“I don’t doubt which one he’ll go for.”
“Excellent. And nobody else knows about your job?”
“No, that’s it. But by the way, about travel, what if I just ask someone from the clan to port me over there without telling—”
“There’s an 80 percent chance the result will be the same—the quest will become impossible for you to beat.”
“Then it’s going to take me a while to get there.”
“Just get there when you can. You have six months,” said Valyaev.
“Why six months?”
“First of all, that will give us enough time to get everything ready. Second, in six months, you’re supposed to get married to the vila.”
“Well, the vila isn’t that important,” I said with a chuckle.
The twins looked at each other and shook their heads.
“That’s what you think…”
“Regardless, believe me, six months isn’t that long,” Zimin said with a smile. “When you’re working with Nikita and me, time tends to fly by. Life is one adventure after another. But you’ll see what I mean. Oh, and there’s that other assignment we need to discuss.”
“Right, the newspaper…” I didn’t notice that Zimin was shaking his head quietly.
“No, no,” he said. “The newspaper is your job. Your assignments are your assignments. Don’t mix the two up.”
I looked at him in surprise. “I thought the newspaper and the game were related?”
“Well, in a way, yes,” answered Valyaev evasively. “Still, they’re very much separate. So the second thing—”
“Right,” said Zimin, jumping in. “Since you were nice enough to agree to one service, I imagine you won’t refuse us a second. Maybe a third, too, or however many we need.”
“You want me to be your hitman?” I was clueless.
Zimin and Valyaev looked at each other and burst out laughing.
“Of course not,” said Valyaev as he wiped away a tear. “We have other people for that. No, we need you to do something else. Once in a while, we’ll ask you to do things for us in the game. You know, go somewhere, tell someone something, do something… We’ll tell you when the time comes. Obviously, it won’t be anything you can’t handle.”
“But why me?” That I couldn’t figure out. “You probably have tons of people who can go wherever they want.”
“Don’t worry about that,” said Valyaev, a frown flitting across his face. “Is it that hard to meet your employer in the middle?”
“No, of course not. I’m just worried that if you send me somewhere eastward, it’ll cause problems. You know, because of everything we just talked about.”
“Don’t worry, we’ll make sure everything is all right,” said Zimin with a wave of his hand. “Remember, the program only watches for possible cheating in terms of game progress when it comes to the dryad quest. If you port somewhere up north to have a snowball fight with some yetis, there won’t be any consequences. Don’t forget that the game tracks brain impulses.”
“Wait, so it’s in my head?” I didn’t like that sound of that.
“It’s in everyone’s head,” said Zimin coldly.
Valyaev backed him up. “What did you think?”
“Whew, boy,” I said, exhaling.
“Cutting-edge technology,” said Zimin. Valyaev pointed his index finger upward suggestively.
“Wait a second.” My inquisitive brain was having a hard time believing that it was impossible to fool the program. “What if I port north now, discover some spot, and then the next dryad happens to be there. Could I port back?”
Zimin and Valyaev exchanged a glance.
“Nice thinking, huh?” said Valyaev.
Zimin nodded.
“Technically, yes. If you’ve already been to the area due to some other reason, that will work, though it couldn’t be part of an effort to visit as many areas as possible.”
“Got it. In that case, I’m in—the more places I visit, the better.”
“We may not ask you to do anything that often, and we may never actually need you in the first place. Maybe we will. Still, we need you to agree,” said Zimin.
“At the same time, we don’t want to risk tampering with the program and missing out on the global event, so I’ll say this again, don’t expect any in-game help from the corporation. It’s all on you,” said Valyaev dramatically.
“Understood.” I fiddled with the piece of paper in my hand. The number on it was enough to have me happily pouring concrete or removing waste, not to mention playing a game.
“Then let’s discuss your compensation,” started Zimin again.
My jaw nearly hit the floor as I glanced back at the paper. Some other compensation? Weren’t they already giving me plenty?
“In addition to the number I wrote for you, you’ll get the same amount every month,” said Valyaev. “Why are you looking at me like that? You have two jobs, so you should get two salaries. We’re nothing if not fair.”
“And once you finish the quest, at least if you finish it successfully, we’ll give you a bonus, obviously,” added Zimin.
“Of course, that’s only if you work with us, do what we ask you to do, and don’t compromise the corporation,” said Valyaev.
“Phew,” I said with a long whistle. “I never thought I’d say this, but isn’t that a lot for just one person?”
“Of course not,” Zimin said amiably. “You don’t know what it’s like to be an employee—a mid-level employee, I might add—of a big corporation. These aren’t huge sums; you just aren’t used to them.”
“Sure, if you compare them to today’s newspaper salaries, they sound more impressive,” noted Valyaev.
“But believe me, if you keep your nose clean and do good work, this is just a starting point,” said Zimin, completing my amazement.
“I’m afraid to even think what the bonus could be…” I muttered.
“The bonus?” Zimin said with a smile. “We usually prefer something more meaningful and material than monetary bonuses. In your case…oh, I don’t know…maybe this newspaper?” He looked at Valyaev.
“Why not? Good idea,” the latter said approvingly.
You could have knocked me over with a feather. It was something like all the movies I’d seen and books I’d read where Satan comes to earth to tempt humans. Though that didn’t actually happen. But what would I do with a newspaper? My friend Yuri’s the one who dreamed of having his own media empire. I couldn’t have cared less.
“Well, Kif, what do you think about the newspaper? Or would you rather have something else?” Zimin asked grandly.
“Hmm,” I said, whistling again. “Can I take some time to think about that? You can’t just make decisions like that on a whim.”
“Good call,” agreed Valyaev. “You’re obviously a pragmatic, thoughtful person.”
“But is everything else good with you?” Zimin looked at me inquiringly.
“Deal?” asked Valyaev.
“Deal!” I answered. “You said it yourself—I’m a pragmatic person.”
“Excellent, we were right about you,” Zimin said with a boisterous clap. “In the next couple days, one of our people—the one I mentioned—will come by with some papers to sign. Get everything set up with your staff here, but don’t worry too much about that. We have some smart people, so they’ll pick things up themselves. Make one of them your assistant, since you’ll have more important things to do than hold people’s hands here. For instance, you can have meetings every Tuesday to go through their material and send it off to be printed. Just make sure that there’s a Fayroll Times in all the newsstands, online, and on our desks every Thursday. Again, don’t worry about the details. Your main focus needs to be the game.”
“Oh, and also,” Valyaev said, “I think I already mentioned this, but feel free to fire anyone you’re not happy with. Just call us, and we’ll find replacements. We have people lining up to come work for us, so that’s better than w
asting time and energy on people you don’t like. Especially time.”
Zimin walked over to the door and opened it. “Mr. Head Editor, come on in.”
Mammoth walked into the office and flashed a haunted smile. I suddenly felt uncomfortable.
“Yes?” he asked, looking devotedly at Zimin.
“Is everything all set?” asked Zimin.
“Yes, they’ll be ready to go tomorrow,” said Mammoth helpfully (I didn’t even know that was a talent of his.)
“Great. My assistant will send you the information about your four new people. Their passes and papers will all be ready. Let them get some experience,” he said, looking at me when he added the last line.
I nodded. Sounded good to me.
“Oh, and also,” Zimin continued quietly but distinctly, making sure that every word was heard, “remember that Nikiforov is now untouchable. Not a word, not a glance—got it? He’s under our protection now. He’s with us.”
“Of course, of course,” murmured Mammoth. “Makes sense.”
“Great,” said Valyaev with a wide smile. “Then we’re off.”
They shook our hands and walked out the door.
“Oh, Kif,” said Zimin, looking back through. “What was the name of the player who kept killing the landlord? The one who couldn’t get the crown.”
Sorry, Wanderer. Nothing I can do.
“Wanderer,” I said firmly.
My new masters looked at each other, nodded, and left.
“Ooph,” said Mammoth as he collapsed into his chair, pulled out a checkered handkerchief, and started wiping the sweat off his face. “Thank God they’re gone.”
“Yup,” I said.
“‘Yup,’” repeated Mammoth. “So they hired you?”
“Yes. It’s good money. I wonder if it’s some kind of trick.”
“No, it’s definitely not a trick, but what do you have to do for them?” asked Mammoth quietly and sadly.
“Good, honest work,” I answered.
“Well, that’s good. Okay, get out of here.”
Mammoth flopped down dejectedly in his chair, and I felt sorry for him. He’d been such a strong person, and the twins went through him in all of ten minutes like he was nothing more than a paper doll.
“Semyon Ilyich, by the way, you knew you weren’t going to yell at me. So, what did you want to enjoy?”
Mammoth grunted. “Did I have you squirming?”
“Yes.”
“Then I enjoyed it.”
I walked out of the office, winked at Zhanna, and started home.
“Don’t forget to bring me a magnet,” she called at my retreating figure.
On the way home, I tried to figure out what had just happened. Either I’d gotten seriously lucky, or I was just as seriously screwed. A couple of less-than-healthy chicken sandwiches at my favorite KFC didn’t clarify anything.
“Forget it,” I said finally. “We’ll see what happens. The money is real, and it’s good for my career. Who knows what will happen?”
Once home, I had a smoke before realizing what I had to do next.
Let’s do this.
And I climbed into the capsule.
I was sitting on the same shore, though this time, it was day and Wanderer was no longer next to me. I hoped I hadn’t screwed him over too badly. Judging by how gloomy he was, all he needed was the twins making his life even more miserable.
Something flashed in the corner of my eye and I pulled up the interface to see that my inbox was frantically pulsing. Both of them, in fact.
I opened the internal messaging system and whistled—I had messages coming out my ears, and almost all of them were from Gerv. Where are you? Let me know as soon as you log in. This is ridiculous. Like some kind of girl. Maybe he was in love with me? I vowed never to visit any saunas with him just in case.
Anyway, all joking aside, I needed to write back. I opened the form.
Gerv, I’m in the game. Hagen.
My duty to the clan done, I set off for Mettan, where I wanted to count the money in my chest and get started eastward. I figured I would take the boat as far as I could, and then start walking from there. What choice did I have? Beggars can’t be choosers.
I didn’t even get to the gate before my inbox dinged.
Finally, you bastard. Port to Eiberger, to the Wild Hearts citadel.
I thought he might have been off his rocker, but he was still above me in the clan. I wrote back succinctly.
Where?
The answer was instantaneous.
Oh, right. Where are you now?
In Mettan.
Go to the square and wait for me. I’ll be there in five minutes.
Then wait I would. All I did was take a quick jaunt to Spain, and when I got back, I had everyone looking for me in real life and in the game. It was a full and varied life I was leading—everyone needed me. All I needed was someone to just up and drop something in my pocket—you know, mythical chainmail, the Sword of a Thousand Truths, Duke Nukem’s jetpack, or Gordon Freeman’s crowbar—and I’d be really set.
A portal opened up and spat out Gerv, who was obviously fighting mad.
“Where were you, moron?” He started right in on me without bothering to spend time on banalities like saying hi or shaking my hand.
He seemed to have forgotten that I’d already told him where I was and what I was doing.
Like I was going to tell him where I was and what I was doing. “I was at home, but the internet was out. The provider had some sort of glitches so I couldn’t get into the game.”
“That’s no excuse. You could have written from your phone, for example.”
“Written to whom? The man in the moon?”
“No, on our site, in the special topic.”
“Oh, Gerv, that didn’t even cross my mind. Sorry about that.”
“Apparently not. Elina and I have been looking high and low for you for four days.”
“Why?”
Gerv stared daggers at me.
“Didn’t I tell you to read the forum?”
“Yes…”
“Did you?”
“No, I didn’t have time. And then the internet went out.”
“Then that’s why you don’t know that the Hounds of Death declared war on the Wild Hearts.”
“Oh, wow. But what does that have to do with me?”
“Our clan signed an agreement with the Hounds to ally with them in the assault on the Hearts’ citadel.”
“But everyone there is probably level 60 or higher! What good will I do?”
“That’s true, but the Gray Witch had a personal request.”
“What was it?”
“She wanted you to participate in the citadel assault. So that’s what will happen.”
Chapter Three
In which the hero spends some time in high society and even benefits from his time there.
What’s going on today? I can’t catch a break!
“Come on, come on. They’re about ready to start the attack!” Gerv had no patience for my musings. “Do you have anything else you have to do here?”
“Yes,” I said, disgruntled. “I’m supposed to pack myself onto a boat and sail as far down the river as my money will take me.”
“Not funny. Okay, let’s go.”
Gerv opened a portal, and I stepped in behind him.
We walked out onto a small plain not far from the tree line. All around us were tents and pavilions, over which flew flags and pennants of different shapes and colors. Nearly all of them featured the same figure: a dog with a human skull, symbol of the Hounds of Death, I figured. On a small hill some distance off, was a huge red and brown pavilion that I assumed was the Gray Witch’s headquarters. At the other end of the plain, loomed a castle with heavily blackened walls, and behind it, a river ribboned off into the distance.
“The war camp,” said Gerv.
Yes, I got that. Players stood between the pavilions and scurried around them, and I couldn�
�t help but notice that they were all high-level. Some carried bundles of weapons—swords and bows—somewhere; others discussed some obviously pressing issues. A group of mages was clustered off by themselves, their robes, staffs, and beards blowing in the wind, giving them away. They were animatedly discussing something, as well.
“I figured as much,” I answered Gerv. “Where are we going?”
“Where do you think? Over there.” He pointed to the big pavilion.
“Are you sure we should? I mean, seriously, what do they need from me?”
“Are you kidding me? We’re just following orders. Come on, let’s go.”
I had the feeling that I was under guard. We were accompanied by the wondering gaze of many on either side who couldn’t figure out what someone with my miserly level could be doing walking into the Gray Witch’s pavilion.
“Hey, how did this fight between the Hearts and the Hounds even get started?” I asked Gerv. “What are they fighting over?”
“Formally, they had a disagreement over a dungeon,” Gerv said lazily. “Really, it’s all about influence.”
“What disagreement could you have over a dungeon?”
“It’s simple. What kinds of dungeons are there? Well, there are quest-related dungeons. They’re available to everyone, so the kids take their girlfriends there to level-up and show off their biceps. Those dungeons never disappear. Then there are territorial or, as I call them, entourage dungeons. You know, every good forest needs a dungeon with a legend. The legends themselves are barely worth the name, but the bosses at the end aren’t bad, and the loot is what you’d expect. There are also variable dungeons that appear and disappear whenever the developers want them to. If you find one, you’re in for a treat.”
“What kind of treat?” I was starting to understand how Zimin and Valyaev would incentivize Fat Willie to keep his mouth closed.
“You usually get something really good there, though only the clan that beats the dungeon first gets it. It isn’t just your normal extra level-up bonus, you know, like +20 percent experience or a ‘you beat it first’ badge. Nothing like that. You go there for the loot.”
“Epic or legendary?”
“You get those, too, but they’re far from the main attraction in new dungeons. You can get scrolls with new high-level abilities. Not in all of them, not even most of the time, but you can.”
The Road East (Epic LitRPG Adventure - Book 2) (Fayroll) Page 3
