment. Let her deal with them. I didn’t change the plan for growing the clan—the priorities remained loot, crafting and security for the players occupied with these pursuits from monsters and raiding idiots. All lovers of PvP should go to other clans—I didn’t need those folks. If I need someone to deal with other players, I’d do it myself or ask Plinto.

  Damn!

  Plinto!

  Any way you spin it, I won’t be able to manage without him. If he doesn’t help me, all my attempts to hurt Phoenix will come to naught. There’s just too great a difference in levels between us—and I only have three scrolls of Armageddon. I needed that Rogue. But I couldn’t just order him to kill everyone in Phoenix without having good grounds for it. Theoretically, good relations between us would do. At the moment Plinto is in waiting mode—no one knows what I’ll decide to do. Even I don’t really know. So I need to take the first step and demonstrate my intentions to the Rogue—I’ll invite him to the Dungeon. But only him—not Eric or Clutzer or anyone else.

  “Ey! What an unexpected sight! Look at you without a security detail! I’m here suffering, wandering around the city, and he couldn’t care less!” sounded a familiar voice, plucking me from my deep contemplations. I raised my head, deciding as I did so about my relations with Plinto—and encountered Spiteful Gnum standing several meters before me. “Don’t you have something to tell me?”

  “Altameda can fly,” I blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

  “I’d already gathered as much. It can fly and block my calls and also block my demons. I bet it can cross-stitch too. I don’t have any questions about that. Instead, tell me something else, my dear: What the hell? Did you get my letter?”

  “I got it,” I grinned recalling the cape.

  “And so where?”

  “Where what?” I asked, baffled. Gnum’s a genius—that’s a fact. And he’s also one of the oddest fellows I’ve met in my life. I wonder whether he thinks about the words coming out of his mouth or whether he goes about it the way I do—that is, thinking about them every once in a while?

  “You’re a bit slow on the uptake today. Where are your apologies, assurances in our long-lasting friendship and sworn promises to allow me to return to the castle? I’ll take it apart brick by brick if I have to, but I’ll figure out how it can fly.”

  “Uh-huh…I bet you will. And if you break it?” I grinned, understanding perfectly well that without additional information Gnum wouldn’t be able to learn anything. Altameda can fly not because it’s a special castle but because it’s cursed. But why should this information be publicly available? What if some weirdo shows up and removes the curse? What’ll I do then?

  “Malarkey! If I take it apart, I’ll put it back together again too! Where do I need to go?”

  “I thought you weren’t talking to me?” I reminded the gnome, still unsure how to deal with him.

  “Pff! Found something to remember. You may as well remember that the grass used to be greener and the sky bluer. Where’s the castle?”

  “In the Free Lands. Look Gnum, the castle has a restriction in place at the moment—only I can enter it or someone from my clan. That is, not just anyone can waltz in, there are very few who can. And if you get in there and those sculptures see you, they might not take a liking to you.”

  “The hell are you talking about? My girls would never harm me!”

  “They’re, uh, my girls now, or did you forget? Altameda changed location because it was in danger. Sorry, but I’m not going to remove the restriction just for you—I don’t need any extra guests in my castle.”

  Judging by the bleak look that descended on Gnum’s face, I had upset him. And upset him gravely.

  “I see,” he muttered a second later. “Then I’ll be on my way. If you change your mind, you can…”

  “Gnum, I wasn’t done,” I shouted at the Necromancer’s back. “You can join my clan and do whatever you want with Altameda. Within limits of course.”

  “Join your clan?” Gnum stopped, turned and, if his expression reflected how he felt, prepared to kill me. “You want me to grind away like an ox in the field 28 hours a day? Genuflect before you begging for resources? Meet my performance criteria indicators because ‘that’s what we pay you for?’ I don’t need that crap!”

  “Look at you spouting nonsense. Gnum, the only reason I need you in my clan is to give you access to Altameda. I’m not willing to budge on that. Everything else…What am I? The son of a millionaire to pay you a salary? You can figure that part out on your own! The Imitator will pay you something, but I don’t know what. Who knows how those damn programs figure out the accounts? As for resources, it’s the same deal. I’ll tell Viltrius that you’re working on the castle and that he’s to compensate you for everything and provide everything you need. If you want to work on your own projects, go ahead and do it. I could use your help.”

  “On my own projects? So you mean you won’t spit and sputter and scream about deadlines and products?”

  “Of course I will. But it won’t be products, so much as like ‘Hey, Gnum, say, why has Altameda stopped teleporting?’ If you mess up my castle, Gnum, I’ll eat you alive. You’ll have to go on crafting from my Dragon belly!”

  “I told you already—nothing’s going to happen to your precious castle!” Gnum brightened up. “Am I going to have to sign something? As in like I hereby undertake to transfer my apartment, car and dog to this person if I use his materials for my own purposes and all that?”

  “You forgot your toothbrush. I want that too.”

  “You’ve got a point. Without the toothbrush everything else’s a wash. But seriously? Do you want a contract? What are the terms?”

  “None,” I shrugged, earning a little karma for myself. “If you want to work—work. If not—don’t. What’s that expression: ‘I can dig, I can not dig, I can also screw something in?’ That’s the only term of our unofficial agreement. I have only one request—if you need something in large quantities, you have to tell me ahead of time so I can procure it for you.”

  “I thought you had mountains of Imperial Steel?” asked Gnum surprised. “I don’t really need much of anything else.”

  “I did have it and now I don’t. All I have left is Spectral Ore. Phoenix took everything else.”

  “Spectral Ore…” Gnum echoed a little oddly. “That’s uh these like glowing clumps of fog with the outline of a rock…and there’s no limit to Profession level and it’s not clear what recipe works for them yet? How much of that do you have?”

  “I won’t say a lot. To be honest, I don’t recall. Two or three stacks of it for sure. I think.”

  “All right, I get it. Will you take Alyx too?”

  “Where?” I didn’t understand. “What? Who’s Alyx?”

  “Into your clan, where else? Alyx is Raniada. I think you ran into her one time. She’s a friend of my wife.”

  “Why is everything so complicated with you? Your wife’s friend…Wait, Raniada the new Miss Malabar?”

  “Yar.”

  “Not even a question. Same terms as
with you. In fact, let’s keep things simple. Here…” I sent Gnum an invitation to join my clan. The Necromancer thought for a little and then accepted the invitation. Immediately, a small, chubby cherub in a loincloth began to whirl around him. A goblin.

  “Eureka! It worked!” Gnum exclaimed. It seemed that he couldn’t care less about what the projection looked like, since he did nothing to change its appearance.

  “Of course it works, why wouldn’t it? Congratulations on joining our clan, yadda yadda.” Opening the settings screen I adjusted Gnum’s properties. “From now you are in charge of the stemware. You can accept whoever you want into the clan too. The only condition…Ah, forget it! Figure that out on your own. I’m feeling a bit lazy.”

  “Wait, really, whomever I want?” Gnum narrowed his eyes slyly.

  “Are you going to ask me dumb questions forever?” I replied just as slyly. “Whoever you want. Nice cupid you got there. I can’t even imagine what you had to do for the system to issue that little wonder.”

  “Yeah, well, there was this one thing…I summoned the wrong demon…misread something you see…Anyway, it’s a long story, but this little goblin’s pretty cool, so leave him alone!”

  “I’m not arguing—I think he suits you well,” I remarked when the little flying devil began to fire salvos of tiny flaming arrows all around him. “Kek and all that…”

  “What now?”

  “If you got a monster like that, I can’t even imagine what it’ll assign Svard. I bet something epic and pink.”

  “Pink? Why the hell?”

  “Do you even remember Svard? He dresses like a clown. And he’s as stubborn as a mule. Loves work like an ant. Crafty like a spider. Think about it—what could combine all these characteristics in one person? Only some pink hippo in a white toga. I can’t imagine Svard getting any other projection.”

  “Hmm. All right, listen, I need to run and take care of some business. Where’s the castle?”

  “Here, I’ll send you the coordinates.” It was difficult to suppress my smile seeing Gnum hurry to get away from me. And I could only think of two possible destinations: either Raniada-Svard, or Svard-Raniada. There was no other option.