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

by Vasily Mahanenko

  “Hello! This is an associate of the MIDCons guild. How may we be of assistance?” the female voice sounded in the amulet. I bet I’m speaking to a cute elf right now. She’s used to using her large eyes to transfix her clients, getting them to sign documents without looking. Or rather, looking, but in the wrong direction.

  “Greetings! My name is Mahan. I am the head of the Legends of Barliona. I would like to use your company’s services. You do offer management services, correct?”

  “The Legends of Barliona?” the girl asked, surprised. “Oh, pardon me! Yes, we offer management outsourcing for entire clans as well as particular clan functions. You may see a list of our services in our guild description…”

  “I’m interested in the ‘General Management’ service,” I interrupted the girl. “Can you recommend me someone?”

  A silence filled the amulet, forcing me to check that the thing still worked.

  “Excuse me, but you wish to hire a General Manager for the Legends of Barliona?” the girl asked in an utterly stunned voice a second later.

  “That’s correct. And I’d like to do it as soon as possible.”

  “Please wait a minute. I will have to contact our management. I am not authorized to conduct negotiations for such a service. We will call you back.”

  Barliona is a multifaceted game in which people make money however they can. Some know how to kill monsters and therefore go on raids. Players like that make great Raiders. Others dedicate their game time to searching for something new. Others murder and rob. But there is yet another category of players in Barliona—those who have dedicated their time to making a profit. The more forward thinking players figured at the very dawn of Barliona that a game of such scope would need intelligent administrators, recruiters, psychologists and organizers. I had already resorted to a recruitment service, but the longer our collaboration went on the clearer it became to me that recruitment alone wouldn’t solve my clan’s problems. I needed a dedicated manager who could take charge of all the various duties. From strategy to concrete tactics to player recruitment and finance management.

  The MIDCons guild was the recognized leader in management outsourcing. They managed a clan in the top 200 and managed to keep it steadily climbing month after month, a few points at a time, in the rankings. It’s worth admitting that all the other clans between the one managed by MIDCons and Phoenix were managed internally. There aren’t many who want to surrender the steering wheel.

  But Shamans are an exception to this rule.

  “Mahan?” about five minutes later, as I was growing impatient, one of the MIDCons executives got in touch with me.

  “Speaking.”

  “My name is Arthur Kristowski. I am the founder of the MIDCons management guild. I have been told that you wish to use our General Manager outsourcing service. Could we meet to discuss this in person?”

  “How about in five minutes at the Golden Horseshoe,” I offered—rejoicing at the unexpected convenience of a tavern staffed exclusively by players. No NPCs! No one would attack me screaming: ‘Die, minion of Shadow!’ No one would cast me odd looks and try to stick a knife in my back. The Golden Horseshoe was a perfect place to meet.

  Arthur Kristowski turned out to be a Level 65 Human Warrior named Serart the Kristowski. Tall, with an athletic build and slightly balding, Serart was one of those true male specimens that people frequently refer to as looking ‘brutish.’ Having signed nondisclosure agreements that applied to the game as well as reality—something Serart suggested—I related to him everything I’d decided in the last two hours.

  “How much authority do you intend on delegating to the General Manager?”

  “All of it. I need a daily report about the clan’s growth. Finances, people, levels, First Kills, stores, supplies, PvP, ratings, etc. I want to see growth across all KPIs.”

  “In that case I want to ask you the question that will determine our subsequent conversation—what is your objective? What do you wish to achieve?”

  “That’s a good question that I can’t answer right this instant,” I admitted sincerely. “There are many ways to move forward: climb in the ratings, ensure a stable profit, have daily audiences with the Emperor. I can’t quite say what I need right this instant. That’s why I approached you. I was hoping you could help me formulate a goal and then help me work towards it. We could set entering the top-100 in the clan ratings as a tentative objective. We did somehow manage to reach 440th place, after all.”

  “I wouldn’t want to get your hopes up needlessly, so I’ll tell you directly that this is unrealistic. The Legends not only lack the resources to reach the top-100, they can’t even make it to the top-300. Look—here is a graph of your clan’s lifetime rating.”

  A projection of a curve appeared on the table. The curve began somewhere high up near infinity and leveled out near zero at its tail. Or so it seemed, until Serart zoomed in.

  “You can see that several months ago you were in 277th place. Then something happened and the clan dropped to the top-3000. After that there were more ups and downs and then two abrupt jumps. Yesterday and two days ago.”

  “Yesterday one of our players reached the highest level in the continent,” I guessed the 3000 place jump in our rating. Plinto had received 10 Levels for Kreel’s quest and surpassed Hellfire. Maybe by only one Level, but still he had passed him. However, I couldn’t wrap my head around the other spike in our rating. I don’t remember anything big happening…

  “The reason isn’t very important. What is, is that the clan is too unstable and its rating depends on several factors. I wouldn’t recommend you focus on ratings growth right this instant. It’s not hard to go up—the difficulty lies in entrenching yourself in the new place. And in my opinion, stability is more important.”

  “I won’t argue, since what you’re saying seems reasonable. Let’s change the goal then. Since you mentioned stability, let’s shoot for that. How can we ensure it?”

  “I need information about the clan to answer that. I’ll confess that I personally took this project because my company has never handled the management of such a famous clan. There are particular upsides and downsides to this, which we can discuss later, but for us this is a challenge. If you don’t object, I’d like to go over the clan’s chief resources and its Charter. How are you on time?”

  “Given that I’m interested in transferring management duties as soon as possible, I have plenty of it.”

  “In that case, let’s begin. Tell me, what really happened a month ago? Why did your clan’s rating plummet so abruptly?”

  After three hours of tough interrogation, I leaned back in my armchair. I was about as useful as a dead fish for the rest of today. In the sense that I didn’t have any legs, I couldn’t walk and I definitely didn’t want to do anything else. Serart had angled everything he could from me. I even had to show my future manager the embryo of the Giant squidolphin, so that he could decide whether it made sense to activate it right now or later. The castle, the personnel, the resources, the administration, the Charter, the contracts—Serart was interested in it all. Especially who had drawn up the clan Charter and our membership contracts.

  “Thank you, I’ve grasped the main points. Now I’ll need detailed information,” Mr. Kristowski stunned me as he turned off the recording. And I do mean, Mr. Kristowski and not Arthur or Serart. There was some intangible, mysterious something that compelled me to respect a person who had so accurately processed the heaps of information I’d provided him with. “I will need access to your majordomo, the recruiting firm that you’ve hired to recruit players, several interviews with your deputy and officers as well as copies of documents to conduct a legal analysis. After that, I’ll be able to quote you a price for our services. We typically charge 20% of the clan’s monthly profit, with a cap of no more than 40 million a month. There’s also a trial period of three months, during which we receive only half of this amount. I suggest we establish our remuneration right away, since I wou
ldn’t want to waste your time or mine.”

  “No objections,” I said, pleasantly surprised at hearing about the cap. A fifth of our profits was a reasonable amount for management, since it would only motivate the guild to work harder. Considering that the Imitators manage all the accounting anyway, there was nothing worth complaining about here. Yet even in my wildest dreams, I couldn’t imagine my clan earning more than 200 million in clean profit.

  “In that case, there’s one last question—when do you want to hire the new manager?”

  “Yesterday.”

  “It’s that serious?” Mr. Kristowski asked with surprise.

  “Absolutely. I am ready to sign the preliminary contract with you right this instant. We can sign the detailed contract with the objectives and itemized goals later this month—that’ll give you the chance to familiarize yourself with the ins and outs of the clan and draw up the document properly. There’s no time to waste.”

  “Please wait here a few minutes,” Mr. Kristowski dissolved into thin air, exiting to reality. Having nothing better to do, I fell to my food and didn’t even notice the time pass.

  “I’ve told my people to draft and send over a preliminary contract. We’ll sign it and you’ll make me your manager. Right now, if you have no objections, I’d like to join your clan. I’m curious what projection Barliona will issue me by default.”

  An hour later, the Legends of Barliona acquired a new deputy head—Mr. Kristowski accompanied by a clumsy and fluffy panda as his projection.

  I called Viltrius and had him kick everyone out of the main hall, including himself, and then teleported to Altameda. I sent Mr. Kristowski to meet the goblin and introduced my clan to the new deputy, triggering a torrent of astonished outcries in the chat. Then I returned to the banks of the Altair. I really didn’t want to get in my manager’s way.

  “What’s up? Are you there?” I sent a mental message to my student, but the system glibly replied that Fleita wasn’t in Barliona. Lucky her! No worries or cares. Youth and adolescence! Should I write her a letter or something? She can get in touch with me as soon as she shows up in…

  A LETTER!

  My mailbox instantly appeared before me. I couldn’t secrete the hilt of Geranika’s dagger in some cavern—it’d vanish right away. And I couldn’t enter any settlements with it—the NPCs would attack even if the hilt was in my bag. But what would happen if I sent it in an attachment to myself? Were the Imitators so advanced that they’d be able to sniff out an item of Shadow in my mailbox? It was worth testing.

  “Greetings, my dear fellow!” I addressed the Anhurs guard, who’d lurched in my direction as if he wanted to vanquish this servant of Shadow, but then froze several steps away and fixed me with close suspicion. Judging by his blank eyes, the NPC is either downloading some update or re-formatting. In any case, I’m not being attacked…That’s a start. “How can I get to the market?”

  “It’s been marked on your map,” grumbled the guard, placing the marker. After he’d stepped a few feet away from me, the guard stopped, looked at me strangely and again lurched in my direction as if he wanted to attack me. The further the NPC was from me, the more certain he seemed that I was the nemesis of the Empire and had to be destroyed.

  “It doesn’t do to go strolling around Anhurs with an item of Shadow,” the Herald’s bell tinkled beside me. “To be sure, you have concealed it well; still, its aura percolates even through your mailbox. The Emperor wishes to see you. Please follow me.”

  Why look at that! So the Heralds can see the mailbox and its contents just fine. I have no idea if this bit of info will ever come in handy, but it’s worth keeping it in mind regardless.

  “The Emperor will admit you soon, wait here.” The Herald hurried away on his business, leaving me alone in the Imperial garden. The designers hadn’t cooked up anything new since the last time I’d been here, so I again admired the pretty fishes in the pond, the topiaried bushes, the carved gazebos and enthralling statues.

  “Welcome to the palace, Mahan,” came a familiar voice, causing me to turn.

  “Princess,” I bowed to the girl, not quite sure how I should behave. After Slate’s temporary death, Tisha had become a real Princess. My level of Attractiveness with her was constantly bouncing up and down, so it wouldn’t do to run to the girl, embrace her and tell her I missed her.

  “You are carrying a terrible item,” Tisha said, carefully observing me from head to toe. “What do you need it for? Since when have you become a servant of Shadow?”

  “Carrying an item of Shadow does not make me its servant, Princess,” I parried.

  “And yet you did not answer the first question,” the Emperor joined our exchange. “What do you need this item for?”

  “As a keepsake. This is a trophy won in a difficult battle,” I didn’t bother lying and openly told the Imperial family how I had come by the dagger’s hilt, including Renox’s words and my decision to keep the item in my mailbox.

  “If you do not remove the hilt from your mailbox within the next 24 hours, your item shall be destroyed.” The Emperor said to my astonishment when I had finished my tale. “The power of Shadow instilled in this item that you call a hilt is so great that it is corrupting the minds of my postal servants. A day won’t do much to them, but if you leave that thing in your mailbox any longer, I will order my Heralds to destroy it.”

  “The hilt will be removed this evening,” I assured the Emperor. Now this was something worth keeping in mind. Imitators don’t normally know about the in-game mail. That’s something that pertains to the players—not the NPCs. And yet the guards and the Herald and Tisha and the Emperor could all clearly sense the presence of the forbidden item in my personal mailbox. Furthermore the Emperor threatened to destroy the hilt if it remained in my mail for longer than 24 hours. The conclusion is evident—the developers are trying to use an in-game method to destroy this item. They can’t take it away directly—I really had earned the hilt in battle, a battle that had ruined an enormous project. Now the devs had realized what I had gotten my hands on so they’re coming up with workarounds—NPCs attacking me and a 24 hour time limit. I bet they’ll come up with something else by tomorrow…I need to hurry up and complete my Dungeon.

  And I really have to speak with the old man or his people.

  “I am happy that we see eye to eye,” the Emperor said. A Herald appeared beside me and offered me a scroll with a broken seal. I took it with some puzzlement, unsure of what was going on. I wasn’t about to sign anything. The Emperor went on: “Read it. I’d like to hear your opinion.”

  To the Eternal Emperor of all of Malabar and its subject regions.

  My esteemed colleague! Let it be known to you that one of your vassals has most rudely interfered in my plans, which were several years in the making. There is no need to mention his name—we both know who this individual is. He has purloined a personal item of mine. It is impossible to return it now—your vassal has removed it from this world.

  I demand compensation. The Altarian Falcon should suffice. If I do not receive it within a week, a person well-known to you will become my subject, despite our agreements about Narlak.

  P.S. I don’t like post scripts, but I can’t refrain from mentioning my pleasure. That which I could not accomplish, has been accomplished by our mutual acquaintance. A particle of Shadow dwells in Malabar! How long will it take (do you think) for your subjects to become mine?

  All the best! The Lord of Shadow, Geranika.

  “Father, who is this ‘person well-known to you?’” Tisha instantly asked her father, but the Emperor remained silent. He was peering at me intensely as if expecting that some burst of sincerity would descend from above and I would solve all his problems at once. He needs my opinion? He shall have it!

  “I will leave Malabar immediately after our meeting,” I began. “There will be no further influence on your subjects. As for Geranika’s demands, you can’t allow yourself to submit to his blackmail.”


  “Do you know what the Altarian Falcon is?”

  “No, but I prevented Geranika from creating the Dragon of Shadow, so it must be some creature that he wants to corrupt to his purpose.”

  “The Altarian Falcon is a scepter of power created by Karmadont himself. It was lost to history a long, long time ago. To this day, we know only its name. No one even knows what this item looks like. There isn’t even an image of it. If Geranika doesn’t receive the Falcon within the week, he shall do something that I dread very much.”

  “Father, you didn’t answer my question!” Tisha insisted. “Who was he talking about?”

  “Adelaide. She is alive and in Geranika’s captivity,” the Emperor said dryly, growing as grim as a thunderhead. It was very difficult for the Imitator to admit his powerlessness, especially to his virtual daughter.

  “Mother is alive?!” The Princess exclaimed with astonishment.

  “In a week’s time, Geranika will corrupt her into one of his subjects and we will be forced to kill her,” Naahti’s expression grew even more dour. “Shadow must be wiped from the face of Barliona.”

  “Nooo!” Tisha’s eyes became two enormous saucers, with terror dancing in their center. “Do something, father! Mahan! Surely you can!”

  “The Dragon of Shadow would have destroyed many of my subjects,” the Emperor went on. “Perhaps even the Empire itself. As an Emperor I am grateful to you. But as a husband, who had gained the hope of rescuing his wife…”

  “Armard will fall soon,” I reminded Naahti. “Geranika won’t have time to do anything to Adelaide.”