by D. Rus
Now, we had decided to cut off the Americans and see what we could get from the NPC guild treasurers. Did the US have a kickass national wealth, or was it all just a myth? We had but half an hour – always pressed for time.
The USA cluster. Freetown, the Light capital of the Western region. Residence of Rainald the Wise controlled by AI-209.
The news of the huge commotion in the Guild Quarter took some time to reach the leader. In theory, the web of guard spells covered the entire city, while a hundred key characters were run independently by that same AI-209. So, in theory, the response time should have been instant.
However... Lately, the AI had been withdrawing its threaded consciousness more and more as it concentrated solely on the leader.
Once, as Rain luxuriated in the pool of his harem and groaned with pleasure in the company of three skilled concubines, the AI secretly added another counterfeit digit to its main stream, which was usually at 7 percent. The leader felt an upsurge of pleasant emotions. The AI enjoyed being inside the city’s most powerful character, experiencing a euphoric sense of power. So it kept upping the percentage. More and more.
AI-209 had already forgotten the last time it had entered the mind of the Guard Captain or the treasurer. Oddly enough, these men continued to carry out their duties responsibly and were full of praiseworthy initiative.
For example, the head of the secret chancellery was so good that the Light rogues petitioned their heads off: they could not level up Pickpocketing within city limits.
Rain the Wise heard out the exterior guard captain, accompanied by a heavily beaten sotnik - a Cossack lieutenant. What the leader learned made him frown.
At once, ten portals had popped open, showering the city with over a thousand warriors and heavy self-propelled machines. The enemy mowed down the city guard effortlessly, and was now struggling to crush the few yet seriously badass guild sentries.
The invaders barricaded all the roads leading to the block under siege. Assault golem platforms towered over the molten brick. Spears and oddly designed crossbow bolts flashed everywhere.
The enemy was not a very high level one – the royal sergeants had more power, let alone the guardsmen. The foes’ strength was in their numbers, gear, magic, tech, and great organization. They posed quite a threat.
The sotnik had suddenly left the battlefield only to tell Rain about some absurd adamant blade he thought he'd seen. Another urban myth!
The mayor’s extensive interface was an alarming red. The guard counter rapidly plummeted; for the first time ever, he saw the four-digit number turn to 999. His heart ached as he saw the severe capital building damage. The Masters of battle, magic, stealth and nature were all fighting and calling for help.
The numerous Immortals aggressively flooding the battlefield did more harm than good. Blanket spells hit both sides. Arrows and bolts plunged into the guardsmen’s backs. The red targets on the map multiplied at horrific rates. The city barely mustered any organized resistance. The enemy barricades successfully held off the chaotic waves of attackers.
Grinding his teeth, AI-209 paused the scattered and pointless assault. He ordered the guards to regroup, the citizens to mobilize, and the city’s NPC-clans to send a few of their vassals’ troops.
He would amass six thousand fighters that way. Of course, this wasn’t his limit. Just an extra security measure. No king could sit back while his people got mauled. He would lead five hundred guardsmen into battle himself.
He saw this as a chance to stretch his legs and up the loyalty counter among the guards and citizens. The latest tax reforms introduced by his hyperactive treasurer hadn’t been great: they'd slashed the mayor’s electoral support down to a dangerous sixty percent.
In just fifteen minutes, Rain found himself mounted on a battle unicorn in a magnificent horse cloth. He clutched an artifact – a spear of the ancient heroes. Glancing back one last time, he studied his eager warriors, let his visor down and gave a signal.
The royal wizards summoned portals leading to the battle zone. The foe would not withstand such a blow from the back.
The mayor darted through the portal film, then stepped aside, giving his warriors room to pass through. And then he saw it.
His heart clenched as he looked upon the ruins. The giant golems had turned into machines of ultimate destruction. They aimed their blows at the buildings’ structural walls which were disappearing in clouds of concrete dust.
It would take a week to rebuild! A huge burden on the city’s treasury!
A line of dwarf looters scurried into an enemy portal. They were flushing out the defeated guilds.
The guards’ corpses rotted away on the pavement. Guild Masters, quest heroes, and the remaining sentries fought in the last seats of resistance along with a mix of unclassified monsters.
A heavy siege golem clashed with one of the assault type bearing Freetown's colors. The siege golem boasted the sturdier construction. The Golem Builder Guild’s former pride sagged under its heavy hammer blows.
The Paladin GM spun in a pillar of light. He struggled to fight off a Dark Paladin, level 300, whom he hadn’t noticed before. Alas, he had no backup. Five high-level zombies skewered the lone fighter with their spears. A raging she-elf with a greenish face drove a thin-bladed sai into the back of his head.
The Druid GM was mighty and frightening in his battle form – a giant grizzly, roaring as it pressed its back against the remnants of a wall. The numerous gravestones surrounding the bear damped the assailants’ enthusiasm. They stepped aside to let their leader take this one.
A creature of Darkness! The Death Knight daringly jumped into the mighty giant’s grip. The bear growled with content as it began crushing him, unaware of the staff pressed to its chin. The bear’s armor crunched. Blood gushed from its ears. Sweet victory! Few heard the quiet pop of the blade emerging from the staff. The Druid’s grip weakened. The bear whimpered and hit the dusty pavement to the loud roar of the brazen invaders.
Rain the Wise gritted his teeth in rage. His spear aimed to strike, he rode his unicorn at full speed toward the invaders’ leader. The ground shook behind him as his guardsmen ran after him as one.
But no triumph came to Rain as he lifted the jerking body of his impaled foe to the sky. Instead, the mayor had a fit of terror.
He pulled the reigns, tearing his poor steed’s mouth, making it rear up. The staff steaming with darkness had its adamant blade right in Rain’s face. The monster within sucked the life out of everything within ten paces of the staff. It instilled fear into the living, making their legs give way.
The cold stare of the enemy leader promised the mayor a horrible death. Nearby invaders lined up as a hundred more approached quickly from afar.
Rain couldn’t have wished for more. This was a perfect chance to crush the enemy with his five hundred guards and to wipe out the rest of the invaders scattered around the guild block.
But Rainald the Wise hesitated, living up to his name. He stared spellbound at the pink, bloodthirsty blade. How many men would he lose in battle, and would he himself survive?
The game code dictated an explicit attack on the enemy within the aggro radius. But the leader’s NPC broke free from it, acquiring independence. He lifted up his left hand, signaling his men to stop.
His distorted voice came from underneath his mithril helmet,
"Who are you, and what do you want with my city?"
Chapter Twelve
Having exited the portal, the entire clan stretched out on the flagstones of the Central Square like a pack of tired dogs. The half-hour Freetown battle had exhausted them like a boxing match of dozen rounds would wear out any heavyweight champ.
I was still shaking from the stress. The sight of five hundred high-level guardsmen charging had made my balls of steel shrink to the size of beans. Only the gods knew what it took for me to stand up straight after slaying the Druid and to brandish my staff, faking gallantry.
But whatever doesn’t kill
us makes us stronger. The king really was Wise. He valued the lives of his warriors and wanted to try to talk things over first. His words along with my not having enough time to seize his city had both helped him save face and boost his popularity among his warriors. They now saw him as the one who stopped the invasion and managed to drive off a force three times stronger than his.
Thus, I kept quiet about our secret agreement to exchange ambassadors and be like family to each other. I bet my high level of fame had something to do with that. I remember when I was on fame level seven, which was called exactly that – Kings’ Friend.
In the AlterWorld, most of the pressure was mental, not physical.
My healers held the very fibers of the warriors’ lives entrusted to them. Downing endless vials, they decided who was to live and who wasn’t while saving the last of their mana for the groups’ main tanks. Their mass healings increased aggro. They were the ones blamed for inefficiency.
My rogues warily prowled about in stealth mode, often separated from their comrades, lost amidst enemy hordes. Painstakingly they collected game, attacking from the rear, then fled with their hearts beating madly, hoping to stealth back just in time.
Then there were pet controllers with their blood-stained clothes. They had lost a part of their soul along with the death of each beloved pet. Hybrids of different caliber and the numerous supporters – all of whom got worn out.
The exhausted warriors greedily drank the cool kvass which the pretty House of Pleasure girls passed around in pitchers. Yes, the girls too had had to be mobilized. The younger, bolder warriors admired their firm butts. The family guys with their high moral principles looked cross-eyed as they secretly tried to sneak a glance at the luscious assets concealed by thin silk.
The warriors were patiently waiting their turn in the Crypt. Every twenty seconds a portal would pop open, from which a batch of well-rested clanmates would emerge.
The castle goblins bustled about all businesslike. They were sorting and putting away the stolen goodies under Durin’s supervision.
A deafening crash rang out, followed by Harlequin’s squeals and anxious shouting. The green-faced smartass had tried to pull out a shield which was at the very bottom of the ten-foot-tall pyramid of trophies.
Looking at his marker disappearing from the radar, I merely shrugged. Natural selection. Survival of the fittest... and luckiest.
I actually wondered why the Mules had brought with them this boring quest trash after they got their hands on the guild treasures. The Battle Master was giving out heavy siege shields as a prize for attack and castle defense achievements. Although the Golden Shield was somewhat interesting, the rest got dumped straight into the auction. Or they would repaint the shields with the colors of the Dark Pantheon and send them to Noobtown as a sponsor aid and subliminal advertising.
Fuckyall was sitting nearby with his zombies and his son, who was looking at his mighty dad with admiration. The dark paladin was working on the remarkable breastplate he had taken off the Paladin GM. He was blackening its boring silver plating with acid and re-configuring the improvement stones.
I was in no position to lounge around. The leader could not be seen tired, lying on the floor with his tongue hanging out! We had been forged from moon silver in the underground smithies, not born of mortal women.
Accompanied by Snowie, the she-elves, and my senior officers, I maneuvered between the numerous piles of junk, checking on my warriors and battle squads. I tried to boost their morale with words and magic.
I got pissed at the technicians and mechanical drivers who were resting instead of re-configuring the heavily beaten golems’ weapons. The NPC-armorers waited nearby, having obediently fetched the hundred-pound bolt cartridges and staring warily at the hammers in the golems' hands.
Gimmick alone was leveling up as he performed rush repairs on the war machinery. The field maintenance price for this almost gave my greedy pig a heart attack, but I saw no other options.
I punished the vice tech guy, as he was in charge and the one to blame for this laziness: he got a week’s salary fine and a poor mark in his record, which only Orcus could remove after a close examination of his motives.
An urgent message alert rang out in my private channel. Widowmaker was looking for me, to inform me that the Chinese ally rep had arrived. The Mao's Legacy fellas were seeking their Russian brothers’ help. I could tell by their sad faces and the infopackets that without us, they would get smoked real quick.
The other part of the rep’s mission confirmed my suspicions: he was to find out if we could accommodate forty thousand working refugees.
I nearly went nuts when I heard this number. To dump the Chinese in order to acquire a huge workforce in the form of hard-working immigrants became a real temptation. Politics is a filthy business!
The long-expected Grumbler specialist had also arrived. The first-level noob had your standard hunk face that came with the AlterWorld Basic Pack which was given out for free in stores and in schools.
His skin and gear were nothing to look at, except for the little known Sisyphus' Backpack which had stunning features and capacity. I really wanted to peek inside to see what equipment the government provided for the modern-day illegal gamers.
When I approached the guests, the Chinese guy and the Grumbler were talking in a Beijing dialect, their built-in translators turned off.
I noticed that I understood their ching chong perfectly. I blew a mental raspberry in Lloth’s direction as I thanked her for this stolen knowledge. With a courteous smile, I shook their hands and joined the conversation, straining my oral ligaments to perfectly pronounce each sibilant sound.
The two raised their eyebrows in surprise. Take that! I thought.
We had almost no time. I took the infopackets and their decryption keys, then sent the new arrivals to HQ. The Grumbler had expressed a desire to work more closely with the Chinese. He sensed that there was much to be gained. Damn homegrown James Bond.
More private channel alerts hit me: the Tobacco Alliance and the Guards of the First Temple members complained of overly high portal activity near their castle walls.
After three minutes of this exchange, I angrily spat on the pavement. In response to Lurch’s indignant exclamation, I muttered, "Sorry..."
The Chinese still had much power left. They weren’t about to give up on their plans. The massive Lightsider attack had not discouraged them. On the contrary, it got them excited. Our own forces were worn out and scattered. Our secret tactics had come out. Our treasury and ingredient supplies were being rapidly depleted.
There was a massive Maoist hunt within the Asian borders. In addition, the army of twenty thousand that had invaded the Russian cluster was besieging a dozen of our allies’ home towns. The Guards of the First Temple and the Tobacco Alliance had both been mauled. The Chinese pragmatically picked out the richest targets, seeking to stock up big time. All this when the European cluster Lightsiders still had their siege machinery beneath our castle walls!
Those who can’t learn from others’ mistakes will learn from their own.
I asked myself, Where are we needed most? It looked like the Tobacco Alliance was it. They weren’t at all happy about being dragged into our business for no real payout to speak of.
"Clan-wide orders: clean-up at the Marble Ryazan citadel in six minutes! Get some spotters up on their walls! Find out the enemy’s positions, determine primary counterattack targets and portal coordinates. Mass PvP buffs and equipment!"
The Grumbler quickly caught on and approached me. "I just got word that the Revanchists can bring out thirty to forty thousand fighters without sacrificing internal guard. But we've counted only around 20K of them. Where are the others?"
Thinking it over, I added just in case, "Priestly blessing scheme for this raid! Get the field altars out, the red arsenal! A half of all supplies, scrolls, and elixirs are to be unique items. Alliance-wide orders: fifteen percent of warrior staff is to be status zero! Silve
r Legion – to the operating reserve!"
I then proceeded to exhort the local leaders to take action,
"Get yer golems to cover you, dammit! The last time an infantry group got separated from the tech units, all it could do was chase the guards around the square for no fucking reason!"
"Small-size fighters, stay out of the tanks’ way or you’ll end up washing your innards off them!"
"No pardoning ‘accidental’ loot-log leaks! Let me remind the highly gifted rats: your reputation will be marred and you will be banished from the clan!"
"What use are these overeager boy scouts? The guys are nervous, their eyes’re bulging! Put them in the third line so they defend the supporters! Roger ‘quit the chit-chat!’ Safeguard and protect the big-eyed monsters, yessir!... ‘Two orders outta line,’ yessir!"
"Alex, your smartasses claimed the catapult we’d seized as their trophy during the last battle! Give it back!"
"You didn’t see shit through your visors! Check the gun cameras, the screenshots will clear that up! The loot belongs to those who took out the press and dragged them to the portal, not to those who slayed the guards!"
The Marble Ryazan guys promptly dispatched a group of wizards as they had a solid web of portal points around their main castle. The wizards marveled at our castle's bejeweled walls. They sheepishly took group photos of themselves, swallowing nervously at the sight of hell hounds and the bone dragon patrolling the sky. They acted just like those distant village relatives when they come visit you in the city.
But they obeyed the spotters’ orders at once. They lined up and opened ten portals simultaneously according to the newly received coordinates.
Three of our groups were to take the siege artillery yard in an attempt to obtain a few goodies and drain the enemy financially. One cleric and buffer squad per group. Taking hostages was encouraged.
