by Arthur Stone
Ros was fast asleep.
* * *
Greedie was sitting on his favorite bench that looked more like a perch. The awning was too high, failing to protect him from the sun that was setting behind the rocks, so he kept squinting his eyes while shooting irritated glances down at the bustle at the bottom of the crater that he had so despised. The greenskins rolled the last carts hastily—no more ore would be submitted today. The orcs came up the meandering path followed by two armored warriors—a special guard detail sent by the clan into the mines after Greedie’s report of having been attacked by a very high-level mob, and right in the middle of the day.
He decided to refrain from mentioning that he wasn’t exactly killed by a mob, but rather a player named “Rostendrix Poterentax,” as his death log reported dispassionately. It was clear that there was more to that noob than met the eye, but Greedie still didn’t wish to become a laughingstock if others found out he got snuffed by a useless level zero.
He craved revenge.
But how did one get back at a noob with such a protector? Only by letting others in on his secret and asking them to help. Hell, he’d end up the butt of everybody’s jokes just the same.
Greedie decided to keep schtum. He banished Shoto from the mine and started a rumor that whoever helped the noob would also be banished—and without any pay. He then ordered the mine guards to keep an eye on the last gallery with workers, allowing no one to go any deeper.
The noob would run out of food sooner or later, and he’d have to come out. Or he would have to munch on raw meat, suffering debuffs and howling in despair, which was also fine by Greedie—let him suffer.
Should he decide to come outside, the guards would dispatch his mob by communal effort, which would open avenues for an unhurried conversation arranged in such a way as to keep Greedie’s shame a secret.
Darchit approached the awning—another dim penalized player who must have been sent to the mine for the specific purpose of irritating Greedie with his idiotic jokes.
“Hey, big guy, don’t you get tired of sitting there?” he said in a jolly voice, chuckling at his own unfunny joke.
“You really think it’s that funny to call a dwarf ‘big guy’?”
“Don’t be such a sourpuss. Let me tell you something so funny it will blow your socks off. Like… a fresh joke. I heard it from the coachmen this morning. A light elf wakes up in the morning in a posh hotel room, and sees a message in his log: ‘You have taken part in a perverse intercourse while asleep.’ The elf is all shook up, thinking, How could it happen? The door was locked, the window, too, I came in alone, and I never removed my long johns. What could be the matter? Suddenly, there’s a voice from the closet…”
Darchit’s account of the light elf’s erotic misadventures stopped abruptly. His jaw dropped, and his eyes glazed over. But Greedie didn’t see it, freezing with just as stupid an expression. The sun was still shining, and the evening birds chirped wearily, but those were the only sounds—everything else grew silent. The cart axles did not creak, the armor of the ascending warriors did not clink, and the smelters stopped chewing out the noob who had forgotten to prepare the clay. Everybody at the mine froze as if thunderstruck, looking at something fascinating that only they could see.
Darchit was the first to come to his senses. So great was his shock that he even dropped his habit of cracking silly jokes.
“Bugger me sideways! What the hell is going on here, eh?! Did you read that?”
“I did,” replied an icily calm Greedie.
“Fancy that! I’ll be damned! Right in our province, too! Somewhere nearby! Any idea who it could be? The name is noobish—normal players rarely have those. It’s all totally weird. Could it be a bug?”
“No, Darchit, it’s no bug.”
“What is it, then?”
Greedie stared at the crater wistfully, and then at the gate. Could he run away? But what would be the point? They’d find him… Even if he deleted his character, they’d find him just the same. He was no fool to believe in the privacy policy and the inviolacy of personal data. Any interested party powerful enough could pay or bully its way through and get access to real information on any user they wanted.
There’d be many interested parties, too—a hero with a bunch of achievements would be a welcome addition to any top clan. Top clans had money, and money equaled opportunity. They’d find out everything of interest to them.
“So, what is it?” asked Darchit with an imbecilic expression writ plain upon his face.
“What it is, Darchit, is shit.”
“Shit?”
“Yup. Do you remember me telling you about an intriguing mystery the game has—the mystery of shit? People keep on eating, but no one’s ever seen any shit. This is rather strange. Many people have wondered about it, and I think I’m beginning to understand where all the shit of this world will soon be found. It will pour down in a torrent, filling up the mine, the galleries, and all these stinky caverns, overflowing the crater and washing away my awning, all these ugly houses, as well as your guardhouse, with your silly ass inside it.”
“I don’t get it… What do you mean?”
“An idiot doesn’t have to understand their intellectual superiors. But you had better get the hell out of here at once. Not as in logging out, but as in making tracks. Away from here. Quick.”
“But I’m penalized, I will…”
“I said, split. Now. Once you get far enough, leave your body somewhere and log out. When you’re back in the real world, go to some cheap bar or club, pick up some made-up whore, do some acrobatics with her, get the clap, and drink yourself into a stupor, having the time of your life. And when they come for you and ask you about everything you’ve seen, you will tell the whole truth and nothing but, recollecting even things you believed long forgotten. You’ll be very polite, too, and answer questions with all due diligence.”
“Greedie, what the hell is wrong with you?”
The dwarf did not respond. Raising his head while turning away from the sun, he was reading the messages in enormous bright red lettering that rolled before his eyes: “Supreme achievement! Rostendrix Poterentax has drawn the interest of the gods!”
* * *
Those gathered inside the room stayed away from media spotlight, gave no interviews, and did not brag about their position. They simply made money—and on such an enormous scale that one could no longer view it as mere money.
It was power.
Power meant control. What happened today was tantamount to the loss of control, and so they gathered to discuss whether it was true, and whether the events that had transpired posed a danger to the status quo in any way.
“The player has already been found, but, unfortunately, that avails us nothing. His body is in an induced coma, while his mind roams Second World. And he’s been there for such a long time that disconnecting him is unlikely to get him ejected.”
“Why is he in a coma?”
“There was an explosion at the laboratory where he worked.”
“Was the laboratory involved in our research?”
“It was. Here’s the ATZ subcontractor.” This was followed by a nod toward a dignified-looking man with a well-groomed face and hair that seemed too lush and full for his age.”
He nodded solemnly.
“I remember the incident. What a tragedy…”
“Could their research have imparted any special abilities he could have used to pull this off?”
“Out of the question—the research had nothing to do with gameplay whatsoever.”
“Could you give us more details?”
“They were working on a new technology of cooling microelectronic components.”
“Based on our materials?”
“Yes, but they had no knowledge of the source. And even if they did, how could it have affected the course of events?”
“Check if there were any leaks. It’s important. We’re expecting a large delivery, and any perturbati
on of the aura can spoil things. We have no idea just what could have happened, but such things will surely produce perturbations.”
“Did anyone try to find him inside the game?”
“From the very first moment. And not just us. It’s useless—he’s nowhere to be found.”
“How can that be?”
“Well… you know we don’t have that many opportunities left to control things. We have already determined that the player was the cause of numerous server glitches, and, possibly, even a fire in a data center. Our specialists are examining the logs to see if they can find something, or at least establish whether or not it may have been sabotage aimed at concealing an attempt of a breach.”
“I wasn’t referring to technical issues. I meant your words that the player cannot be found.”
“He cannot be tracked down by any methods. So far, we have two versions. One is that he has been sealed off in a Chaos dungeon or a similarly autonomous location. The other is that something else has happened. We are pursuing the latter version.”
“What about the former?”
“If he’s in a Chaos dungeon, finding him is out of the question. We won’t be able to contact him, either.”
“There are no ways of getting through to him?”
“None—nor can they exist. Those are the basic laws of Second World.”
Chapter 29
Ros was dreaming—the first time in this world. He lay on the ground next to the dead viceroy, who maintained a death grip on the broken paws of the leprus even after death. The remnants of the carpet and the oily smears on the walls of the cave still produced a foul smoke, and a strange man stood in the arch of the entrance. His whole body was wrapped in a silvery cloak, and only his face could be seen. It was most unusual—one half seemed chiseled out of granite and filled with ostensible grandeur, while the other was withdrawn, somber, and even icy. If one took a closer look, one could see an even grid drawn upon it in thin lines.
Ros regarded the stranger, and the stranger regarded him. The game didn’t last long—the man in the silvery cloak gave up first. His lips stretched in a cold smile.
“I’ll refrain from congratulating you—there have been plenty of congratulations already.”
“Who are you? How did you get in here? Did the entrance open?”
“No. No one will trouble you here. You can sleep peacefully.”
“Who are you, then?”
“I am someone who has been preventing you from becoming a hero.”
“I don’t get it.”
“Achievements involving victories over monsters whose level exceeds yours tenfold and more grant heroic status once you reach the third tier, while you have reached the fourth without receiving anything.”
“I did receive bonuses.”
“Those were insubstantial. You have failed to receive the main prize because of me.”
“Why? Are you my enemy?”
“I was planning to compensate you for it in the future personally.”
“What’s your interest in this?”
“My interest? Well, achieving emotional attachment, for one thing. Or understanding who it is that I’m betting on.”
“I still don’t understand.”
“Understanding is hard to find these days. I’ll give you something. Don’t consider it a present—remember compensation. You will receive another skill. It is more than unique—it is impossible.”
“So how do you intend to make the impossible happen?”
“Sometimes I can work wonders. Especially when I come prepared. The second thing I will give you are the following words: do not mistake my first gift for a worthless bauble. And don’t hasten to leave this place. Rest, mine for ore, gain knowledge of yourself, and search for answers.”
“What answers?”
“The first answer you need to find is why you were given this gift, and why it happened at this precise moment. And now I shall bid my farewell, and you will fall properly asleep.”
“So I’m not properly asleep now?”
“No. After the battle, your inner essence was subjected to the mental influence of magic of the Reason school. I will not apologize for that—without this interference in the gaming process, this dialog would never have happened. And now we can communicate in the usual way, albeit without much practical use. You are not yet ready to listen. But everything changes, and that, too, will change.”
* * *
“Here comes the shit now,” said Greedie in an almost indifferent voice, shutting his eyes—he had no wish of seeing whatever would kill him.
The wood of the wall around the mine was pulverized; then the powder turned into fire. In the five or six second that followed, the same fate befell the houses, the furnaces, and Greedie’s awning. The flame destroyed everything, leaving a heap of charred bones from high-level players, and a bunch of astonished noobs in long johns, who kept respawning in the pool of lava that was all that remained of the stone circle.
The newbie immunity to high-level area of effect spells did not work. The key was not to target the noobs themselves. k`1`2
* * *
“Your сache has been discovered by a high-level creature. Your сache has been discovered by a high-level creature. Your Cache Master level grows by 1. Current value: 9. Your сache has been discovered by a high-level creature.”
When Ros woke up, he kept staring at the logs stupidly for a while—new messages appeared at the rate of rapid machine gun fire. There was only one explanation—lots of high-level mobs were roaming the area where he’d made his caches. Or large numbers of high-level players. Something must be happening in the mine and the caves.
Then he stopped thinking about caches—having scrolled the logs back to the beginning, he saw some of the messages received after the death of the boss. The beginning was unfortunately deleted—it no longer fit on the display. There may be a way of viewing earlier messages, but Ros knew nothing about it.
When he opened his character’s stats, he nearly suffered a heart attack. Absolutely every stat had grown—and considerably so. Strength, which he had recently wished to bring up to a measly twenty points, was now at seventy-five, leaving Agility, which he had raised by mistake in the beginning, far behind. He had as many Stamina points. His highest stat by far was Luck at no less than ninety points. Six new auxiliary stats had become unlocked, and all had reached decent levels. Even Charisma was obscenely high at twenty-one points.
Those weren’t the only surprises—a level zero noob had become a level eighty-nine player overnight. That alone gave him four hundred and forty-five points of undistributed primary stats, eight secondary, and three auxiliary.
Ros realized that he didn’t merely catch fortune by the tail—it was perfectly tame now, and trained to do all sorts of tricks—he could probably kick it with a dirty boot to make it run to the nearest supermarket to fetch him a six-pack of beer and a pizza. He had no other explanation for the incredible windfall of presents and perks that he’d received.
He sat there with a perfectly moronic expression on his face, trying to make sense of all these gains, but then he slapped himself on the forehead in frustration. The boss’ carcass was right next to him, and he hadn’t looted it yet. And there was no telling when the corpse might rot, denying Ros a lot of valuable loot.
He looted the carcass without even looking at the stuff he got. The developments concerning his character were much more interesting.
Ros decided he could wait with distributing the free points. He’d already hurried once, and had since swore he’d never do it again. He kept looking at one thing, and then another. Finally, he braced himself and set to studying the character’s expanded functionality.
The first thing he noticed was that his interface and chats had become a lot more convenient, with a much larger number of functions and settings. He could copy and paste text, record names of friends and enemies, manage the way system messages were displayed to avoid text repetition and overlap, and do
a lot more besides.
Then he noticed he could finally view game resources, which, as it turned out, included the game’s website and forum. He could browse the pages without logging out of the game, which he couldn’t do, anyway. Now he could make estimates about the value of found items without employing middlemen like Shoto. He could also read the much-coveted guides, having had his nose rubbed in his ignorance of them since his first minutes in Second World.
Now he could finally start enjoying himself!
Ros opened the forum to check how things worked. There were days to be spent studying all this stuff. He was about to close the window when something suspiciously familiar caught his eye. In the top right corner was a small window with the five most discussed topics, and five more topics that had been updated the most recently.
Eight topics out of ten contained the name Rostendrix Poterentax. Four of them said virtually the same thing word for word, the only difference being the clan name: “The Camelot guild offers generous remuneration for any information on the player Rostendrix Poterentax,” and so on.
