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

by Arthur Stone

  "Why?"

  "There's something like a shiny barrier there, and it only lets through those with a high enough level."

  "I could bet the number 130 turns up at some point."

  "I'm not sure. I don't remember. Could be. Anyone of a lower level can get there by teleport, but that's expensive—even high-level players don't use them all that often."

  "There must be a catch of some sort, though…"

  "The parties that are really interested in this quest can wait for us there," Tangh noted. "That will be the mother of all catches…"

  "We're likely to run into them sooner or later, anyway…"

  "Well, that seems to be a likely place."

  "You can still decline. I could find other party members without a problem—I do have some connections, after all. I could even try to gather a proper party."

  "Those who had planned this all were intending to have this issue solved by a small group. If you interpreted their intentions right, that is."

  "I don't think I understood a single thing about their plan, even though I've shoveled through a lot of information these days. There are just too many assumptions."

  "However, I believe you did manage to come to the right conclusions."

  "Let's collect all the trophies, and then I'll open a portal to the city right here. The dungeon has been cleared, and other players might be able to get here soon."

  "Hold on a bit."

  "There's nothing left to do here, anyway."

  "It would do you good to raise your level at least by another point. Otherwise you might die and go back to 129. Then you won't satisfy to the conditions anymore."

  "That won't me a problem. I'll use a teleport. Or, better still, I'll level up right here in the city."

  "Come again?"

  "I still have a bunch of bestiary achievements that I need to complete—I discovered a whole bunch of previously unknown monsters, after all. The Academy will give me lots of bonuses and XP. I'll raise my level by three or four points at least."

  "Why don't we head there right away?" Danger Babe asked. "We have the directions on the map now, after all."

  "You never know what might happen there. We need to get prepared. We'll sell some of our loot, buy a few items we still miss with the kind of stats we need, stock up on potions, and then we'll see… It's likely to take a day at least, and that's if Digits hurries up. As for me, I suck as a merchant, and I don't have much cash left on me. So our way to that location lies through the city, anyway.

  * * *

  Half Pint was waiting for Ros in the same nondescript establishment. He barely managed to approach him when two mugs of the same brew were placed on the table.

  "My round today, or you might think someone as generous as me likes to sponge off other people."

  "Well, they really brew the best stout in the capital here."

  "There is no good beer anywhere in the West. The local brews are piss. If you'd like to try something better, I could show you a couple of places. But they're far enough away from here."

  "Next time. I've got some business to attend to. And it's pressing."

  "Pressing business, but you still expressed the willingness to see me. Was it free beer you had in mind, or were there any other considerations?"

  "There were. I've listened to a few people, surfed the Web, and read some papers, and I think I'm beginning to understand just what's going on here."

  "That's interesting… There are a bunch of VIPs with whole departments of analysts working on it, and they're stumped. And you say you understand, do you?"

  "Well, I happen to be at the plexus of it all. I've had different people representing all sorts of parties share information with me, and I have the knack of processing it. The AIs that seem to interest you so much are a major part of it."

  "Will you share it with a homie?"

  "I'd really love to. But not right away."

  "Duh… That's how it always goes. Everyone keeps saying that…"

  "I'll leave detailed records with the bankers. And you'll have access to my personal strongbox. But only after 24 hours."

  "That's all way too complex…"

  "I believe that everything will come to a head within the next couple of hours. No party is interested in procrastinating. If I made a mistake and they kill me, you'll learn everything I knew. If it goes as planned, I'll have enough time to return and edit the list of what I can share with you and what I'd rather keep to myself."

  "You are wheedling me into wishing you dead, aren't you? That's a dick move. After all, I appreciate you as a pleasant drinking companion."

  "You'll just have to accept it."

  "Could you at least hint at what's going on with the AIs? I'll have to report to the higher-ups today, not tomorrow, and tell them all the details about our little chitchat here."

  "I'm afraid I can't. The only thing I can say is that the AI situation is unlikely to represent a threat to your national security."

  "You still have your passport, so it's your security as well."

  "All right, mine as well. Anyway, there's something else going on there."

  "What is it exactly?"

  "You'll find out tomorrow. I'll give you this information in any case."

  "Promise? All right, then, I believe you. And good luck—get back to that milk chocolate girl of yours alive, if there's anything going on between the two of you. I have a hunch you had a good reason to ask me for her phone number. But please tell me—who's the banker that holds your papers, and when could I visit him?

  * * *

  "You can still decline.

  "I won't," Tangh shook his head.

  "I'm coming along too. We had an agreement, after all," said Danger Babe.

  Thyri just nodded. She hardly ever talked in company. Even when it was just her and Ros, she could hardly be called a chatterbox.

  "Danger Babe, I'd never have taken you along if it wasn't for Tangh."

  "Oh, I'm sick of it already! Why does it have to be about my age?! Minors have rights, too, you know, and I'll be the one to decide what I will or will not do. We started together, so we'll end together, too. If you keep implying I'm too young, I'll get so pissed off you wouldn't believe."

  "All right, sorry," Ros smiled, but then frowned instantly. "I think that I'll be the one they'll need, even in the worst-case scenario. But if anything goes wrong, use any method you can to get away. You have scrolls. And don't come back. These people are very dangerous, and I cannot predict just how they will behave."

  "Give over with all the boring talk." Danger Babe was getting restless. "Open the portal already. We're wasting time here.

  Chapter 22

  "Attention! You are facing the ghostly veil that stands between the Crystal Rock Lands and the rest of the world. Only the strongest and most agile heroes can get through—and they have to be able to wield the bow if needed."

  That was a pretty ridiculous condition. Anyone with a modicum of strength could use a lightweight self-made bow. Its range and damage rate would be ridiculous, but that was irrelevant. Most importantly, there were no contradictions with the game's mechanics.

  The system message didn't mention levels in any way, so the trailblazers had to discover it by trial and error—they just tried to get through the semitransparent glowing veil. If it bounced and didn't let them through, they'd come back, level up, and try again with a new level.

  Most of the Second World's mysteries were easy to solve.

  Ros put away his bow as soon as he passed the barrier. He could use it efficiently enough, although this kind of weapon wasn't what he specialized in, and he preferred something different. He decided against rods, too. Now he could use the Staff of Bone Sovereign of the Forgotten Tomb from the Locked Lands that he got in a battle against a horrendous boss. Neither he, nor Tangh or Danger Babe could equip an item like this back then—it required a minimum level of 129. However, now that he had completed all his bestiary quests, he got to 136, leaving his two o
ld companions behind for the very first time.

  Although Tangh's level was lower by only a single point.

  Ros swore that if he managed to survive this rather uneasy day, he would get the complete set of items from the Bone Sovereign of the Forgotten Tomb from the Locked Lands. His character wouldn't be merely strong the way he was now. He would become the next best thing to a superhero. All the items were really interesting and had an excellent set of attractive bonuses. Apart from that, a player didn't lose set items after death even if they were deep in the red. They could only be given to another player voluntarily.

  The Crystal Rock Lands were named very aptly. Anywhere you looked, you saw rocks… and crystals. Everything shone and glittered. Nevertheless, not even an experienced miner could see anything they could use their pickaxe on.

  None of that magnificence served any practical purpose. Grass and bushes would be much better than these lifeless pieces of glass. Greenery was easy on the eye, after all. As for this endless reddish glimmering, it made you expect something unpleasant to happen any moment.

  The dungeon of the Last Path of the Gods was just as tedious. One got the impression that the developers had cut as many corners as they could, just like outside. Or, maybe, they had outsourced the whole thing to a bunch of college kids who did a slapdash job the best they could.

  And their best was nowhere near good enough.

  There was nothing for the eye to rest on. Everything was simple, stereotypical, and void of imagination. The crystals on the walls were supposed to make the bland landscape look snazzier, but they would only have that effect if they were distributed in clever ways. When they stuck out of every surface, they were another way to make a primitive environment even more monotonous.

  There were no mobs or players—nothing at all, in fact. A most boring location with nothing to fill it. It seemed as though it had been planned that way so that any player who'd get here by chance would wish nothing more than to leave immediately. There was nothing compelling about the place at all. And, if the place wasn't to be visited by crowds of players, why would one invest in developers? They did it in the bare bones way.

  According to the map, the cave ended in a cul-de-sac, and they were approaching it. It wasn't far. Just another bend, and…

  That's where they encountered the welcoming committee.

  * * *

  There are certain situations when one should still engage in simple and mundane activities far beneath one's status. This was often the case with Michael Silber, so he'd already gotten used to it. He learned the rule that if you want to do something done well, you have to do it yourself, at a very early age.

  The Annihilator was controlled by an AI. It was a primitive consciousness barely worthy of the name, for there was nothing remotely resembling a synthetic intelligence about it. But it was an old and reliable unit developed before the great Barbarossa's projects, curse him.

  The AI was simple, so assigning any serious tasks to it would be imprudent. But who needs a weapon that cannot be used? Michael Silber was a pragmatist—he wouldn't have wasted his time and effort on something useless.

  The Annihilator control panel was a regular virtual reality capsule. But you couldn't use it to control your character. All it could do was place you in a body of a hideous squid-like creature hidden from players in a place they could not reach. Then you got authorization to command the controlling AI to move and use the mob's weaponry.

  A virtual body was, unfortunately, rather conservative. It remembered its arms, legs, and so on; it would not be able to control a mollusk’s body. Chances were that it might learn eventually—although, perhaps, not in the best way possible—but why go to all that trouble when you have modern technology? The autopilot was invented a long time ago, as well as a bunch of other devices to make life easier for vehicle operators. And that was a task that a primitive AI could handle perfectly.

  As two burly male nurses carried him to the capsule, he nearly fainted. That damn heart. When would he abandon this ruin already? Someone of his power isn't supposed to tolerate such discomfort, but there he was.

  When would it end?

  That bastard Rostovtsev. There was no proof that he was the reason for the quest to go awry, but he had to accuse someone of his ongoing pains, after all.

  He managed to stay conscious and not faint, which was excellent. Fainting at such a moment would be most inconvenient. The nurses connected the last tubings and wires to the body that was more of a cyborg than a man, and whose external organs were scattered all across several rooms of his armored den. The lid shut, disconnecting him from the world. A cold light flashed brightly, and his constant pain abated.

  He was in the Second World. A world of deceit. A world where everything looked so real that human consciousness refused to perceive it as an artificially-made illusion in their utter stupidity. Some scientist who fancied himself intelligent tried to surprise Michael with the ridiculous concept that the real world wasn't precisely real, either. He claimed it was virtual, too, but humans were allegedly incapable of realizing as much just as Second World residents were incapable of recognizing themselves as artificial constructs.

  Well, there was nothing intelligent about him. He was a complete idiot, in fact. Michael could always tell the truth from the lies. No one would ever be able to get the better of him. Even now, with his brain fading, he was way above all those gormless sheep with human faces.

  "Attention! You are currently in technical location #16-14-9. Access restricted. Teleportation scrolls cannot be used."

  It was the perfect place if you needed to hide something real well. Players weren't even aware of this location's existence; nor could they enter it in any way—all third-party access was cut off even before the launch of the project.

  The view from the squid's body was nothing much, but Michael didn't come here to enjoy the view. It was time to reveal the Annihilator to the world. It had been idle for too long, and must have grown musty. Not the best condition for what amounted to the most powerful weapon in the game universe.

  It was time to go forth, beyond the horizon. He had no need for any teleportation scrolls, either. The Annihilator only had two abilities, and both were unique. The former allowed it to fold Second World space instantly, short-circuiting two points to get from one to another in a fracture of a second. One needed no maps or cartography. All one needed were the coordinates of a location. You could get to another continent in a blink of an eye. It was a very convenient way to travel. No portals came close.

  The other ability was a battle ability. A discharge of pure power from a short distance. It wasn't any less effective than the former.

  Any less? It was a great deal more effective, in fact…

  The second ability could kill. It could obliterate a character with no possibility of restoration.

  In the game as well as in real life.

  * * *

  Around a hundred players stood in formation and waited. The vanguard was comprised of characters with lots of HP capable or taking lots of damage and not letting it get any further, protecting those behind their backs—archers, mages, and more exotic characters such as debuffer shamans, illusion workers, dart throwers and fire slingshot wielders. Assassins stood ready at the flanks, waiting for the command to dash towards their targets together and slash their opponents to ribbons with their short blades. Support characters stood in the back—healers, buffers, and different combinations of the two classes.

  Even a total noob could see that was no chance collection of players who'd come to level up together. The formation and the ammunition testified to the opposite. It was a group of incredibly strong fighters, comprised of some of the best players in Second World gathered together to perform a complex task.

  They weren't here to fight monsters. They were hunting a different kind of quarry.

  And there it was, right before them. The task wouldn't be hard.

  If they received the orders, Ros and his three com
panions would be destroyed in less than a second. They'd be attacked with such ferocity and strength that nothing would remain of their body but embers. That's what happens when the amount of damage received exceeds one's HP by several orders of magnitude.

  A small group of characters in mismatched equipment stood in front of a large party of well-equipped killers. The silence of absolute, with the exception of the sound of water dripping from the crystals on the ceiling, most of them broken violently by an unknown power.

  The row of the tanks parted, and a tall warrior with a stylish glowing sword that he'd been dragging in a careless manner stepped through. The name over his hear was short. It was Eric. There must have been thousands of Erics in the game. Since there were no numbers trailing after his name, he must have been the first to have chosen it. As in getting dibs on this set of symbols before everybody else.

  Either he was amazingly fast, or he had abilities far exceeding those of mere mortals.

  "Greetings, Mr. Rostovtsev. You appear to have abandoned the practice of changing your nicknames, as far as I can see."

  "Oh, you know, I was beginning to get confused about all those names, so I decided to go back to the basics."

  "Eric. Eric Coleman. You've kept us waiting."

  "So sorry. I've had no idea I could keep so many people waiting."

  Eric turned around and pointed at the door at the far end of the hall.

  "If I'm not mistaken, you have the ability to open it. And we really need to get in. So let's be quick about it.

  Ros shook his head.

  "I'm sorry, but the only ones who will get in are myself and my companions. I advise you to disperse. There's absolutely nothing for you here."

  Eric shook his head in a barely visible manner and said,

  "You don't look like someone who cannot acknowledge his loss."