by Paul Kite
“Don't stand there like a pillar,” Urosal distracted me from my thoughts. “If Master Zorkhan takes to your training seriously, and apparently he will, then you'll soon swap out the weapons and armor. So don't get used to them, they're just for training. Listen to all my explanations in the arena carefully. Someday, your life will depend on it!”
I hope Zoran hasn’t forgotten about his promise to remove the restrictions of the collar! With that thought, I crossed the invisible line separating the training area from the arena itself.
Attention!
You've entered the training arena of the Guild ‘Elghinn Dal Veldrin’. Due to the rules of this community, your level and the level of the enemy are averaged
41 levels have been received
You have 117 free points to distribute
Decide on how to change your characteristics
This was great! The Master had fulfilled his promise! I needed to think about the specs. Moreover, Urosal wasn’t hurrying me. He was warming up a few steps away.
Name: Kraven
Level: 41 (at the time of training in the arena of the Guild)
Race: human
Class: Shadow
Clan: none
Guild: none
The characteristics of the character:
Basic:
Power—12
Dexterity—17
Intelligence—3
Secondary:
Life—100
Endurance—160
Mana—20
Free points for distribution: 117
Skills: none
Class skill: Vampirism—1, Double blow—5, Pair weapons—5, Bleeding—5, Shadow—1
Specialties: none
Achievements: Within a step from death—1
Sensitivity: 70%
The system hasn't been generous to me in the last two days of fighting. It was expected for passive skills to level slowly, but the increase in strength, agility and intelligence had been quite scant as well, unfortunately. However, it wasn’t easy to gain the necessary skills, either. Each level was harder and harder to attain. The player could reach twenty points very quickly, and then it would become ever more difficult... Still, due to the fact that the restrictions of the collar had been removed, I was going to get some experience for victories in the training exercises. Of course, I would get less experience there than for quests, killing mobs or fighting in open arenas against other players, where everyone stayed at their own levels, but it wasn’t too bad overall. The system itself counted the points and data, and when the limit was reached, it would raise the appropriate level without notifying the player.
Since survival wasn’t that necessary for me in this arena, I added thirty points to my strength, seventy points to agility, and everything else I invested in intelligence. Well, I figured that no one was going to kill me anyway, just so they could teach me!
Hmm, so, the average level is 41. I wouldn't be mistaken if I said that Urosal is level 80, then. And he's not even the best among the senior students, as far as I can remember. Wow!
Oh, I also have that strange letter from some unknown person, that I have yet to read. After all, my mail is not active, which means that it’s impossible to add any of the players to my friends list and, accordingly, receive and send letters. Okay, now Urosal's glancing at me suspiciously, he can't understand why I'm stalling. I'll deal with the letter later, at the end of the day, then.
“I'm ready!” I informed the young drow.
“At last! Then let's do a test battle. I hope you can hold a weapon, at least?” The drow grinned. “Do not use magic skills, we’ll deal with them later.”
“I can,” I smiled back cheerfully.
Or maybe not! I would gladly kill you, avenging the Ansr-run’s activation that you tortured me with, but I will not resort to pitiful revenge. Furthermore, nobody knows what you’ve doomed yourself to by making that oath to Zorkhan.
Standing in a defensive stance, the drow gave me the opportunity to start the battle. I made a simple, uncomplicated attack and Urosal, without even straining to do so, deflected it to the side. I felt a light blade prick my stomach and a dagger in the neck.
“You are dead, Kraven,” the young drow grimaced in displeasure. “Again. This isn’t a game, show me everything you have!”
How mistaken you are, elf! This is just a game!
I exploded into a whirlwind of quick and sharp strikes. One attack after another. But Urosal only smirked, dodging easily and disappearing from under the blades at the last moment. My attempts were in vain. I couldn’t hope to hit him.
“That’s enough, Hold!” The elf jumped to the side. “I don’t understand what is happening here. Tell me, how have you managed to win against some of the younger disciples?”
“I managed somehow,” I said irritably.
Is he trying to infuriate me?
“Yeah. Most likely, you’ve just gotten lucky. However, as you can see, you’re nothing against a more serious opponent!” He said, humiliating me.
Of course! What’s your level and what’s mine? There’s a huge difference! You’ve probably done a lot more than even a few hundred training sessions and even many real fights.
“Now, show me what you can do when defending,” the drow continued.
“How about no!” I wanted to shout, but didn’t have the time.
In the blink of an eye, the elf was beside me. I could somehow block the first strike, then escape the second one, but... he just stuck his leg out to trip me and I fell to the sand. At that very moment, Urosal’s dagger appeared at my throat.
“And you’re dead again,” the drow said happily. “You have no good reactions at all, Kraven, and no combat focus. It’s necessary to look not only at the weapon, but also at other parts of the opponent's body. Eh,” Urosal sighed sorrowfully. “We’ll sort everything out.”
The NPC quarreled with me and taught me for another hour. That impudent, cruel and despicable NPC. He seemed to like humiliating me, saying that I was doing everything wrong. It was as if I hadn’t gone through those dozens of miserable fights and achieved five victories.
I spent the next five battles listening to the dark elf's caustic comments. He’s a snake, but he still knows how to teach! He corrected my mistakes on time, advised me on my stance, and pointed out my obvious mistakes, both in attack and defense.
However, this is a game. Learning here is definitely easier than in real life.
“Let's have a short break?” Urosal suggested, striking my chest once again. “I want to grab a bite to eat.”
I also felt a light, only now emerging hunger. The drow had suggested eating just in time. Otherwise, I would’ve received a debuff imperceptibly and unexpectedly, during the fight. Before now, I’d been fed on a schedule–breakfast, lunch, dinner. Training like this had made me even hungrier, so I was glad to eat.
We returned to the arena an hour later.
“Let's continue,” said Urosal. “But now use all of your available skills.”
Do I have anything helpful? Vampirism and Shadow, that's all of my active skills. And if I turn on ‘Shadow’, how will he react? The duration of the skill is one minute, and the cooldown is seven days. Well, why not?
I activated Shadow and... I’m no longer a man, I’m a drow! With a whole set of different skills, more than twenty of them. That's awesome! Only I have no idea how to use most of them.
Urosal grimaced in displeasure when he saw in front of him... well... himself, only with another set of weapons.
“I would like to know who taught you this skill. But asking about it, as I understand, is useless?”
“Mhm,” I agreed, watching the drow warily.
Will he give me the opportunity to attack first or will he prefer to do it himself this time? Any movement, any action can betray the enemy. Yes, I learn quickly, and remember everything even quicker. But the drow didn’t even budge, remaining in a relaxed position.
“Does Master Zorkhan know
?” the elf continued questioning.
“No.”
“You must tell the teacher about all of your abilities,” the elf advised, and a strange, suspicious glint appeared in his eyes, as if he’d contrived something. “Some skills should be studied and used only under the supervision of a master.”
“Why?” I squinted, but the elf didn’t answer, he suddenly disappeared, as if dissolving in the air.
What skill is this? There are a lot of them here. It looks like invisibility, but there’s no such name among his skills.
“Because!” The voice sounded from behind me. “I think it’ll take me a couple of strikes to dismember your sorry carcass. Before using that ability, which, by the way, I don’t know, since the Masters of the Shadows rarely share their secret techniques, you must at least learn about your opponent’s skills. Maybe not all of them, but at least the most basic and often used ones. It’s worth telling Master Zorkhan that, besides training, you should study books in the library.”
If ‘Help’ had been available to me, I would’ve known this information. And, of course, if I’d been given time to study. Since I lacked such an important function, I would have to read about the skills in local books.
“Oh,” I sighed disappointedly. “I agree with you.”
I'm too naive, and of course I think too much of myself. I wonder… When Zorkhan talked about long, professional training, how much time did he have in mind? A month, maybe two? I'm not an NPC, I'm a player. Training, for us, is very different than it is for them.
I had five more training sessions with Urosal, but without the use of his skills, which was the only way I’d have at least a small chance to reach him with a blade. Well, I managed to touch him twice or even three times per session. I thought it would be necessary to ask about training with a younger disciple the next day. There would be more chances for me to win then. Maybe I’d get some experience.
At the end of the day, we went to find our teacher, together. Urosal gave him a full report on my achievements, and he also complained, as promised, about my complete lack of skills. Zorkhan thanked the young drow and sent him out of the room. I understood that the Master had done this to ensure that his disciple didn’t hear any information he didn’t need to know. After checking that Urosal had already left the corridor, the Master locked the door to the room and sat in front of me.
“I seem to have missed some details about your skills, as my disciple’s report just now demonstrated. Tell me, Kraven, what can you do? Tell me everything in order. You Immortals can surprise me sometimes.”
I had to tell the Master about all of my skills and about when and how I’d gotten them. Of course, I tried to explain it simply, even though this NPC knew far too much about Immortals! In general, I didn’t tell him anything new and surprising. Well, except for the fact that I’d gotten some of my powers through a direct intervention of the God Vegor. For some reason, he greatly disliked that fact.
“Dazrael will be arriving tomorrow. You can rest for today,” Zorkhan told me. He opened the door thoughtfully and gestured for me to leave.
I wonder how Zorkhan can possibly know so much about the immortal players. I don’t get it. Has the AI gone mad or what, who or what is in control?
I could understand that Zorkhan saw this game as the real world, as it should be, because he was an NPC. But the fact that he knew about the true origin of immortals, the inhabitants of the other world (Zorkhan had mentioned it during the conversation!) was amazing.
And besides, he’d listened to my story with a strange, suspicious smile on his face, as if I’d been telling him a fairy tale and trying to deceive him or hide the truth.
I immediately remembered what Grandpa had said in the house of Eran-one-eyed: “This is a cruel game, son, even if you’re immortal!”
Why has the game become so real? Was it the idea of the artificial intelligence? Or was it a mistake in the initial planning and subsequent creation of the world that had emerged a few years later?
I’d went to my room, undressed, sprawled out on the bed, and was falling asleep, when I suddenly remembered the letter. Hell, I’d almost forgotten about it! I opened the system and found the inbox. Yeah, there it was.
Um. What's this supposed to mean?
Topic: ‘I'm Sorry’
Sender: ‘Unknown’
Text: ‘That's all I can do for you. I can't help you any more than that.’
* * *
Eight days later. Masters' Arena in Noar-Rahor, covered with an impenetrable magic dome which doesn't let through a single sound.
A tall, slender elf, with long, ash-white hair gathered into a tight braid was rapidly attacking a drow.
“Master,” the fighting didn’t prevent them from leading a pretty casual conversation. “Are you going easy on me?”
“I cannot teach you anymore, Dazrael! the dark elf answered, barely avoiding the next blow. “It's time for you to train the old master. You’ve surpassed me so quickly!”
“Every student should strive to surpass his master,” the elf said ironically.
“Do you train Kraven the same way?” Zorkhan asked, smiling with his eyes.
“Alas, I only watch his training from the outside, and rarely interfere in the process. Basically, he trains with Urosal and a couple of your younger students.”
“Is he any good at all?” Zorkhan suddenly blocked Dazrael’s attack and went on the offensive.
“Of course, Master,” the elf started to defend. “Kraven's a pretty quick learner! I think, in five days, I'll be able to train him personally in the arena.”
“That's good,” Dazrael finally noticed a gap in Zorkhan’s defenses and exploited it.
“Not bad, not bad,” Zorkhan praised Dazrael, picking up his sword. “You beat your old teacher. Let's sit down,” the drow suggested, pointing to a shelter at the end of the arena.
“Is something wrong?” the elf asked, watching the Master of Shadows thoughtfully, drinking some cold, fresh ale.
“Yes, one immortal really wants to find Kraven. I'm afraid it could become a problem.”
“Who?” Dazrael asked in surprise.
“Your old friend, the ravan.”
“Livion?” The elf was even more surprised.
“Yep. As if you know many immortal ravans,” Zorkhan smiled. “You'll have to leave for a few days. Find out what he needs!”
“I wouldn’t want to kill him,” Dazrael was a little upset.
“Then just warn him to stop sticking his nose into our business!” the Master of Shadows said harshly. “Kraven is needed only to open the barrier. Then his fate is of no importance to me. Noone should know about the Cursed Lands! As for the rest, you can tell him whatever you want. He’ll get this human, but not before he completes the task.”
“When should I go?” Dazrael asked, to be sure.
“Tomorrow morning. Prepare everything you’ll need today. I hope you won’t have any unpleasant surprises.”
Chapter 11
I t was early morning. The sun had just risen above the horizon, but the light elf Dazrael was already in the meditation hall.
Once, many years ago, he’d put a special, magic mark on an immortal ravan. Now he had to do a rather complicated and hard ritual in order to activate this very mark. He could keep only five marks active, when it came to searching for targets or surveilling them, so Livion had had to be removed from them two years ago.
“Livion, Livion,” Dazrael sighed sadly, “you old necromancer. Why didn’t you just stay in your hole, or even hide deeper inside it? Why the hell are you dealing with Kraven?”
Dazrael drank a special potion, sat on a spread out mat, closed his eyes and tried to concentrate, falling into a trance.
After that, one thought in the ancient, half-forgotten language of the first race of elves, who’d later divided into three branches, was enough for vague and weak images to begin to appear in front of Dazrael's eyes.
“Not that,” the elf peered at the f
irst image and, as if it were a page from a book, leafed through it, thus moving on to the next one. “Reptiloid? But why? Again, it’s not that. "
And the ninth image was the ravan. The elf completely removed the mark that had been placed on Prince Tarkhar from his memory and activated the one on Livion. That was all, now he could clearly feel the immortal.
Swaying slightly, the elf rose slowly.
“Now I’ll go to my room, drink something and sleep for an hour,” Dazrael promised himself. “And then I will find out where exactly you are now.”
Opening the door— which was the exit to the street from the meditation hall, the elf squinted from the unexpectedly bright light that assaulted his eyes.
“I seem to have been busy for a long time,” Dazrael drawled in surprise. “At least three hours. I must hurry. I’ll have time only for a potion to renew my energy, without any rest.”
The light elf hurried toward the house where his room was located, as well as the map and the search crystal. The mark gave only a direction, like a compass, and indicated a side, but in order to determine the object’s exact location, you had to use these things as well.
“Master! Good morning!” A familiar young voice greeted him, when the elf opened the front door of the building and crossed the threshold.
The man approached him. He was of medium height, about thirty years old, with an aristocratic type of face, shoulder-length black hair and dark brown, almost black, eyes. He was wearing the light armor which all students in Noar-Rahor usually wore.
“Kraven!” The light elf frowned in annoyance, trying to assume a proper posture and put a stern expression on his face.
Dazrael looked like he’d been sleeping poorly for the past day, or even two, with bags under his eyes.
“Master?” The man carefully looked at the elf. “Are you well sir?”
“It's all right,” Dazrael dismissed his worry. “Let me pass,” he rudely and unceremoniously pushed the guy aside and went on his way.
