by Kevin Murphy
Dakkon shrugged. It wouldn’t make sense to complain about a small, innocuous detour when she had just signed up for his own absurdly long journey. “Why don’t people go to Klith?”
“Bad drops and difficult battles, basically,” Mina said. “It’s not a very lucrative hunting ground, either. The mines are packed full of a sort of crystal, but it’s not precious enough to bother mining. On top of that, there’s something down there that likes to break players’ gear.”
“Uh, ok. Then, why do we want to go there?” Dakkon inquired.
“Well we’ve got something of a special circumstance,” Mina said with a sparkle in her eye. “While I said that the drops are bad, that’s not really the full story. There are creatures in the caves which have a high chance to drop orbs which can be refined into excellent caster gear. Apparently, it’s not exploited because it’s hard to find a magical craftsman that won’t charge as much as the finished gear is worth for their services. The craftsmen are rare, too. Nearly all magical crafting classes are only available to elves, so it’s hard to find any outside of their homelands.”
“And, since we’re already heading close to elven lands…” Dakkon trailed off appreciatively.
“Bingo,” Mina said with a satisfied smile. “That won’t pay for the work, but it’s a piece of the puzzle at least.”
“It seems strange that elves should have a near-monopoly on a specific class. Any idea why? I thought that Chronicle was fairly non-restrictive when it came to stuff like that,” Dakkon said.
“Beats me,” Mina said, shaking her head. “All I’ve read is that if a player wants to learn be any sort of magical craftsman, they’d better start out as an elf. But, it’s not so strange—there are plenty of other forbidden spells and techniques only passed down through certain orders. I’m willing to bet it’s just a closely guarded secret.”
“Well, count me in,” said Dakkon. “Cline and I aren’t in any particular hurry to get back to civilization right now, anyway—”
*Thwonk* An arrow whizzed by Dakkon’s head and implanted itself into a nearby tree.
“Sorry!” Cline said with a distracted, nonchalant wave from a hand that was already nocking another arrow. He turned to draw and fire at a different tree.
“… Anyway,” said Dakkon, alarmed by the near miss and now keeping a closer eye on Cline’s movements, “You mentioned something about difficult battles, too, right?”
“Yeah…” said Mina, lingering. “The dungeon has different sorts of crystalline monsters. They’re magic resistant and attack in swarms of the size where a big, flashy spell is exactly what you’d normally want to use. Magic being mostly worthless in a fight like that makes things tricky.”
“Fair enough,” Dakkon said. “I just picked up fire magic, so I don’t expect I can roast a whole room full of enemies quite yet, anyway.”
“I don’t imagine we’ll go very deep in,” said Mina waylaying any unease. “When the going gets tough, we’ll turn tail and run. Besides, without a strong mage or two we’d have no shot at taking down the boss.”
“The Boss?” asked Dakkon.
“Yeah, that’s the last big surprise of the caves. The boss is some other sort of crystal-thing that’s nearly immune to physical attacks,” said Mina. “So, after you’ve waded through the whole dungeon where magic is practically useless, you come across a boss where it’s crucial to winning the fight.”
“Sounds like a bad time to me,” Dakkon said.
“We’ll just try to farm a couple of orbs to have refined, then get out,” Mina said. “No big deal.”
*Thwonk* A wayward arrow narrowly avoided Melee’s shoulder. Though she had been idle, privately browsing the internet on her media console, Melee refocused on her surroundings long enough to offer a meaningful glare to Cline.
“I think I might be done practicing for now,” said Cline with a gulp.
“No way,” said Dakkon, encouragingly. “You haven’t hit us yet.”
Melee’s glower shifted to Dakkon.
“I was only kidding,” Dakkon said. “Still, you should practice while you can. I know I sure will.”
Dakkon walked between Cline and the others and, using the Dousebinders—wrist wraps that he’d won from his fight against the ancient wolf spirit—poured out water and began to freeze it into a barrier of ice.
“Ice magic too?” asked Melee. “What the hell, Dakkon?”
Dakkon waved the comment away. “Not ice magic, just a super soaker.” He turned toward Melee and shot a little jet of water just shy of her feet. “It’s pretty useful though.”
“What’s Cline practicing, anyway?” Mina asked. “I’m not sure I’ve ever seen him miss his target in a fight.”
“I’ll show you all something neat once everyone’s back together,” Dakkon said as he worked on building up his wall.
After completing his frigid barrier, Dakkon walked just far enough away so that any unexpected consequences wouldn’t threaten his allies in the way Cline’s arrows had. Searching until he found a well-suited stump, he called out to the others, “Just let me know when Roth gets back so we can head out.”
Using his Dousebinders, Dakkon wet an area around the stump, hoping to curtail any accidental spread of flame. Then, he thought about what he’d learned while watching ChronCast during his downtime. He needed to try combining a skill from thermomancy with a new skill from fire evocation. Though the anchor had pointed out that you couldn’t just say two skill names at once, Dakkon had a trick up his sleeve that he hoped might solve that problem.
“Isn’t using two skills just like using Condense?” thought Dakkon. Perhaps all of his time spent practicing thermomancy had given him an unexpected edge, after all.
He pointed his finger toward the stump and summoned as much heat to the tip of the index finger of his left hand as he could by using his Thermoregulate skill. He steeled himself for whatever might come next, then thought the words, “Flame Lick.”
Fire spewed out from the sides of his otherwise closed hands, launching out of the circle created by his thumb and other fingers, like an image of Zeus holding one of his lightning bolts. Instead of cooking his intended target, the sudden mess of fire lapped against the ground and singed some low-hanging foliage overhead. A system message appeared:
[You have gained a level in your secondary class: Evoker (Fire)! Current level: 7]
[New combination skill acquired: Afterburner!]
Though he had tried to be prepared for anything, Dakkon let out a surprised yelp. Quickly assessing the situation, he used his Dousebinders as a fire hose to extinguish any rogue flames before they had a chance to spread between the trees.
“Everything alright over there?” called out Mina.
“Just fine!” replied Dakkon, glad both that it worked and that he hadn’t managed to blow himself up by using the untested combination of skills.
This time, the flames definitely didn’t come from the tip of his finger. Dakkon opened his skills to read about his new skill and found that a new button appeared next to the word ‘Class’ in his menu. When he clicked on it, it led him to a newly unlocked screen.
|————
|Combination Skills
|————
|Class: Thermomancer + Evoker (Fire)
|+Afterburner – 1— [______________________]
Selecting the new skill brought up its details:
|+Afterburner: This skill allows the caster to launch flames from the palm of their hand. The degree of intensity as well as the spread and distance covered by the flames produced can be customized to fit the caster’s specific need, providing they are skilled enough with the original skills. Produced through combining Thermoregulate and Flame Lick.
“Wicked!” thought Dakkon. The skill sounded exactly like a staple skill of fire mages everywhere. Eager to try out the skill by invoking it directly, he held out his palm toward the yet unscorched wood and thought, “Afterburner!”
A wave of flame rus
hed out from his hand, though it didn’t travel much further than the tiny flame of his Flame Lick skill, and certainly not far enough to reach the intended target-stump. Dakkon concentrated on the skill, feeding more mana into it, and he could feel the cone narrow as it grew in intensity, though his effort didn’t lengthen the fire’s reach by much.
Soon, his outstretched arm was chilled from his rapid consumption of mana, and the skill flickered and failed. It was clear that the skill would require a fair bit of additional experimentation.
“Dakkon!” shouted Melee. “Get’cher butt over here already! We’re waiting on you!”
Ironing out the kinks with his new skill would have to come later. Still, Dakkon was grateful he’d had a chance to at least test the skill away from his friends and horse. There’d certainly be time to practice some more along the way. They had a lengthy walk ahead.
\\\
Brett marched forward along the road among a crowd of near-strangers. Things were moving too quickly. What he needed was a chance to clear his head and think about what was happening—to think about what had happened on the previous night.
Though Brett would hate to admit it, his once-silent companion, Suresh, was good at getting things done. Too good, perhaps. Until the tournament began, Brett had always acted as the unofficial leader of his group. Though he wasn’t sure exactly how he’d earned the role, he had liked the status quo. He only began to realize how much he liked his position after it had been taken by Suresh.
If Suresh had been bumbling or ineffective, then negating his commands would be an option. The broad-shouldered man wasn’t either of those things, however. He was quick-witted, driven, and brutal. Chances to steer Brett’s group toward a better path had vanished with Suresh’s successes—and with each additional member he recruited.
Though they had been only four—Brett, Savior, Arden, and Suresh—now their group had grown to more of a small faction. Nearly every day new players would join their ranks, and all viewed Suresh as the faction’s head. There was no telling where Suresh found the people, either. He wasn’t the sort for idle banter.
It pained Brett to acknowledge that Suresh was doing a good job. Those he recruited with tournament sigils were being rewarded for their trust through a constant flow of bonus points, of which half would be converted into stat points once they died. Suresh had demanded that they alternate who landed every coup de grace which reaped tournament rewards. Of course, Suresh personally killed anyone who skipped ahead in this rotation—claiming half of their tournament points for himself. He didn’t care who it was, either. It didn’t even matter if it was a non-participant. Without hesitation or consideration for his roots, he had mercilessly killed Arden the night before.
The newcomers were fodder in Brett’s eyes. He didn’t know them, and he didn’t care about them. “But Arden?” Brett thought. “How could Suresh just kill Arden like that? And why isn’t Savior livid?”
Savior had seemed ambivalent about the whole situation. He had even placated Brett along the way, but then he always placated Brett—it was something the headstrong Brett usually liked about his friend. But clearly the situation was different here.
Brett had wanted a little anarchy and retribution for his friend, but so far he had gotten neither. Perhaps Savior had been doing him a favor? What good would raising a fuss bring? If the situation started to deteriorate, Suresh would probably just have him and Savior killed, too. They both knew that he could.
Suresh had always seemed like the strongest member of their group, but it was now apparent that—for whatever reason—he had actually been sandbagging his true combat prowess. On top of his cunning, the man was monstrously strong, and he had strange abilities that Brett had never seen him use before the tournament began.
None of it made any sense.
If Suresh had been so strong from the start, then he should have found a higher-leveled group to join. It seemed strange that he would accept the group’s whims and decisions when he could have easily done better elsewhere.
“What’s up, Brett?” the tall, dark haired Savior asked as he fell into step with his friend. “You still dwelling on last night?”
“Yeah…” Brett confided. “I don’t feel right about any of it.”
“Well you can’t feel that bad, can you?” asked Savior with a half-smirk. “You’re walking away from where Arden will respawn as we speak.”
“That’s different… Our best chances of doing well in the tournament are sticking with the group,” Brett said. “Besides, I’m sure that if I tried to leave then S—”
Savior held out his hand to silence Brett. “Perhaps you should save that thought for a direct message. It’s probably not the sort of thing you want to go around saying given the circumstances.” He twirled his right index finger to indicate the mass of potentially listening bodies moving around them. “Besides, Arden is—above all else—overly competitive. You know he’d have done the same thing, and he should have known better from the start. Right behind being competitive, though, he’s brash. For as long as I’ve known him, he has always been a little too eager. You’ve got to—“
“Patiently wait for the opportunity to strike,” Brett finished Savior’s sentence for him in a practiced monotone. “You say that every time after we play a game.”
“That’s because you and Arden can never get it through your unreasonably thick skulls. It’s not just some catchphrase, those’re words to live by,” Savior said. “If you guys tried practicing what I preached then you’d—”
“Yeah, yeah,” said Brett with exasperation in his voice. “Thank you, sensei.”
Savior sighed. “Well, anyway, even if Arden’s not around the situation is still pretty sweet for us. We’ve got to be patient and stockpile tournament points.”
Brett was caught somewhat off guard. “Are you suggesting—”
“I’m not suggesting anything,” interjected Savior while darting a cautious glance to those walking along nearby. “I’m saying that not doing anything to jeopardize our easy ride to becoming strong is better than screwing it up because we feel bad.”
Brett was certain that Savior was trying to hint at some future course of action. Something like, ‘Sit tight until we find a chance to ice this mean bastard.’ The sentiment was reassuring. Perhaps Savior hadn’t completely glossed over Suresh’s betrayal after all.
“Got it,” said Brett, unsure. But, he knew that his certainty wasn’t necessary. He only needed to wait patiently, as his friend suggested.
The two walked along the road in silence for a bit. Being on foot meant that they could more easily set up an impromptu ambush. Suresh had already ordered everyone to lay in wait many times during their travel. Someone was feeding him information on the goings and comings of wayfaring tournament participants. Barring that information, they would head to remote villages where those in the tournament were more likely to lay low and drive anyone with a glowing red mark on their forehead out of hiding.
Little pocket factions of tournament participants meant good payoffs for their men. There were plenty of tournament points to go around. Even though the numbers of Brett’s group had grown substantially, only eight of them were marked as actors in the grim game. Suresh had, presumably, hired the other 20 or so. Who knew who else he was employing to gain an edge. Regardless of the scope, it was working.
A more chilling thought was that there were certain to be other groups hunting beglyphed players as efficiently as they were. What was going to happen once the groups collided? Surely, they couldn’t ignore each other’s existence. Would there be a gang war of sorts? Just how many points would the winners receive? So far, Brett had accumulated 60 tournament points. If he died now, he’d receive 30 stat points—equivalent to the stats from gaining six full levels. It might not seem like much at first, but it spoke volumes for their efficiency. Furthermore, each actual level gained in the game was harder than the last, making these stat points even more alluring the longer someone has playe
d.
Each of the Chosen started with a point, and all half-points seemed to round up. So, if someone died with a point or two, they’d only get one stat point in the end. At three or four points, they’d get two. At five or six—three. If everyone in Brett’s group had accumulated at least 60 points—and some certainly had more—then it meant that over 470 other players had died to feed them.
Since participants receive half of their opponent’s points on a kill, that meant taking out someone who had already earned themselves 30 points was far more efficient than hunting minnows with only a few points. The biggest payoffs were yet to come, when the big fish eventually started to fight. As the game continued on—even if the general chaos died down—the stakes would keep growing higher. Who knew how powerful the winner might become?
“Come on now, hide your sorry asses!” hissed a burly newcomer, pulling Brett from his reverie.
Somehow, Suresh always knew exactly where to set up an ambush.
Chapter 8: Klith
Dakkon’s group had decided to take yet another break from the monotony of walking, and so supplemented it with some comforting media downtime. Though the trek had been good to Cline, giving him enough idle time to learn how to manually cast skills without needing to think or say their name, there hadn’t been any real combat opportunities to test out the practicality. The result was that Cline was itching for some wild animal to attack. The rest of the group was more excited that the stray arrows taking flight this way and that had finally ended.
After seeing how Dakkon could supercharge his tiny flame into a column of fire, the others had been eager to tinker with their own skills as they traveled. So far, only Mina had had any real success on the road, and no one save for Dakkon felt like training during their downtime. It turned out that, by simply using names to activate skills, it was easy for Dakkon to get in a little basic evoker training while he watched ChronCast.
