The Weirdest Noob

by Arthur Stone

  Ros had come up with a plan of action for the nearest future even before leaving the former royal jeweler’s yard. He had to reach the Mages’ Guild and learn the skill he was now desperate to have. If Starbonis was right, he would no longer be identifiable by any method.

  He studied the forum and found out that the Mages’ Guild was a place where you could receive quests and learn skills, but the former were troublesome without yielding much in the way of a reward, while the latter were of poor quality and only good for the lowest-level noobs. Proper spells were learned from scrolls looted off mobs. Those were rare, and usually dropped by dungeon bosses; moreover, colossal demand made them prohibitively expensive.

  He also found a thread where the Veil of Mystery was discussed. Everyone concurred that the skill in question was a mere mockery of zero utility. All this spell could do was hide your stats. You could specify any values as long as they were lower than the ones you actually had. Thus, it wouldn’t even be useful for deceiving a potential employer by inflating one’s stats. So, what was the point?

  There was no point in it for anyone—except Ros.

  He said farewell to the hospitable shopkeeper in the morning, assuring him that he would definitely pay him a visit if he ever visited these parts again, and then headed toward Peghur, which was the nearest town. The same forum had informed him there was a branch of the Mages’ Guild there, which was just what he needed.

  He would also need money. It was said that the Veil of Mystery was outrageously expensive. The players found it ridiculous—no one would pay a copper for such a useless skill, so why would anyone shell out a small fortune for it? He intended to use his cut gems to solve his financial issues. The same town had a branch of the Jewelers’ and Artisans’ guilds, located in the same building. High-quality gems were in constant demand among the representatives of both these professions. They might buy them cheaper than other players, but at least he could sell everything at once without any delay.

  * * *

  Walking down the road was boring—much more so than crossing the woodland. Back then he could at least watch lizards darting this way and that, pick berries, and gather useful herbs. But there was nothing to stop for here, and nothing to pick from the overgrown roadside.

  A party of high-level players rode by once—their mounts included horses, tigers, and beasts that looked like nothing Ros had ever seen before, leaving a cloud of dust behind him that made him sneeze. They paid no attention to Ros, and didn’t seem to be particularly wary in the first place. He hadn’t been following the recent news, but this suggested that the “Russian invasion” must have come to an end.

  Either that, or the Russians had moved elsewhere—to some place where herds of green noobs roamed free.

  Ros occasionally made stops in the bushes, cutting the gems he had mined until he would run out of mana, and then journeyed on.

  During one such break he decided to work on ore instead of gems. He had gathered some of the simplest copper ore at the thylbit camp for the specific purpose of someday unlocking some of the stats associated with processing it.

  The ore was high quality. When processed, it was supposed to transform into a copper bar. Ros squeezed the rock in his hand, stared at it intently, and visualized it transform into reddish metal.

  There was a barely audible hiss, and a handful of slag sand poured onto the ground. There was a neat little bar in the palm of his hand.

  Success!

  He temporarily left the gems alone, switching to the ore. Even with his new stats, he was still a little overloaded, so he shouldn’t miss the opportunity of dropping some weight—a lump of ore weighed four and a half times as much as a bar, and he had plenty of those.

  Ros used up all his mana during his very first break, unlocking three new auxiliary stats: Metal Expert, Molding, and Metallurgy. Another one unlocked during his next break: Dowser. And, having found out from the forum that many of the players bounced for a reason—namely, to level up Acrobatics, he soon unlocked that stat, too.

  His new skills hastened the smelting of ore considerably, and it was now consuming less mana, too.

  The old man was a real treasure trove—the skills received from him were invaluable.

  As Ros sat there smelting the ore, he dreamed of clearing more dungeons, mining for ore and gems. Then he would make himself busy smelting ore and cutting gems. He might even learn Enchanting, although the forum posters warned it took a long time and cost a small fortune.

  That was all right, though—he was prepared to make investments into his character. No money or effort spent on developing his skills would be wasted—all of it would come back with interest.

  “Glavullin Athronastarkhum hits you for 22 damage.”

  Ros yelped when an arrow struck him in the shoulder, coming from out of nowhere. The reflexes developed in the dungeon served him at once—he jumped aside before his brain could process what was happening, spun, and then dashed in the opposite direction. Another arrow whistled by before he finally saw the aggressor. A pot-bellied dwarf was standing at the edge of the wood, letting loose one arrow after another from a most unprepossessing bow. His name was displayed in reddish lettering, which surprised Ros a little: someone with so little skill in archery was barely capable of dealing damage and would find it hard to kill the most ordinary level ten player, let alone escape the encounter unscathed. But he must have managed it somehow. More likely, he had caught someone who’d left their body in the wrong place and then hacked it up like a training dummy.

  The dwarf ran out of arrows without scoring any more hits—Ros’ Agility, Speed, and other stats that were much higher than usually expected of such levels, were on full display.

  “Will you kick the bucket already, you noob?!” yelled the dwarf, dashing forward to engage in melee combat, waving a gnarled club most menacingly.

  “You’re a funny one!” shouted Ros in response, raising his arm.

  “I’m gonna show you who’s funny!”

  “You hit Glavullin Athronastarkhum for 169 damage.”

  Chaos Arrow took off two thirds of the attacker’s HP.

  “Bastard! Walking abortion! Noob! Bottom-feeding noob mage!” yelled the dwarf, making a run for the woods.

  “You kill Glavullin Athronastarkhum. XP received: 59. Points left until the next level: 1043.”

  The hapless dwarf left a bunch of cheap and low-grade mementoes. That was typical for his kind—when you played with this much risk, it made no sense to wear expensive equipment. Ros picked up everything without his usual disdain for cheap items, and scattered the trophies in the tall grass that grew alongside the road. The caches were primitive, but these places were frequented by many players, which meant his Cache Master skill level would grow.

  His private chat window blinked. The dwarf had respawned and seemed eager to tell him something.

  “Hey, you! If you touch my stuff, you’re gonna regret it!”

  “You’re too late—I already touched it.”

  “Say what?!”

  “I picked up everything. Heading for the village now—the shopkeeper will give me a good price for all this loot. Thanks a lot.”

  “Stop right where you are! You’ll have to spend the rest of your life in the village if you don’t give my stuff back! I won’t let you get out!”

  “Sounds like a great idea. Fresh air, a lovely river nearby, mushrooms, berries, and so on. I guess that’s just where I’ll stay. I’ll have some money to spend once I sell off your stuff, too.”

  “Bastard! Swine! I’ll find you IRL!”

  “I can’t wait. And thanks again!”

  Ros added the dwarf’s username to his ignore list—he would receive no further messages from that character. He didn’t regret it, for the other guy seemed to have said everything he had intended to, and listening to impotent curses of an obvious idiot was a tedious pastime.

  A dwarf archer was really something. The race had no archery bonuses whatsoever. This Glavullin mus
t have ignored the guides, too. Or perhaps he had intended to make his fortune in the mines, but eventually grew tired of swinging his pickaxe around and decided you could get rich by robbing other players.

  The town must be nearby, or the aggressor’s bind spot, perhaps—otherwise there was no chance of sending a private message. Either that or the dwarf had managed to message him through one of the Messengers—they served the function of signal boosters as used by cellular networks and looked like rhombic obelisks tapering toward the top. You could find them along the roads, helping travelers stay in touch.

  An hour later, Ros had to escape from a whole gang—three red players whose level he could not see. One of them turned out to be a mage, but a very weak one. He used some movement-impairing or freezing spell on Ros that didn’t stick, while the two sluggish warriors simply couldn’t catch up with their quarry, yelling insults as he got away.

  He felt inclined to get back through the woods, get past their ambush, and attack them once a good opportunity presented itself. He could disable the mage, and then run laps around the warriors, pelting them with spells until they fell. But time was of the essence. The road seemed to be popular among noob hunters, so he would probably run into more trouble. If he launched a vendetta against every gang, it would take him more than a week to reach the town.

  * * *

  Ros got attacked two more times. The second encounter was dire enough for him to think he would not survive it. The gang also had a mage whose spell did work—Ros froze in place, unable to take his feet off the ground. He turned toward the three approaching warriors desperately, firing Chaos Arrows at them time and again, aiming at their legs. It worked—one of them suffered a critical hit and rolled on the ground, holding on to his broken shin, while the other started to run around in circles, hopping every now and then. Only the third fighter managed to reach Ros, swinging his axe to decapitate him. He missed—his target simply ducked.

  Ros felt the control of his feet return at that very moment, and darted off, taking an axe hit in the back, followed by some nasty fiery spell from the mage that hit the same spot. This took off less than half of his HP, and he made his escape hearing curses and bewildered comments about the weird noob who was too tough for his own good.

  He hoped they would keep silent about this skirmish. There were some parties who could express an interest in unusual noobs, and he wasn’t ready to face the curious crowd just yet.

  His Vigor was nearly at zero as he approached the city, still running. Even though it regenerated twice faster now—as per the specifications of his achievements—it didn’t make much of a difference when consumed quickly.

  There was a fair number of guards at the gates: six warriors and a mage, judging by the staff in his hands, all NPCs. Either they had always been serious about security here, or the security measures had been beefed up after the recent events.

  “Why are you running like a mad horse?” one of the warriors asked gruffly.

  “There are footpads aplenty along the road—I barely managed to escape, and have been running ever since.”

  “Those thugs must be very sure of themselves to attack people right near the town.”

  “Is this Peghur?”

  “What else would it be?”

  “This is where I’ve been meaning to go, then.”

  “Let the mage record your name. Those are the new rules—there’s a war going on.”

  “The war is over already, isn’t it?”

  “We haven’t been informed, so we guard the gate as commanded.”

  When the mage moved his palm over Ros’ head, he raised one eyebrow in surprise.

  “So that’s how it is?”

  “What?”

  “You’re a very strange person.”

  “Sure am. My mom always said so.”

  “Your name doesn’t befit a hero.”

  “My girlfriend likes it,” said Ros, recollecting a recent acquaintance. “So, may I pass?”

  “Of course, welcome.”

  The mage gave Ros a long stare as he entered the city, and Ros did not like it at all.

  * * *

  There were no problems with cut gems whatsoever—jewelers and craftsmen took them all, just as Ros had hoped; the quartermasters of the NPC guilds almost came to blows over who would get the best gems. He came out about six and a half thousand silver pieces richer. Ros had to put the money in one of the bags—they didn’t fit into his noobish purse.

  That reminded him—he could get a much better one at the market. So that was where Ros headed next.

  The choice of wares did not impress him much, but he did manage to get a decent bag and a purse, as well as a few enhanced items for warriors, including a one-handed sword. All of it would come in handy once he changed his looks. He intended to get to it as soon as possible, still feeling ill at ease from the look the mage had given him earlier. An NPC, granted, but you never knew—he may have been ordered to be on the lookout for strange noobs, and then report. Or perhaps someone had offered to pay him for information. Judging by the village shopkeeper, NPCs coveted silver.

  The Mages’ Guild office was right next to the town hall, towering above it, as if the mages were hinting at who was really in charge of things in this town. Players of different races darted up and down a wide stone staircase, all of them clad in different attire. One even tried to get in wearing nothing but his long johns, but the guard at the entrance chased him away.

  “Halt!” Ros heard someone call behind his back as he took the first step forward.

  When he turned around, he saw players of an obviously high level approach him from three sides—he couldn’t see their levels regardless of his talents, and their accouterments looked nothing like what you’d see on a noob.

  “Errou invites you to join their party. Accept/decline?”

  Ros declined, obviously enough.

  “Accept the party invitation!” shouted Errou impatiently, resending the invitation. “We’ll buff you.”

  “I don’t need any buffs. I’m about to go offline for a while.”

  “Come again?! Are you out of your mind, noobster?! Accept the invitation at once, or it’s the blacklist for you!”

  “Screw you and your blacklist,” Ros snarled as he started up the stairs.

  “You won’t leave the town! We’ll cut you to ribbons right here!”

  “Sure thing. Consider me frightened.” Ros didn’t so much as turn around.

  A hand grabbed him by the shoulder roughly, but he shook it off easily. The guard at the top of the stairs took notice, and asked in a strict voice:

  “Are these people causing you trouble?”

  “Yeah, they started harassing me all of a sudden. They must be perverts of some sort.”

  “Leave the Guild’s visitor alone, or there’ll be trouble!”

  “We’ll wait for you here,” drawled Errou menacingly.

  Ros looked calm on the outside, but he was shaking inside. Damn! They’d caught up with him! It must have been that NPC, just like he’d suspected. So, what would happen now?

  Wrong question. The right question was somewhat different: what would he do next?

  The three players decided against taking the guild by storm. They were too few to take down a building chock full of high-level NPCs who would surely resist. This meant he would have some time—even in the worst-case scenario, they’d need to gather enough players for an assault.

  More likely, they wouldn’t attempt an assault and just wait for him to come out. No one could use a teleport inside a town or village building—it was supposed to be a physical impossibility. Thus, they must think he had three options: leave the building, leave the game, or kill himself and respawn.

  If these guys were serious, they would keep track of everything—not just the guild, but the nearby area as well. No matter where he’d resurrect, he wouldn’t be able to stay unnoticed for long.

  Also, if the NPC at the gates saw all of his actual stats and reported t
hem to interested players, the conflict that had nearly ground to a halt would surely flare up again.

  There were just too many people interested in Ros.

  Chapter 36

  “I need the scroll for the Veil of Mystery!” Ros blurted this out as soon as he entered the office that the chatty guard had directed him to.

  “Keep it down, young man,” said an elderly wrinkled NPC, holding out his hand. “Hand it over.”

  “Hand what over?”

  “The receipt, of course.”

  “Receipt?”

  “That’s right. You must be aware we don’t go about handing out scrolls for free—that would be against guild policy. However, I am prepared to offer you a substantial discount if you agree to perform a rather complicated task.”

  “I’m in a hurry, so I’ll pay! How much will it be?!”

  “You don’t have to shout like that,” the old man winced.

  “I’m in a great hurry.”

  “Nine hundred and eighty guineas.”

  “Is it all right to pay in silver?”

  “Certainly. But I’m not the one who collects money—I only take receipts.”

  “Where do I pay?” Ros felt a chill run down his spine as he imagined having to cross the village.

  “The cashier’s office is right next to the exit.”

  Ros felt an instant relief and dashed into the corridor. After paying the asking price, he ran back just as quickly, handing the receipt to the old man.

  The NPC studied it attentively, grunted gruffly, rose, opened the bookcase behind him and rummaged inside it, then produced a snow-white scroll tied over with a pink ribbon.

  “The Veil of Mystery, as ordered.”

  Ros darted back. The old man yelled, confused:

  “Where are you off to?! You have forgotten your receipt stub!”

  “Hang it on a nail in your privy!” Ros yelled, already running down the corridor. He saw a young elven lady pass by, and gently stopped her, touching her on the elbow.

  “Sister, this cap of yours is the bee’s knees! I’ll buy it for my girlfriend if you agree—just name your price.”