A Slave in the Locked Lands

by Arthur Stone

  He could not see any data about the mobs’ levels, but it didn’t come as any surprise. He wished to try his luck against one, but couldn’t fathom a way of doing it without running into fatal problems—none of the others would stand idly by, that much was clear.

  However, he did get his chance eventually. The procession that had initially seemed endless started to dwindle, and eventually petered out completely. There was only a lone figure in the distance plodding down the beaten path.

  Ros decided he couldn’t waste a chance like that. He didn’t mind dying. A victory, on the other hand, could net him a bunch of perks. He might also score another bestiary award for an unknown mob. Even without that, the potential reward was significant—as was the case with the first scavenger, provided the mob’s level was high enough.

  Ros took out a soul crystal and cast Raise.

  “Undead Scavenger Reptus. A non-sentient creature of the Locked Lands. Level: 246. Abilities: Spit Poison, Furious Attack, Decay, Wave of Blindness.”

  Ros buffed the pet with everything he could, adding the Strangle skill and wondering how come the reptus had a whopping four skills of its own. Perhaps it was typical of a high-level mob, which also explained why they were so tough in a fight.

  He noted that “leprus” and “reptus” had a similar spelling. It was a good omen, considering how much use he had gotten out of the former. He could only hope his new pet would turn out just as useful.

  Ros had no wish to engage in battle on open land. There was a possibility that those who had gone forward would return, or that other stragglers might turn up. So, he crawled out of the bushes and whistled mockingly, waving his staff in a menacing way. The mob turned around at the suspicious sound. Its further behavior was perfectly predictable—it started running toward the source of the noise, waving his club around.

  Ros had no plans of waiting till he got smacked in the head with that thing, turning around and starting for the thicket at a trot. The mob kept on his trail, and nearly managed to get its quarry when it ran into a new adversary among the trees. The reptus ambushed the creature, using each of its abilities one by one, since Ros wanted to find out how they worked.

  The effect was mind-boggling. First, the reptus spat at the mob nonchalantly, causing ugly green spots to start growing on the creature’s skin. Then the pet spun around itself like a top, and its enemy became covered by a bell-shaped brown cloud. Afterwards, the pet’s body scattered a shower of dimly glowing sparks, and it leapt so fast its body became a blur, biting a chunk out of the monster’s shoulder, along with the bronze armor, right in midair.

  The mob’s HP bar started to waver and shrink—the DoT

  [1]’s effects kept eating up the HP. The creature hissed and waved its club around blindly, managing to crush two saplings. Then its weapon lodged in a bigger tree, and the reptus took advantage of the situation by biting off the mob’s entire right forearm before delivering a powerful shield bash that sent the enemy reeling.

  Ros barely managed to start healing the reptus when it jumped up and attacked its quarry again, strangling it as ordered. And yet the mob wouldn’t yield, furiously chewing on the pet’s head and hitting it in the side with the edge of its shield while seemingly completely oblivious to Ros’ Chaos Arrows. The two entangled bodies came crashing down and started rolling, with bushes and small trees breaking all around them. The din could be heard all around—he could only pray no one would come to investigate.

  “You kill the Marauding Tagrus. XP received: 12,992. You gain a level. Points left until the next level: 340,023. Attention! You have found a creature that has not yet been added to the world bestiary! You receive a reward: +1 to Creation, +25 to magic energy. You can receive the reward for discovering a new creature at the Academy of Magic. Congratulations! You have destroyed a monster 180 or more levels above yours! Achievement earned: Crazy Loner, Part Fifteen. Achievement bonus: +1 to every primary base stat, +5 undistributed secondary stat points. Random auxiliary stat unlocked: Swimming. Bonus effect: permanent. Achievement unlocked: Giant Slayer, Part Fifteen. Kill 50 monsters whose level exceeds yours by 180 or more without any help to complete the achievement. Achievement bonus: random.”

  Ros smiled like a cat who had just been given a bowl of fresh cream. Killing just two mobs had netted him more bonuses that the entire dungeon raid that had taken him and Digits four days to complete.

  It seemed like a great idea to linger here a while longer.

  The tagrus’ club turned out to be junk, and its armor was badly damaged—although it hadn’t been particularly good in the first place. However, its crude shield turned out to be of good quality, and enchanted to boot.

  Ros assessed the object’s weight and decided against taking it along—a heavy trophy without an enchantment wouldn’t cost much. Why without, though? Because he was planning to study it.

  The study didn’t yield much, however—the shield became common instead of good, losing lots of bonuses in the process. He still didn’t regret it—a little bit of progress in Enchanting, which he still had to unlock, was far more important.

  As Ros moved along the path, he encountered three more mobs, one of them got him the Crazy Loner, Part Sixteen achievement. That added a point to each of his secondary stats, but there were no other bonuses. Two of the trophies were enchanted items, and Ros rendered them near-useless without a moment’s hesitation, though still failing to unlock the long-desired stat.

  It seemed as if he were just dumping resources into a bottomless pit, having already wasted over a hundred and fifty enchanted items to no apparent purpose.

  The mobs were perfect for grinding, but there was a twist: they rarely went out on their own, and finding solitary specimens was a challenge. But what else could he do? Facing even two of them at a time would be much too risky—Ros’ level just wasn’t high enough for like that.

  Another unpleasant surprise was that he’d received no further bestiary achievements. He wasn’t the only one to face these creatures, after all—there must have been other tough guys playing explorer. It appeared that he’d been wrong in his assumption about the absence of competition. It was, however, possible that waves of such monsters had run into strong groups of players who got the upper hand and claimed the spoils of victory.

  Just as the day was breaking, Ros reached the edge of the wood and saw a familiar landscape—he was near Arbenne.

  * * *

  His very first city—his de facto birthplace in the game, which was thus associated with his most vivid impressions—had clearly seen better days. There were cracks with charred edges lining the walls, and smoke was coming from the towers reduced to piles of rubble. All of Arbenne was ablaze, but there was still fighting going on—he saw mass spell effects flash repeatedly in a few spots, which looked pretty high-level.

  Ros watched the show for a while, then climbed into the bushes and fell asleep. He needed rest and didn’t care about the battle raging about a mile away. This place was as dangerous as any other. No one knew what the mobs were up to, after all. Should they decide to comb the area, he’d be done for.

  No one bothered him. After a good rest, he came back to the edge of the wood. There were fewer fires in the city now, and no mobs in sight. They must have wiped the town off the province’s map, and moved on in search of new entertainment.

  Not all of them, though. Hundreds of carcasses lay underneath the walls—that was the price of the siege. He couldn’t tell how many had met their end inside the city walls. Yet, judging by the final stages of the battle as witnessed by Ros, they hadn’t been given a very warm welcome, and their losses must have been substantial.

  But what was that moving in the distance? He focused his vision and saw well-familiar processions leaving the city. The attackers had done their gruesome deed, and were moving on. The mobs were far enough away, but Ros decided not to leave his hiding place. Better to wait a bit.

  He browsed the most recent posts in the hottest forum threads to whil
e away the time. The events in Rallia were still all the buzz, just as he’d expected. It wasn’t every day that the mobs conquered an imperial capital—and kept on advancing, without any intention to stop. The Western Empire was in a turmoil. The emperor had deployed all his troops, and announced general recruitment—anyone with a character level 60 or higher could enlist.

  Ros hadn’t encountered a single mob below 220, which meant the lower-level volunteers were in for some unforgettable experiences. Even he wouldn’t stand a chance against one of them without a pet, all of his beefed-up stats notwithstanding. However, he might stand a chance with proper equipment—especially against monsters without any control skills. But why waste hundreds or even thousands of gold pieces when he had a free pet?

  Not that Ros had that kind of money, anyway.

  There were a few theads in there that rubbed him the wrong way. Everybody was complaining about the Jeeps acting weird again—they were checking everyone reborn at the capital. Which meant Ros could find himself in an unpleasant situation in case of death. When a character died, the effects of any buffs, elixirs, or spells were canceled. He would thus find himself without the Veil of Mystery. Certain NPCs—and, probably, players as well—would be able to see he wasn’t a regular character before he’d get a chance to cast it again.

  Today’s Rallia presented unprecedented opportunities for kicking the bucket, and Ros felt some anxiety about the goings-on in the capital. He started analyzing the problem in greater depth, turning to the very same forum for information. Additional research put his mind at rest—apparently, abducting a player in the center of the Western Empire’s capital, and in front of a Temple of Light to boot, was harder than spitting at the moon and having it land inside an empty bottle standing on the moon’s surface. The city was under the protection of the emperor’s personal army—fighter NPCs upwards of level 250. And there were so many of them that even the entire Jeep clan would feel like a hapless postman’s trouser leg in the jaws of an angry pit-bull if they overstepped their boundaries.

  The defenders were also helped by the city itself—or, rather, the magical aura covering it. Apart from everything else, the emperor was one of the Second World’s most powerful mages. No one knew what the NPC’s level might be, but it was generally suspected to be around 400 at least. His family boasted slightly lower levels, but they compensated for it by wearing really expensive equipment—and they could well afford it.

  A single mage like that was worth a hundred of any clan’s strongest warriors. Apart from that, no one but the emperor and his family could use attack magic within the city—the aura rendered anybody else’s attempt useless. Therefore, any clan that would start a skirmish in the city would lose a lot in terms of reputation—and, invariably, funds. And the tactical problems they would encounter would be enormous.

  Whoever might survive the firestorm launched by the emperor and his kin would be trampled to death by the heavily armored guards.

  Therefore, even if they managed to identify Ros, capturing him would not be easy. He would just blow them a raspberry and use a personal teleport to escape. Then he’d wait for Clean Slate to cool down and change his appearance again. He’d be able to play this game as long as needed, provided he didn’t get trapped the way it had happened back at the moat of Arbenne.

  This wasn’t real life—even an ellerium cage couldn’t hold him forever. And should worse come to worst, he could wait for the bind point to expire and then use the non-magic Voluntary Exit skill. Every player had it, and it was intended for these very situations. The cooldown was one month, but it would get him to any city he’d ever visited, or to the capital of the state where he’d be held captive. It involved dying, of course, as well as losing experience, and, possibly, equipment as well, but then he would resurrect at one of the Temples of Light.

  The slight panic he had initially felt was abating. He knew now that even if someone kidnapped him, he wouldn’t stay kidnapped for long. Still, it would make more sense to avoid the kidnapping altogether. Ros didn’t know how they’d managed to identify him, but it was perfectly clear to him how they had found him afterwards. After spending three days in Arbenne exterminating those unfortunate grass snakes, it was little wonder that he’d been made by someone who’d known whom to look for.

  He decided there was nothing to fear. His relations with the unrelenting J_P guild had entered a new phase: they knew too much about him, while he realized their options were rather limited. He could move to a sector where they appeared rarely—or never—and they were welcome to waste as much money and resources as they wanted in hopes of catching him.

  Weirdos. They could have tried to talk to him first. He might have even been eager to comply with their wishes.

  The only question was, could they have offered anything that would have been of value to him?

  Chapter 9

  Ros approached the city with every possible precaution. The mobs were long gone, but he thought he saw suspicious silhouettes moving about a few times. He wasn’t entirely sure if he was hallucinating them. He left his pet in the sparse bushes that grew about a quarter of a mile from the city wall just in case some of the defenders had survived. A creature like that would strike them as suspicious at the very least—more likely, they would attack it and ask questions later—and Ros would rather avoid unnecessary conflict.

  He found the first bodies some six hundred feet away into the city—the range of the cheap catapults installed on the walls. Arbenne had always been a sleepy town, far away from the dangerous areas, so the defenders didn’t even have many of those catapults and martinets, and the ones they did have didn’t do much damage. As he drew to within three hundred feet from the wall—the typical range of archers and mages—the piles of bodies grew larger and more numerous.

  Ros stopped there for a while to loot all the corpses he could. He would surely find more trophies inside the city, but his gut told him not to hurry to get inside the walls. The city was still burning, and any time the wind blew from the direction of Arbenne, he could feel it singe the hair on his head. He dreaded to imagine what it was like on the inside.

  Ros looted two or three items from virtually every mob, all of them in the level 200+ range, and of no lower quality than enhanced. Unfortunately, most of the loot was trash according to how Second World worked. At those levels players normally scorned even good quality gear, so he could only sell this stuff for scrap—and not even all of it.

  But Ros didn’t worry about that—each of the items had some sort of an enchantment, no matter how weak. Inasmuch as he understood the mechanics of how one unlocked that stat, higher-level items yielded more experienced when studied, so the useless items should prove useful yet.

  The only reason why Ros didn’t get to it at once was that he didn’t want to linger in an open space. Having filled every slot of a large bag and hidden it in a slot on his belt, he moved on to another one, happy to have deposited all his extra items in a bank’s storage cell. He could carry around a ton and a half now without any penalties, possibly even more.

  He decided to invest in five expensive bags as soon as he got the money for them. He’d already picked out what he needed: 170 slots or more, and a 40% weight reduction. That would raise his carrying capacity to two and a half tons, factoring in the combined effect of the bags and his belt, without any noticeable penalties.

  His dreams of transforming his character into an equivalent of a truck were interrupted most unpleasantly—by a long arrow with golden fletching plunging into his left forearm.

  “HedTeSdjo hits you for 290 damage.”

  Ros was on the move before the echo of his yelp of pain faded, rolling instinctively to the right, away from the archer. And just in time, too—something buzzed through the air menacingly, passing just above him. Falling to the ground, Ros covered himself with a mob carcass, pulled out the arrow, and hastily cast Heal. Then he dispelled the bleeding caused by the hastily done surgery.

  “Hey, you!” some
one shouted from a distance. “Beat it! These mobs are mine!”

  Ros exhaled with relief—it was just a competitor in the dishonorable business of looting someone else’s kills. He’d feared it would be much worse.

  “It doesn’t say anywhere on the mobs that they’re yours!”

  “I killed them!”

  “You?! Don’t make me laugh! You dealt less damage to a clothie like me than a wolf cub at a newbie zone!”

  “Two more arrows, and you’ll be talking trash in your long johns in the capital! Leave the mobs alone, and I’ll leave you alone! I’m telling you! Hey! What the… Shit!!!”

  Ros didn’t like that last cry of his unseen opponent—some third party appeared to have meddled. He tried to raise his head to get a glimpse at what was going on, and cried out in pain—something hit him right in the face, and it felt like he was stung by a hundred angry wasps.