The Birth

by Paul Kite

Permanent effects: 25% chance to stun a target for 2.5 seconds, 25% chance of dealing 200% damage (one for each item).

  Superimposed temporary spells: none, when cast, no more than 2 are allowed (one for each item)

  Level restrictions: none.

  Class restrictions: none.

  Additional restrictions: must be used as a pair of weapons, it is impossible to move them into the inventory, it is impossible to sell them, it is impossible to transfer them, it is impossible to lose them, bound to the character Kraven.

  When I read it all, a new system message appeared, filling my ears with a furious, persistent ringing:

  Attention!

  You have become the owner of a rare cursed item. We would like to remind you that the committed binding— the act of coating the blade of any of the Daggers of Chaos with your blood—is impossible to cancel! From now on, this weapon will always be with you, until the complete deletion of your character. Only then will you be able to get rid of the cursed item.

  Do not forget that wearing the weapons openly will cause any drow to hate you, and for representatives of any other race to be hostile toward you and distrust you.

  The first time you mentally order it, the weapon will be placed into a magic pocket, from which, using the same mental order, you can pull it out in case of danger or to call upon the black wolf's totem, Zuraval arn Rar, for help. And do not forget that if the totem moves more than one thousand yards away from you, it will immediately return to its home world.

  That seems like plenty, doesn’t it? At least, I’d thought so. But when I closed that message, another one arrived, and a familiar alarm bell rang out once more.

  What else could there be!!!

  You have been influenced by the divine power of Vegor—the patron of the dark elves—and Onarkis—the patron of the light elves. The Gods’ magic is strong, but even it cannot forever hold the insane black wolf away from his world. As soon as the wolf gains enough strength, after being in the world of Noria for so long, he will be able to return home and then be available for you to call. But the Gods wish to warn you—do not do this if you do not want to incur the wrath of higher entities!

  The message disappeared, and the Daggers of Chaos’ characteristics reappeared before my eyes. They seemed not to be different from the ones that had been there before, except for a short sentence at the very end:

  Additional options: call on the totem black wolf Zuraval arn Rar—the duration of the action is unknown.

  “Oh!” I moaned hopelessly, sitting down on the floor.

  “What?” The elf said, not getting distracted from his unceremonious digging into the bag of the already melted magician’s corpse.

  “We have a problem,” I said.

  “You mean that you,” the elf hurried to correct me, “you have a problem.”

  The NPCs did tend to not get involved in player affairs if they could avoid it. It would seem I was looking more like a player by the minute, judging by his reaction.

  Well, yes, I have a problem. I’m holding a cursed item in my hands, which I cannot get rid of without going through a character deletion, but I can’t physically do that. Also, the Gods have clearly said that I can even use it, but only without the summoning component.

  And I don’t want to argue with the gods. I want to get rid of the damned collar, find a player whom I can fully trust, contact my father and finally find out what’s happened to me out there in real life, and why... I'm locked up in this way too realistic game!

  However, I cannot even begin to imagine who can be trusted here! The Administration? That doesn’t work—of course, they are also present in the game, but like most ordinary players, they observe it from the inside, and they can’t directly influence the world. ‘Noria’ almost completely and unconditionally belongs to the pyramid, consisting of a variety of artificial intelligences. And there is no open information about which of the players work in the administration! It’s kept secret. Do I ask everyone if he or she is an admin? Yeah, they'll disregard me, of course. And I'm not a big enough fool to reveal my identity. In any case, I am interesting to people not only as a strange player who’s unable to communicate with someone in real life through the “help” function, but also as a means to put pressure on my father—the Director of the Technical Department of ‘Life’ Corporation.

  If I had the opportunity to press the cherished ‘help’ button and write a letter to the administration, they would have, of course, pulled me out right away. For example, they would’ve sent a detachment of players—if they needed to arrange everything beautifully and not disrupt the story of ‘a character being saved’, or the capsule would’ve been disabled by remote access. The last one I wouldn’t risk doing—who knows what condition my body is in and how being logged out could affect me. Maybe I'd die immediately. I don’t want to check that even in my own thoughts.

  In general, the administration’s capabilities in the virtual world are quite enough, but they are within the gameplay parameters. And the technical side scares me. It’s scary to consider connecting to the admins, as it’s unlikely that Dad would be praised after they learn he broke a whole bunch of laws while immersing me in virtuality. Maybe it would go beyond just a simple dismissal.

  And so, I have to get rid of the slave collar and hope for the good luck of meeting a completely honest player who can call and speak to people in real life. Of course, that’s on the verge of being fiction. My father didn’t teach me not to trust anyone except my very closest people for nothing, and I learned that lesson well.

  “What's the problem? “The elf seemed to have repeated this question more than once; he was crouched in front of me and carefully looking at me, waiting for me to wake up “It's going to be evening soon and we should hurry if we want to get to a safe place before nightfall. Or let's spend the night here, and we can set out in the morning.”

  Evening already?! Amazing… It still seems that all that’s happened since we entered the cave took very little time.

  “The Daggers of Chaos...” I decided to explain about the Gods.

  And in short, quickly repeating everything in a more understandable way for the NPC, I told about the fact that the patrons of the drow and light elves had locked the wolf somewhere, but he, having gained strength, would return to his world, and as soon as this happened, I would be able to call on him. Only I mustn’t do this if I don’t want trouble. I also mentioned the attitude of the drow and other races to the cursed daggers, and the fact that I could hide them in the magic pocket.

  “Then hide them and forget about them forever,” the elf advised. “Is that such a problem?!”

  How easy everything is for him—kill monstrous goblins, distract the magician and the archers, hide the cursed daggers and don’t think about them. Forget about the ticking bomb. What if the totem doesn’t need to be called? What if he can just appear under certain circumstances? Who knows with these gods, divine totems and other supernatural beings.

  However, I put away the Daggers of Chaos— I just had to think about them disappearing, and the daggers instantly disappeared from my hands.

  “I almost forgot,” the elf, who had risen to his feet, leaned toward me. He handed me a small amulet in the form of a glass eight-point star, shimmering with all the colors of the rainbow, on a golden chain. “A gift from the magician, I think you need it more.”

  Item: The Amulet of the Rising Sun

  Quality: unknown

  Material: rainbow glass

  Permanent spells: none, cannot be cast

  Superimposed temporary spells: 5 second magical shield from all damage, except divine

  Level restrictions: level 25 and up

  Class restrictions: none

  Race restriction: human

  It’s an excellent amulet. But why didn't the magician activate it when I attacked them upstairs? Did he forget about it? Was he too scared? Or had he decided not to use up such an expensive item, because it’s only a one-time use or has very few ch
arges? Asking questions is in vain. I can’t ask the mage—he’s temporarily dead, and, to be honest, I don’t care about the answer. Now this expensive trinket belongs to me. I’d like to look at the other players’ things, which were left in small, brown sacks at the place of their deaths. But I think that during the time I was indulging in my sad and unpleasant thoughts, the elf had already thoroughly reviewed everything and put the necessary items in his inventory bag.

  “Once, before going to meet his heavenly patron, a good man told me to give presents to people, in order to bring a bit of joy into their dark life,” Dazrael smiled slyly as he said it.

  “Did you send him there?” Standing up from the floor, I squinted slightly at the elf.

  “Well, yes. I don’t like thieves.”

  We hurriedly ran through the earthen tunnel, at the same time bypassing the hole through which we’d gotten into it, and found ourselves on the muddy shore of a small, highly turbid lake, whose surface was completely immovable, like opaque glass had been placed on the sand. The day was really coming to an end—the sun was going down, on the horizon.

  The elf quickly took out a small bottle, glowing with silver light, and aptly threw it into the middle of the lake. Without a single ripple, the bottle went under the water. The color of the water first changed to red, then to black. And almost immediately, there was a long, drawn-out hum.

  “Follow me,” the elf turned in the opposite direction and instantly climbed up the crumbling shore. “He will wake up soon, we need to be as far away as possible!”

  “Who do you mean"? I ran alongside the elf.

  “The spirit of this lake and most of the forest around it.”

  “And why have you woken him up?!” I was greatly surprised. “It’s not like the forest is boring without him!”

  “Do you think that those immortals will return in the same company next time? Oh, no!” The elf said, “They will bring some friends who can trail our footprint, regardless of whether we’re invisible or not. We could even be moving like those strange, hairy creatures in the Gavrtol forests—in the trees.”

  “So this is a red herring!” I happily guessed. “You should’ve said that from the start.”

  “Shut up and run silently,” Dazrael murmured.

  The hum smoothly turned into an increasing howl. Birds soared quickly over our heads and darted away from the angry spirit of the lake. On the left, a bear of considerable size swept past us, followed by three hefty creatures, resembling a mixture of a scorpion and a centipede, which meant the animals had followed the example of the flying creatures.

  We ran very quickly, for a long time, on the verge of collapsing, replenishing our endurance with the appropriate bottles. Three hours passed since the Master of Shadows had awakened the spirit of the lake.

  But then the forest began to thin out and we soon found ourselves on an ancient road, made of cobblestones. The elf slowed down.

  A half an hour later, the road abutted a strong and high wooden gate. Its closed doors were covered with iron. On both sides of the gate, there was a thick fence made up of wide logs, encircling the village. It was rather high, about 10 feet.

  The frowning Dazrael came up the gate.

  “They should’ve been open,” he told me, clearly displeased. “Hey, is anyone there?” The elf kicked the gate several times forcefully. “Call Rovar!”

  “We’re here,” said a gruff, hoarse voice from behind the gate. “Do you want an ax to your forehead? Why are you shouting?! Call the chief he says… Go away.”

  “Say that Gray Fox has come,” the elf said, turning around toward me for some reason.

  Wow! Gray Fox—where did he get that nickname from? Interesting!

  “Well!” I heard a light exhalation from behind the gate. “You should’ve said that earlier and not “Call the chief! Call the chief!” The man behind the gate mocked the elf’s voice. “Just introduce yourself. Every dog knows you around here. Wait! I will call him, the old man will open it for you and explain everything.” We heard steps quickly moving away.

  Ten minutes later, the steps returned, approaching the gate slowly.

  “Come on, help me!” An old man’s voice ordered. And soon, the head of a gray-haired old man with long hair, arranged into a thick braid, appeared over the gate. “He’s really Gray Fox!” The chief exclaimed to the elder. “Open it faster!” Oops, the head abruptly disappeared from our sight, and the litany of abuse began.

  “Rovar!” With a sincere smile, the elf greeted the chief. “I’ve told you not to just educate but also teach your sons!” Dazrael looked sternly at the two huge guys. “As I see it, they have a lot of folly in their heads, but no brains, alas.”

  “You’re right,” the chief spread his hands. “Get out of here, we'll talk later!” He shouted at his sons. “And don’t forget to tell your mom to cook some food as soon as possible—valued guests have come. And call Dacros, let him keep guarding the gates.”

  “And what’s happened here?” The elf asked, helping the old man close the gate.

  “Werewolves,” the chief answered shortly. “They trouble us greatly—they have already killed three people, four horses, and a cow.”

  “But werewolves appear only after midnight, why do you lock the gates up in the daytime?” I asked.

  “Just in case,” the chief shrugged his shoulders, “and who are you?” the old man seemed interested.

  The elf looked at me irritably.

  “My disciple. And we need help, Rovar, we need to cross the river.”

  “Gray, we also need help,” the chief shook his head.

  “Ask the head of the guild, you have a connection amulet.”

  “I can't,” he spread his hands, “there is no amulet anymore. They’ve not only killed, they also stole my daughter and her groom! Everything began there. And she had that amulet on her, as it can protect someone from trouble.”

  “Just wonderful,” the elf gritted out through clenched teeth.

  “Please don’t be angry, Gray, it couldn’t be prevented. Help us, I don’t ask for myself, but for my people and my daughter!” Tears appeared in the old man’s eyes. “I'm afraid they’ll kill her!”

  “Eh,” Dazrael sighed, “of course we will help!”

  Task: Help Rovar the chief, Part 1 - accepted.

  So, one NPC gives me a task, and another one accepts it instead of me. At the same time, the game system doesn’t even offer the option to choose “yes” or “no”. What’s happening now is rather obvious—the task has been proposed, and I don’t have any option but to carry it out.

  “Then let's go to my place quickly, eat something and I'll tell you everything in more detail,” the old man rejoiced.

  We reached his house. It was the largest one and situated smack dab in the center of the settlement. The table had already been laid out, and the chief's wife was moving around the stove, cooking something.

  What a heady smell! Mmmm! Maybe the food was virtual, but my mouth was still watering.

  “Sit down, please,” the old man offered. “Manria, stop fussing, join us,” he called to his wife.

  The woman waved him off, put something in the stove and sat down next to her husband.

  Will they help us?” She asked quietly, with sadness in her voice.

  “Yes, dear, yes they will!”

  Chapter 17

  W ell, the story was really interesting and even a little instructive.

  It all started in the evening, about three days ago, when two strange humans (specifically humans! Not elves, druids or representatives of other races), wearing torn clothes and no weapons, came to the village and asked for help. They said they’d been attacked by beasts somewhere near the forest. They’d struggled hard and won, but they’d left seriously wounded comrades behind. The kind local residents fed them and called the headman. After all, it wasn’t like they would refuse to help the victims—they had to be helped!

  Although Rovar was impressed by the creepy stories of the
strange couple, he was certainly not a fool. So he decided to be cunning. He sent his daughter, who was staying in the village with her husband on that day, with one of the guests, to find out everything and to help them if they really needed it. The daughter and her husband were both good magicians, studying in some magical guild in the Kingdom of Havrtol. Of course, the headman had given her the medallion of the Shadows, which had always helped the village and protected it from any dangers, to the best of its ability—thus he imperceptibly flattered Dazrael. And this medallion wasn’t that simple either! It was not only a means of communication to one of the guild masters or even the head himself (I wonder why this chief has such a good reputation with them?), it also had a good built-in protection and a couple of attack spells with rather strong magic.

  But an hour, then three hours passed, and his daughter and son-in-law hadn’t returned. The headman became anxious—what or who had the pair of magicians confronted, to make them delay in solving such an easy issue for so long. Having collected and armed a lot of men, they immediately rushed into the house of the family where the second human had stayed, but... They found only the bodies of a man and a woman there. “Werewolves! We’ve let werewolves into the village!” the headman immediately realized what had happened. To be more exact, shapeshifters, however, to ordinary people, it was pretty much the same.

  Rovar was very upset and ordered the village gates closed, put well-armed and armored men on guard, and forbade women and children from leaving the houses even for a minute. Of course, he wanted to go to the forest to search for them, as they had an elderly hunter who could read the tracks well, but the old man no longer planned to risk the lives of his villagers. And it was only possible to ask for help in Siaren, which was about half a day’s journey away, or from visiting gentlemen (apparently, he meant sufficiently trained players or NPCs of high rank by the term gentlemen, but they didn’t come here often). Although, the next day, in the early morning, the chief decided to send one young, nimble and daring guy, riding the fastest horse they had, to the city. But, since help still hadn’t come, that meant he’d never gotten to Siaren.