Nick also looted a couple of scimitars that looked deadly but didn’t quite fit his build. All in all, a decent haul, one he could convert into crowns later. On the way into the camp he looted a short bow and 27 arrows from the downed archers. Always good to have.
There were a few stragglers in the camp itself, a couple of archers and a cook. Nick dispatched them with ease, looting more arrows and armor. Now for the main prize - the chests under the central shade cloth. As he approached the hoard, a guttural yell turned his head.
A large beast was trapped in a cage beyond the treasure. It was an ogre of some kind, and looked like it had been tortured. Nick approached, avoiding the beast’s plaintive gaze. If he freed it, he would be attacked - nothing surer. So he struck it through the bars, repeating the blow until it was dead. 1000 XP trickled home, the sweetest sound in the world.
The chests. Nick was almost killed outright by a tripwire right in front of the shade cloth. He used healing herbs and studied the ground carefully before advancing further. The first chest contained light but tough armor called Armor of the Green. Great for Rangers, Brigands, Duellists and late-level Archivists.
The second chest contained an lightning rod with a moderate damage rating. No use to Nick, but the third and final chest had something he could use - a Ring of the Succubus. It leeched a little XP with every kill. He loved these rings. A strength build usually amassed so many hit points that healing herbs became inadequate. Rings like this went a long way to managing the healing issue.
Farming the bandit camp had been well and truly worth it. Nick just needed another 793 XP and it was halberd time. The dune valleys to the east were deserted. He headed north instead, finding another beetle family. He killed them all, including the large parent, leveling up on the last stroke. He’d made it!
Taking a deep breath to savor the moment, Nick allocated the STR point with glee. Unable to control himself, he danced across the sand, swaying left and right and executing an oafish tumble down the nearest dune face. At the bottom he hit his inventory and slotted the halberd straight into the right slot, which of course removed the shield.
It was a work of dark art. A weathered, molded handle and a startling blade inscribed with flowing runes. The main edge was wide, circular and brutal. A stabbing tip completed the shaft and there was a barbed hook on the opposite side. A shockingly beautiful weapon, it seemed to banish the surrounding light.
Nick tried a few lazy swings. The primary attack was a swift, vertical chop that felt like it could cleave an iron golem. The secondary attack was a cross cleave that would scatter mobs with ease. The tertiary attack was a more powerful vertical chop, lethal and precise. The power attack was a two-handed slam that taxed his stamina. He would need to level up a few times to make that attack more efficient.
His move set complete, Nick felt a familiar exhirilation. He desperately needed something to fight now! Hungry for action, he headed southeast, straight for the heart of the Great Sands. For the Tomb of the Fallen. There were no enemies for several minutes, with made him anxious. That usually meant something big was in the vicinity.
And so it proved. Nick clambered up a particularly high dune ridge and was a confronted with a dreadful sight. A sea of black-armored kobolds were making their way east along the base of a wide dune valley. There must have been ten thousand infantrymen in tight formation - a murderous, disciplined host.
Nick noted that most kobold soldiers carried pikes, a polearm similar to his own halberd. It vindicated his decision to go to such lengths to wield one here. The wide open dunes made reach weapons a no-brainer.
The steady rhythm of the kobolds’ heavy boots sent a chill down his spine. Nick kept low to the sand as outriders on powerful wolf-like beasts prowled the edge of the host. He backed way, striking out to the south. When the rumble of the kobold horde had faded into the background, he veers east once again.
At length the dune narrowed and became rocky. Up ahead a tight ravine beckoned. Nick held his halberd ready, knowing that ravines always contained enemies. This one had bats - lots of them. He swung his halberd like a kid in a toy store. He received a fair bit of damage since he didn’t have a shield but his powerful swings and excellent range soon took care of the vermin.
The halberd was a demanding weapon. If Nick timed his swing from an appropriate distance, the result was serendipitous, but if something was slightly off, he was liable to be flanked and counter-attacked. He had a special affinity for halberds - they’d often saved his life when no other weapon could.
This halberd had such a nice primary attack - attacking at range was a nice luxury for a melee fighter. Better still, more than one target could be hit and stunned. Basic, generic halberds could be awkward and clumsy, but exotic halberds were well worth pursuing, especially if they were tailored to strength builds.
Nick passed through the ravine without further incident. He trekked up a twisting path and came face to face with an ogre. The beast bellowed and swung its great club. Nick was taken for over half his HP and stunned into the bargain. He only just had time to rise and get moving before the ogre struck again.
The pixel runner stayed on the move, knowing that without his shield he would need to behave more like a dexterity build. He stayed on the ogre’s left hand, circling it relentlessly. As soon as the beast over-committed, Nick moved in with an elegant halberd attack. It dealt over 300 damage and was extremely satisfying to use. He repeated his circling tactic, waiting for the ogre to miss, before chipping in with a blow.
The ogre went down after the fourth strike. It was carrying a Frost Resistance Ring, which seemed out of place in Bariz. Nick wasn’t about to complain, pocketing the item to sell later. His usual policy was to sell extraneous items no matter how good they were, using the money on training and skills.
With the ogre down, Nick was free to explore a cave to his left. He clambered over a pile of bones and was rewarded with a chest. With that familiar thrill of anticipation, he opened it and found a sword. It was a fire-enhanced great axe, possibly a companion piece to the ring. Nick wondered if a dwarven adventurer had come down from the Hammerhorst mountains and found his death in this cave.
It was Murphy’s Law in every RPG - as soon as you finally got to wield your dream weapon, you found another good one. The great axe was both powerful and upgradeable, had a nice swing and good durability. On the negative side it was a little heavy and slow. In any case, Nick had his Halberd of the Moon and was loathe to use anything else.
Nick continued on the twisting path, rock walls closing in to either side. At length he emerged at the top of an outcrop that provided a commanding view of the sandy plain to the northeast. There was a lot happening down there. The plain was covered in soldiers. Prince Jannibar’s men, busily digging trenches and erecting palisades. Very hard work in the crushing heat.
Beyond them, shimmering in the desert heat, squatted a huge cave entrance. The Tomb of the Fallen, had to be. Jannibar’s command post was no more than two miles from the tomb. He was clearly looking to dig himself in. Did Jannibar intend to return the Rags of the Lich Queen? Or was he here to defeat her in a pitched battle?
Either way, it was a far bet he didn’t know about the kobold army marching in his direction. He wasn’t bolstering his western flank at all. It was hard to determine how many soldiers were toiling down there - perhaps eight thousand. Significantly less than the kobold host. The humans needed to be warned, but how could Nick, a wanted man in Durandor, go about it?
There were two larger tents in the command area - one purple, one blue. Nick wondered if Jannibar’s older brother, Alain, had traveled to Bariz. In any case, the pixel runner would need to pass through the camp in order to reach the Tomb. His plate armor went some way to concealing his identity, but if he was challenged by an inquisitive sergeant he was as good as dead.
No, he needed to move stealthily and try to engage the other Prince if he could. It might even be possible to drive a wedge between the brothers and
play one against the other. The timer had dropped below two hours. His time for making plans had run out.
The scree-laden slope below Nick’s position was negotiable, if a little risky. He eased himself down slowly, spotting a guard sharpening his sword under a gnarled fig tree. Thankfully the man was more intent on his weapon than proper vigilance. Nick passed into the command area unchallenged and made straight for the blue tent. Luckily for him, a number of mercenaries had struck camp on the other side.
If Nick’s hunch was correct, Prince Alain’s royal livery was blue. He was, of course, denied entry at the blue tent. A pair of surly guards peered at him through their intimidating helms.
“I have information regarding the King’s murder,” Nick said, hoping like hell his gamble paid off. If it didn’t, he was dead.
“We have a new King, boy,” said one of the guards. “Jannibar was proclaimed before the host left Durandor.”
Nick blinked. That news most assuredly did not improve his situation.
“Nonetheless, I know the Prince has a direct interest in this affair,” Nick said confidently.
The guards looked at each other. As ever with these, faithful, stolid types, their intellect had strict limits. One of them disappeared into the tent.
“If you’re lying,” the remaining guard spat, “you’ll be sleeping up there tonight.”
Several heads were hanging from a rope strung high across the camp. Jannibar’s brand of discipline was obviously ruthless. Nick made a point of shrugging, but inside he was anything but serene. After thinking he could take on an entire village by himself, this was the second reckless thing he’d done today.
On the other hand, he’d never fought better. There was a fine line between martial prowess and reckless arrogance.
The second guard returned and ushered Nick inside. Careful not to show his relief, Nick pursed his lips as he was led down a central passage. The tent had been partitioned into several different rooms. Incense sat heavy in the air. The twangs of a languid mandolin drifted through the walls.
In stark contrast to the harsh war camp outside, Prince Alain’s tent was more like an opium den. Nick glimpsed scantily-clad women lounging on divans before passing through to a room stuffed full of books and scrolls. A scrawny young man with lank black hair turned and smiled beatifically, dismissing the guard with a slight wave of his finger.
“My men saw you up on the dune,” he said softly. “I’d say you’re lucky not to be in Jannibar’s clutches. Your likeness has been posted all over Durandor.”
“May I ask why you agreed to see me, Your Grace?” Nick asked. He didn’t know the etiquette of addressing royals in Durandor so he just made something up. Alain didn’t seem to notice in any case.
“Oh, I’m sure you have a story to tell,” the Prince drawled. “I’m due for a study break, so let’s hear it.”
Nick got the impression he was on very thin ice. The power balance in the Kingdom of Durandor was clearly on a knife’s edge.
“Jannibar killed your father,” Nick said. “He opened up a portal to the King’s private chamber and used the Rags of the Lich Queen to attract ghouls.”
Alain’s eyes flickered, but otherwise betrayed little interest.
“And who told you this fanciful story?” he asked.
“I climbed through the portal myself,” Nick replied. “It took me straight to Duskstar Forest.”
“I heard The Spiderling was … agitated,” Alain said. He seemed to arrive at a decision. “The enemy of my enemy is my friend. I’ve been studying The Spiderling for years.”
Nick glanced at all the various tomes in the room and realized a good portion of them may have been written by Alain himself.
“You’re a scholar of wide renown,” Nick said, knowing he was entering murky waters.
Alain shrugged, unmoved by the compliment.
“My brother was such a physical juggernaut, I had no choice but to turn to books,” he said with a wry smile. Nick sensed there was plenty of truth in that comment. It also hinted at long-standing tension between the brothers.
“Do you think my story about King Andaran rings true?” Nick asked boldly, seizing his chance.
Alain sighed, taking a draw from a long pipe. The smoke smelled sweet, like burned candy. This Prince lived in a cerebral world, holed up with his drugs and his books.
“Our current circumstances would appear to support your story,” Alain said. “It would explain why Jannibar came back here, dragging me with him. Now that he’s King he’s difficult to refuse.”
“He means to return the Rags of the Lich Queen,” Nick said. “But he’s running out of time.”
“My brother is reckless, and perhaps, as you say, a murderer. But he’s also relentless. He won’t rest until the Lich Queen is dormant once again.”
“A kobold host approaches from the west,” Nick said, playing his ace.
Alain looked up sharply at that, ringing a little bell. A guard appeared in the doorway.
“Send word to the King,” the Prince said tiredly. “Kobolds on the west flank.”
He looked Nick straight in the eye.
“You have been of great service this day,” he said. “Whatever you desire, you shall have.”
His pupils were the size of dinner plates. He poured a glass of orange-colored wine and took a long, lingering sip.
“It’s funny,” he said. “Jannibar knows I would kill for one minute with those Rags. Such an important artifact in the history of our world.”
“Doing so would have given him away, Your Grace.”
“I’m quite aware of that!” Alain screamed suddenly, his face turning blood red. After a few awkward moments he composed himself and drained his wine.
Troubled by the Prince’s state of mind, Nick welcomed the distraction of quest-driven XP steadily trickling in. It seemed he was well and truly on the right track.
Alain paced back and forth for a full minute before sitting again. “I apologize,” he said, fidgeting with the hem of his loose tunic. “These days I don’t know if I’m coming or going.”
Something about Alain’s words triggered something in Nick. There was something inexpressibly human about the Prince’s behavior, something he’d never seen in all his years of gaming. He reflected on the NPCs he’d encountered in Oakshield Junction so far - their sadness, their twisted, indelibly human logic, their strangely relatable angst. Their humanity. No coder in the world could get their text strings to function so dynamically.
The truth hit Nick between the eyes and made him want to vomit - these were real people. All those trapped pixel runners he saw in The Spiderling’s lair - that was just the tip of the iceberg. Neutron Syndicate were using real people in the role of NPCs.
But how? Nick suspected it had something to do with long gestation periods in an Immersion tank and painstaking neural manipulation of some kind. In short, horrific incarceration and abuse. There must be thousands of such captives all over the world. In their quest to give their games a cutting edge, Neutron had plucked forbidden fruit.
Reeling from the discovery, Nick tried to focus on his objectives. The situation seemed far beyond his control and part of him just wanted to get out. All the while he felt a steady, crushing disappointment - what about his dream of becoming a professional pixel runner? How could he possibly work and accept money from a company who routinely turned real, living people into tank vegetables?
“I can get you in,” Alain was saying, looking at a detailed map.
Nick brought himself back to the present - he still had a mission to fulfill. Alain showed him a location in the wings of the tomb where a column had smashed.
“I spent two days surveying the site before Jannibar’s men arrived,” he said. “The happiest days of my life. Why must the petty affairs of men get in the way of so much history?”
“It’s those same affairs that generally create history,” Nick pointed out.
Alain nodded, a grin spreading across his pinched fa
ce. He looked completely baked. Sitting back, the Prince clapped his hands.
A sexy brunette wearing a thin shawl and not much else appeared.
“And who is this?” she asked Alain, moving close to the pixel runner. “You do collect the most interesting things, Alain.”
“He’s yours, Syl,” the Prince said, reclining on his divan and preparing to watch. Nick’s heart sank - he was obviously expected to indulge Alain’s perversions if he expected to walk out alive.
Syl arched her eyebrow and smiled, pushing Nick gently against his divan. She tapped him on the helm.
“Make the necessary adjustments,” she said.
Alain was glaring at Nick, his hands quivering.
Great. He was trapped in a tent with a mad Prince and his favorite concubine. On the bright side, Alain had strongly hinted that he could get Nick into the Tomb without risking the front entrance. That was worth a lot. The prospect of avoiding The Spiderling, Jannibar and even Kain was tantalizing.
Nick thought of Emily as he accessed his inventory and removed his armor. Syl grinned and opened her shawl, revealing a pair of perfect breasts. She drew his hands to her, encouraging him to explore. He closed his eyes, thinking of Emily the whole time. Hopefully she’d tuned out by now. Besides, she was smart enough to split his game world from the real. It wasn’t as if he was actively seeking whores
Syl lifted his chin, demanding his undivided attention. She moved in slowly and kissed his lips, his neck, his chest. He felt himself becoming aroused as she moved lower. Trying not to think about the Prince in the room, Nick closed his eyes as Syl went to work. Was that even possible in a game world like this? Less than two minutes later, he discovered it was.
Gasping, he hastily re-equipped his armor and looked over at Alain, who was wearing a seedy grin.
Strength Build: A LitRPG Saga (The Complete Strength Build Cycle) Page 12
