Stamina and mana emptied, Rowan turned a final corner in a brisk walk, breathing heavily. He made a note to purchase potions once this quest was done.
A few more townsfolk hurried by—and a player wearing a robe and holding a staff too. Rowan had to hurry before those pesky players drenched his glorious flames. He jogged to the square with the little stamina he had left.
No guards or players or townsfolk in sight. Plan successful. Rowan’s dark mana swirled with delight in his veins.
Now, for that fucking dwarf. It was time to pay. He marched to the gold-trimmed booth and slapped on his most menacing face. “Dwarf!” he roared and raised a balled fist. 150 health points were far too low for a bolt or dagger or arrow. Rowan needed the dwarf to suffer.
The dwarf jolted straight in an instant.
Before the little guy could speak, Rowan’s fist crunched into his nose and skull. The strength bonus from the neutral gear was paying dividends.
You have dealt 78 physical damage to your target
New Passive Skill: Unarmed Combat Mastery
Don’t get ahead of yourself. A brainless troll could kill you with a kick.
Skill Level: 1, 5%
Skill Tier: 0
Effect: 1% increased physical, unarmed damage
Tier Effect: 1% increased evasion rating
Seventy-eight?! That much just from 13 strength?
“Ah!” the dwarf spat, clutching his bleeding, broken face, “What do you want? I already gave you your items!”
Rowan didn’t have time for a game of play-dumb. “Open the entrance to the coffers, you little shitstain.” Rowan grabbed his beard and punched him in the gut with less force. Ribs cracked and organs squished. “And that’s for not telling me about the mines.”
You have dealt 54 physical damage to your target
The dwarf coughed and wheezed and collapsed onto the counter. He struggled for words, much to Rowan’s pleasure. The void purred in approval. “Wha— What coffers?” the dwarf said.
A growl tore up Rowan’s throat. He snatched a dagger. He cut the dwarf’s wrinkled cheek gently as possible. A squirt of blood arced into the air.
You have dealt 10 physical damage to your target
“The coffers below your pathetic booth! I know it’s here!” Rowan held the dagger to his throat. “Last chance.”
The dwarf’s eyes ballooned to saucers. He trembled against the steel and the cold of Rowan’s amulet. “You’ll die before you find any treasure, laddie.”
Enough. Rowan slashed the dwarf’s jugular. He threw the body onto the sacks of Orb of Storages to avoid the blood spray. The silver coins weren’t in sight.
You have dealt full damage to your target (Instant-kill critical)
The kill didn’t feel nearly as satisfying as imagined. The dwarf was pathetically weak. Rowan needed bigger, stronger victims now. Or a town-full of weaklings.
Wiping the dagger on a sack, he examined everything inside the booth. Sacks, orbs, parchments, some food and drink—and a rug on the ground. Bingo.
He jumped over the counter and kicked away the corner of the rug, revealing a crude, wooden board. He grabbed the rug and tossed it onto the dwarf’s corpse. Then flipped the board. A set of black-gray stone stairs wide enough for one large human descended into the darkness. What an ominous and over-the-top entrance to a town coffer. These stairs and this booth must’ve cost more to construct than half the town’s worth—apart from the market building.
The nobles must’ve been hoarding profits and items down here, keeping wealth away from peasant hands. Rowan’s neck constricted in anger at the realization. He hated rich snobs more than he hated lazy idiots. The human and Draconian nobles would suffer too, once he attained his rightful power.
Rowan sheathed his dagger and whipped out his teak wand. He fired a bolt into the tunnel. His spell splashed onto smooth, dark stone over forty steps down. He fired more bolts, this time at the lining walls at regular intervals. They all splashed harmlessly. No traps so far. Maybe the dwarf was lying.
Grumbling, Rowan pushed half his weight onto the first step, expecting the worst.
Nothing happened.
He grunted and retrieved a pair of scrolls from his pouch, Night Vision and Lesser Ball Light. He consumed the papyrus without reading.
New Active Skill: Lesser Ball Light
Summons a small hovering ball of light at your palm
Mana Cost: 1 per minute
New Passive Skill: Night Vision
The Night Elves have blessed you with their gift of night vision
Skill Level: 1, 0%
Skill Tier: 0
Effect: Your eyes see 5% better in darkness
Tier Effect: None
The ball light was good, though as for the night vision… Better than nothing. Rowan summoned a light at his palm and began walking down the stairs. His belly curled in anticipation for something great, something dark. Something like a Necromancer’s Tome. Please be that. Just… Please. He’d kiss the AI controller’s feet for one of those.
Two lines of engraved, golden text ran down along the walls into the vault. Not English—likely that primordial language, Rowan guessed as he reached the bottom step. Or perhaps even the dark variant. Perhaps this wasn’t just a treasure coffer.
But that’d make no sense… Unless this underground structure had been built before—
His light shone upon a pile of gold. A thick, black book decorated with bone laid on the coins.
Bloody hell. It was right there, ten meters away.
But it could be a trap. He Examined.
Necromancer’s Tome
A tome of dark knowledge.
Yes. Yes. Yes.
Rowan’s heart stuttered. This was too good to be true but there it was: a Nercromancer’s Tome. He grinned and sprayed the floor and walls with bolts before skipping on his approach. It was large, the largest book he’d seen in his life. It was a literal metric-tonne of dark knowledge fit for a raid boss. Right here in front of him. The cover was made of soft leather, warm to the touch.
Then it twitched.
What? Rowan stepped back.
The tome grew in size and its covers sprang open. Sharp rows of teeth grew through the pages. A barbed red tongue wriggled like a snake. “Flesh and Blood! Warm and Tasty! Yummy Yummy!”
Rowan could only get off an Examine before the monster-tome’s tongue wrapped around him and his head was swallowed whole. He saw only blackness other than two dialogs and his user interface.
Mimic: Level ?
Health: ?
Mana: ?
Stamina: ?
And…
You have died. Your luck streak has ended, finally.
Respawning in 59 minutes and 32 seconds. Would you like to watch your death?
Fuck.
Rowan struggled in a tempest of fire and ice and vowed revenge within the black expanse.
Chapter 10
LeMort
Gabrielle Howe stirred her bubbling cauldron and added another cupful of dried, poisonous leeches. A wisp of black steam twirled through her cave as thick bubbles popped in the concoction. The potion was almost ready. Gabrielle dimmed the flames with a tap of her Morgana’s Emerald Spike Wand and took out a case of Crystal Vials from her cabinet. They’d be able to hold the potion just fine for it was neither acidic or alkaline enough to corrode the crystal.
With a quick incantation and a dark-mana infusion, the potion was done. Gabrielle scooped a ladle-full and filled a vial. She corked it and Examined.
High Quality Draught of Greater Poison Immunity
Rarity: Mythical
Cures and grants immunity to poisons of tier 9 or less for 24 hours
“Yippee!” she chirped and held the Draught in front of Redwing’s eyes. “I finally made it. If only I had one of these I wouldn’t have had to put you in that teddy-bear… Oh well.”
The stuffed toy deflated, its shoulders slumping. A drop of liquid dark-mana fell from its butt
on eye. Gabrielle couldn’t help but laugh at his sorry state.
Redwing was Gabrielle’s familiar and future mount, a baby Red Whelp that she’d saved from a group of low-level Water Mage players. She had wanted to own a dragon mount since the start of Aeon Chronicle’s alpha testing two and half years ago but they’d all been far too vicious to her. To everyone. They were true neutral monsters and hadn’t changed since their creation. They weren’t aligned with either evil or good, only caring for their own interests in the mountain ranges. She had been blessed a month ago with Redwing and nursed him back to health.
Life in the caves and mountains was proceeding really well for while, Redwing and her. But then she’d been spotted by a band of Draco soldiers in the valley led by a few annoying players. A Druid had shot a poison barb at Gabrielle and Redwing blocked it with his belly.
None of them had left the valley alive, naturally. Her dark magic had obliterated the lot before she was forced save Redwing by transferring his soul to a teddy. Her Teddyfication skill had for once came in handy.
Gabrielle was one of a handful of players who’d unlocked a dark class, the crafter-support hybrid Witch-Doctor. A Water-Dark mana class. Dark mana was rare. Exceedingly rare.
The AI controller assigned less than .01% of players an evil alignment. Its definition of evil was strict, based on the average human perception of good and evil. And the engineers at Synaptic couldn’t do a thing about it other than issue a suggestion which they called directives. The AI rejected the vast majority of suggestions. Many players had been disappointed that they couldn’t play a dark class without being a real-life psycho. The engineers had coded themselves into a corner. The game would’ve been scrapped and redone if it hadn’t been so successful in alpha. Players loved the fact that an advanced AI was in charge of everything within the playable bounds.
All dark-class characters were hunted by all three good-aligned factions and the foretold replacement savior was still locked up in a real-life mental hospital. Gabrielle remembered every detail of the quantum forecast to this day. Rowan Black would be assigned an evil alignment, a World Boss status, and given Ice-Dark mana. Ice-Dark and Fire-Dark were the only two mana types capable of unlocking a known evil-aligned summoner-type class. And everyone knew you needed a summoner to take over a world with so few players and characters on your side. They were quite overpowered when you lacked a supporting army—a single player could create one. That wasn’t mentioning the off-the-chart bonuses World Bosses received. Hehehe…
Gabrielle took Redwing by his cotton arms and spun him in a circle. “Don’t worry, Red. Rowan will make ya a body of bone and mana and you’ll never be weak to poison again!”
If Redwing had a mouth or face muscles, he would’ve smiled.
“Oh… Right I almost got careless again,” she mumbled, eyeing her near-full cauldron. “Better fill up the other vials.”
While she hummed a merry tune and scooped ladle after ladle, the Social icon shook at the bottom of her sight. Was one of the other evil players in trouble again? The other two factions had been tiring of the failed pirate lord and bandit king raids and had diverted extra resources to stamping out dark magic among NPCs and adventurers.
She flicked the Social interface open with a thought and opened a mail from—
Her second-uncle Vincent. Peculiar. He was a busy old guy working in hospitals or Synaptic’s headquarters. Gabrielle hadn’t heard from him since the order had fleshed out the plan—during the viewing of the forecast back in 2134. It was a brilliant, hilarious plan to introduce FIVR to the world.
Gabrielle, Rowan has agreed and is currently inside the game as predicted. He seems to have gotten himself eaten just now and is in need of some assistance. His coordinates and character appearance are attached. As planned, go by yourself before you call for more aid. Approach him with caution. He’s still a bit unstable and will be for at least another real-word month or two but he’ll always be one of us from now on. His brain has been permanently altered in several…
The mail rambled on in typical Vincent-like fashion. The guy was a genius for sure but she couldn’t stand those rants.
But nevertheless, it was happening! Sweet, sweet glee pumped through her watery blood with a wave of endorphins. She could’ve orgasmed at the news with enough stimulation.
Gabrielle finished crafting the last two Draughts and turned to Redwing. “We’re going on an adventure, Red. Rowan’s here and he probably thinks he needs some kind of dark tome like a newbie!”
Stuffing supplies into a Legendary Dragonskin Pouch, Gabrielle eyed the teddy-bear and decided to take him with her. In case her cave base was attacked during her absence. Even if that was highly unlikely. She slung the pouch across her waist and grabbed her Morgana’s Black Deathcap and Enchanted Golden Onyx Broom.
As she flew through the cave system, she reinforced her complicated high-level Mirage, Detection, and Confusion wards for those pesky dark class hunters. She shot through the waterfall entrance at a supersonic speed, her unique set of Morgana’s gear and flying mount skill keeping her dry and windless.
Oh, and she activated her Tier 8 Stealth, bending light rays around her body, nearly forgetting. Her figure shimmered into a transparent blur. That was an important skill to say hidden as a dark class.
* * *
After the fifteenth rage-filled time watching the third-person death-replay, Rowan still couldn’t figure out how he could’ve defeated the mimic in that situation. He’d simply been too greedy, too naive, and too idiotic again. This game was full of surprises despite the cliche town he’d spawned in. He needed to discard his preconceived assumptions on MMOs and think clearly. He should’ve inspected the tome from a distance—if the mimic’s shapeshift ability didn’t camouflage that information as well.
The mimic was above level 106, that much was certain. It didn’t appear to possess any abilities other than reading a target’s desires, shapeshifting, and a melee-range bite attack. Though the fight was short. The mimic could’ve been holding back. A ranged approach might work… but it sported no apparent critical-hit locations and could have thousands of health points plus high resistances and armor. There wasn’t a way for a level 6 to kill the thing.
Training in mines was the only option.
Rowan screamed into the blackness. He needed to get past that damn mimic. He’d noticed a sealed, circular door behind the mimic after the third time watching his own decapitation. The mimic was guarding something—something big and dark. Especially if a town had been built over it and over sixty NPCs had been created to guard. Either a weak raid boss sat behind that door or a dark artifact and treasure were waiting to be claimed. Maybe even a real Necromancer’s Tome. He dared to hope.
Rowan glanced the respawn countdown, blinking at four minutes and thirteen seconds. He could’ve simply logged out for six real-world minutes but he’d just suffer another round of fatigue for six minutes. It was smarter to use this time to plan, to tie a leash onto his overconfidence. He couldn’t let this happen again. He breathed and let the seconds count down. Tick after tick in this strangely calming black void so similar to the icy void in Rowan’s spine.
The countdown hit zero and the world faded in. He stood in the exact same spot he’d first spawned in at. The afternoon sun threw waves of heat at Rowan, dampened by his trusty amulet.
“Well look who it is. A resurrected adventurer blessed by the gods. The Draco kid of all people,” the guard captain said, disgust in his voice.
Rowan spun to face him.
Shit. Better spin a lie.
“There was a bandit thief!” Rowan said, pretending to be concerned about the situation. “He went for the dwarf for some reason. I couldn’t stop him!” He looked down and wiped his eyes with the back of his palm.
“Hmph, so you say.” The guard captain didn’t seem to buy the story. “Did you get an Examine off?”
“Yessir,” Rowan said with a bit more confidence, “Level 64 Bandit Thief. Brown hair
, no facial hair, and kinda lanky-looking. Over 1600 health. About 500 mana and 900 stamina. He wore leather and linen and attacked me with a Mithril sword.” He didn’t break eye contact and kept his body language open and genuine-like. “And I think he had dagger strapped to his leg but didn’t use it.” Thieves usually carried daggers, right?
The captain’s eyes narrowed but after five seconds he exhaled and shook his head. “Yeah, sounds about right. A level 6 is no match for a 64. They’re real good with blades and throwing knives, those bandits.” He scowled.
Success! The sucker bought the act hook, line, and sinker.
“I’m sorry,” Rowan said, mirroring the head-shake. “I wish I could have done more.”
The captain grunted. “The lower level bandits usually wear gear weak to fire and lightning, among other things. Remember that. A chosen like you should have no problem learning some magic so get off your ass and find Alastor for some tuition. He’s been eloping for hours now. I wonder where he went… We really needed him back there. Damn bandit must’ve started that fire as a distraction.”
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