The Gods of the Second World (LitRPG The Weirdest Noob Book 3)

by Arthur Stone

  "There's another problem. I didn't receive any message about what exactly is required of us. Did I miss anything, or is that the case with you as well?"

  "Same here."

  "Here, too."

  "Nothing here, either."

  "In other words, we haven't got the foggiest as to how to handle this quest."

  Ros had an answer to that.

  "We've been told we need to level upwards of 130, haven't we? The quest won't progress until all of us meet the requirements."

  "You're probably right."

  "I can't think of anything else."

  "Won't folks like Agythric attack the NPCs you intend to hire? They used to bully everyone initially."

  "I don't think so. The Supreme Council's army as well as the rest of the organized local forces hold what remains of the barrier. There are hardly any of their warriors here. Additionally, they are about to establish friendly relations with the West."

  "But you're not completely sure."

  "I'm not. Let's just stay out of their sight."

  "In that case, I have a suggestion. We could level up near the dungeon we found back then with Danger Babe. It's a very quiet place with lots of mobs, and we haven't seen any strangers there at all."

  "Will you show it to me?"

  "It's about four hours away if we go by foot."

  "We have to move forward, then. I have to see it, or I won't be able to open a portal from there."

  "If we speed up, we'll get there faster."

  "I doubt it."

  "Why is that?"

  "You don't know Thyri all that well yet. She has certain issues…"

  * * *

  "Harry, your name is known to almost everyone, but you keep out of the public eye. I dread to recall everything I've had to deal with before you agreed to give us this modest interview. Why is that? Is that corporate policy, or your own secretive nature?"

  "A little bit of both, I guess."

  "Which one is dominant?"

  "I am indeed a private person. Work has always been my number one priority."

  "What about your number two priority?"

  "Work as well."

  "Oh, so that's how it is…"

  "I'm not the only workaholic in the corporation, you know."

  "But you are Michael Silber's designated successor."

  "No comment."

  "Oh, come one, it's been an open secret for a while now. Everybody knows who Silber's successor is going to be after he dies. Although there is an opinion that the moment in question might never come. The Old Man is known to be extremely apt at outwitting death."

  "I'm not commenting that, either."

  "Harry, couldn't you at least give us a hint? Why you? Our readers are puzzled. You are not related to Silber in any way. And you haven't made the impression of being someone spectacular. So why would he choose you above everybody else?"

  "I work hard."

  "You're not the only one."

  "I'm a loner, just as he is."

  "Meaning?"

  "He cut off his relatives. I don't have any, either, although for different reasons. He was always indifferent to women; I've never managed a steady relationship, either."

  "But you're athletic, and one sees as much. Could he see you as his antipode? He's old and decrepit, while you're young; he's always had health troubles, while you are full of pep. Could he be hoping this might help you keep the corporation afloat after he's no longer there?"

  "I also look good on photographs, and they say I have the most charming smile among the corporate staff. You could dig for as many similarities or differences as you like, but neither I, nor anyone else will be able to answer the question why the Old Man chose me over the other candidates. But you could always ask him directly."

  "Well, at least you have a sense of humor."

  "I'm not joking. Those are the questions only he can answer."

  "I'll have Godzilla look into my window before I get Michael Silber to agree to an interview like that. Or to any kind of interview, for some matter."

  From an interview with a young and very promising Second World employee.

  Chapter 19

  It feels odd to walk down the street of a city in a game and know that anyone wishing to see your name will see two unwieldy words over your head—one of the first three tongue-twisting versions suggested during registration. The day Ros got barraged by heroic titles and lots of other stuff, it became known to everyone in Second World. Later on, it took him a lot of effort to conceal his unique identity. He would occasionally succeed (and fail, too), confusing the hell out of mighty guilds and breaking all the molds.

  And now he had gotten his proper name back. He was no longer Bubble or anybody else. He was good old Rostendrix Poterentax once again.

  Why wasn't he afraid any longer? Well, he was a little wiser now, having gained some experience playing the game. Regular players never paid any attention to ubiquitous noobs with unpronounceable names—no one ever paid any attention to them; they were a part of the faceless crowd. So it was unlikely that crowds of adoring fans would turn up all of a sudden. The more attentive ones would only be dangerous outside the peaceful city locations. So he'd just have to avoid being caught in desolate places or in smaller villages without any protection.

  Even in the larger ones it would be best to avoid dark alleys. You never knew what could hit you…

  Thus, you could stay relatively calm, provided you adhered to a few simple rules.

  However, there was one very disturbing factor. Sources that were only partially reliable told Ros there was a means of eliminating players completely. Its nature was a mystery, and it wasn't known whether it worked in the bigger cities.

  The quest conditions also stipulated as much, and those could be relied on, one hundred percent.

  However, when he talked to the Emperor, the latter claimed Ros had already possessed everything necessary for the quest to succeed. Did that mean the killer would find it hard to get to him? Or could he have misunderstood something? No one gave him any precise instructions, after all.

  Although the emperor said nothing about the necessity to level up. Maybe he thought it a trifle.

  Or maybe it would be a trifle for him if Ros got killed, too.

  However, when one wasn't aware of the precise nature of the threat or where it might come from, it didn't make any point to stuff one's head with idle musings. You didn't know how to handle the threat, anyway. You just kept vigilant all the time, didn't get too cocky, and kept all the other dangers in mind. You needed to watch the wind and not the bits of fluff it carried.

  Powerful parties learned to track down Ros in Second World. He wasn't aware of just how that worked. It would be pointless to bother with disguises until he found out. As he found out, it wouldn't help him much. But he could still send them a message he wasn't a coward who would rush to hide in the bushes at the first sign of danger.

  Ros found Digits next to the same monitor connected to an enormous magical computer. These multicolor tables occupied all the walls of the main hall of the stock exchange. They displayed all sorts of item names with their prices scrolling down so quickly that it seemed impossible anyone could make any sense of this flickering array of data. Yet his friend was trying to do just that, and, apparently, with success.

  "Hi there, Digits."

  "Hi, Ros. Give me a second, I just want to check out the lines at the bottom."

  "Sure, go ahead."

  Ros started to pore over the tabloid with large sensationalist headlines that he had bought on his way here and now produced out of his bag. It didn't take him long, but Digits didn't make him wait too long, either.

  "Reading tabloids, eh?"

  "Oh, tabloids schmabloids. There's some information here that's actually useful. Nearly classified. Those who know what they're looking for can see it right away. And I happen to know."

  "Who would leak anything of value to a rag like that?"

  "You should know
that most of the information gathered by intelligence services comes from public sources. Such as this," Ros fanned himself with the newspaper.

  "Is there any precise information on how to invest one coin, and receive two or three the next day?"

  "Precise, no. But if you really know what you're looking for…"

  "Well, start looking. We'll need that. Got anything for sale?"

  "You cut straight to the business."

  "Business shouldn't wait."

  "I've made about thirty items of all sorts; some of them are pretty cool. But don't dream of getting hundreds of thousands. Crafting wasn't a priority; it was mostly legwork."

  "Try to find time, and also try to use your hands—as well as your head. We need a lot of stuff to sell. I shouldn't be idle—simple rate fluctuations aren't that lucrative, and you can always lose, nothing is guaranteed."

  "Another profiteering scheme of yours?" Ros pointed at the table.

  "It's just a real stock exchange. That is to say, more or less fair, but you won't get far without profiteering schemes. I'm involved in a few projects here, and I constantly have to keep an eye on things."

  "I have some important business to discuss with you other than selling trinkets."

  "What kind of business? How lucrative is it?"

  "Well, it looks promising so far. We have run into a quest that can cost us our heads. And not just in the game."

  "Well, you're particularly good at getting yourself into the stickiest situations imaginable. I'm not surprised; I noticed as much a while ago."

  "There can be substantial bonuses in case of success. So we'll have to start with leveling up for money, and there'll be a lot of levels for all of us."

  "I know. You've done it before; I heard about it."

  "I'll hire a few NPCs to level up. They'll bring the group up to decent levels in no time. There'll be a place for you, too. You haven't been leveling up at all since the thylbit cave. Call yourself a financial tycoon, huh?"

  "Can you see I have no time for that? I'm trying to earn as much money as I can. I hardly get any time for a proper nap."

  "Digits, don't you get it? The kind of leveling-up we plan to do is a rare opportunity. And I know you always meant to get stronger. I remember how dejected you looked when you were trapped in a useless level zero body."

  "I have already gotten stronger. All thanks to you. I'm nothing like a level zero player now."

  "You're still pretty weak, and don't even argue about it."

  "I won't, but it's quite enough for me. Why would I need more? I already have everything I need."

  "Are you sure?"

  "Well, almost everything."

  "Come along with us. You could go all the way up to a hundred and something. Your level is that of a total noob right now."

  "You're way behind, man. Level hundreds are soon going to be considered noobs of the lowest order. Players level up in groups, not individually. A few years from now, even level 200 levels will be considered near-worthless. I have no time to level up and try to catch up with the likes of you. I have important stuff to do.

  "Such as? What could be more important than leveling up?"

  "Ros, do you remember yourself on the very first day. Leveling up was the least of your worries. You didn't even know how it worked."

  "It was locked for me."

  "That's not what I'm talking about."

  "What, then?"

  "Well, how do I explain it to you… I'm a bit at a loss for words… I had this idea, you know… I asked myself why I had started it all in the first place. What was wrong with being a level zero, at any rate? I've got plenty of things to do without any levels, provided I have enough money. Now that you've helped me, I have money at last, and try to keep a finger in every pie. We're both leveling up, in a way, only we have different ways of doing it.

  "Intending to become a Second World oligarch, aren't you?"

  "Well, why not? My treatments will cost a fortune—I'm a cripple IRL, after all. And should I manage to scrape up enough for that, what am I supposed to do next? It's pretty hard to return to the life you've had a couple of years ago after such an intermission. I'm not even sure it's possible at all. Too much has been lost, after all. It will be much easier for me here. I have already found my niche."

  "So you refuse to level up with us?"

  "Why would you care about your financial manager's level?"

  "I wouldn't. I was thinking about you."

  "I know, and I am grateful. Ros, I'll never ever forget what you've done for me. You can count on me in everything. But if I can't be of much help to you with the leveling-up, you might as well leave me alone. I'll be able to invest all that money wisely. So it will be to your ultimate benefit. I'll remain at a low enough level, anyway. I have no wish to kill a million mobs just to become stronger than others."

  "All right, I get you. I'm letting this drop, then. Or, rather, I have another question."

  "Let me guess—you need money, as always, and as much as you can possibly get?"

  "Are you psychic or what?"

  "It was an easy guess. How much?"

  "Whatever you have."

  "Daylight robbery!"

  "I'm just kidding. Given my heroic bonuses, I should manage with twenty thousand. They are good for having NPCs give you discounts."

  "Really? I wasn't aware. Hey, that's an interesting opportunity…"

  "Think about it while I'm gone."

  "I sure will, don't you worry about it. Right, twenty thousand are not a problem. But back where I come from they'd cut your throat without a second thought for that kind of money."

  "Well, great endeavors require great expenses."

  Ros needed a little more, in fact, but he had funds of his own, and didn't want to bleed Digits too much. He had business of his own, and invested all of his money, so his need was greater.

  "Where are you off to next, Ros?"

  "The Mercenary Guild."

  "And then?"

  "I'll recruit a party and start leveling up at once. They cost an arm and a leg, so I shouldn't keep them idle."

  "You don't intend to smash your head on a rock, do you?"

  "Why should I? We'll use the same old teleport. I'll open it for everyone at once. You know I can."

  "I sure do. It's a pity. You caused an absolute furor here during your last visit."

  "At the tournament?"

  "Tournament schmournament. All sorts of things happen there, and a battle between noobs is hardly that great a sensation. Just enough to entertain the marks for an hour. But then you flipped a major bird to the elite poet community, splashing your brains all over their favorite lawn. Now, that was real cool. You must harbor some major grudge against poets. Did one of them elope with your girlfriend, or some such?"

  "To tell you the truth, I've never had any dealings with them whatsoever."

  "All right, then it must be your schoolteachers mocking and humiliating you because you were too lazy to memorize verse?"

  "I can't say I remember any problems of that sort."

  "Well, you've started a trend. Poets recite their verses, and then take a dive head first. A means to express the passions raging in their tortured souls. You were the one who started the trend. Might as well be proud of it.

  "Morons…"

  "Why? They're all level zero players or small fry. Few bother to level up at all. They don't care about their level, and neither do I. They found a different vocation here. So they lose nothing. You have to queue up in the morning if you plan to kill yourself in the evening. It's much more picturesque then. The place has perfect lighting, there are lots of contrasting hues."

  "Isn't that a nice way to waste your time in the game? As for me, your financial schemes make more sense—and you don't have to smash your head on the rocks, either.

  "Well, that's exactly what I'm talking about. I don't have much traffic with poetry. I like to keep things simple. That's what pays the bills, at the end of the day."
r />   * * *

  "I need a party of your best fighters for ten days of relatively easy work. My requirements are as follows: levels upward of 175, but not higher than 205. Two tanks in heavy armor with lots of HP, two healers—one of them at least should have leveled-up buffs, a warrior with lots of HP specializing in control spells and capable of casting them on a party of enemies at once, and 3 DPS, all of whom must be mages specializing in different elements. Eight fighters altogether.

  The dwarf clerk failed to recognize their old customer after such a radical change in his appearance. He scratched himself behind the ear with his quill and said slyly,

  "Is the good sir aware that due to certain events that took place recently, the Mercenary Guild has been having certain shortages of military personnel?"

  "You always have shortages."

  "By no means."

  "The previous time you were complaining about the battle for the mine. Just trying to raise your prices, I'm sure. What's the story now?"

  "The Imperial Chancellery hires our fighters to contain the invasion of the wild hordes from the Locked Lands."

  "Yeah, thought as much. Everybody's busy all the time."

  "I don't remember you ever using our services. It would be hard to forget a client as cantankerous as you."

  "It was shortly afterwards the events at the mine. I had a different appearance back then. Trying to avoid the consequences of stardom, as it were."

  "I get it, but I still don't remember you."

  "I'm telling you, my appearance has altered drastically since then."

  "What kind of an assignment was it, anyway?"

  "I hired a party of eight warriors for leveling up a single player at the Fiery Cleft. Namely, myself."

  "Hold on! I remember you perfectly well! But it's impossible for you to have looked like that! No one can change that much! The customer was a young girl, really new, slim and petite—a gust of wind could blow her away. And you're a serious-looking male, tall, with wide shoulders, and some ten years older. That's impossible."

  "Well, that's where you're wrong. A lot of really improbable things turn out to be possible whenever I'm involved."