by Arthur Stone
The girl looked surprised. “It hasn’t got any bonuses, you know.”
“I just like the way it looks. How much?”
“Well… Fifteen silver pieces?” asked the elven girl uncertainly.
“How about twelve? If you’re OK with that, it’s a deal,” Ros offered so as not to look like an oblivious moneybags.
It was quieter on the second floor, and there were fewer players. Ros hid behind a statue depicting a hero in a flowing wide cape—wide enough that you could hide a cow here if you wanted to.
“You have learned the spell: Veil of Mystery. Magic will help you hide your true nature from other players and creatures. Attention! Players and creatures whose level exceeds half the value of your Intellect will be able to see your true essence. Magic energy required: 825 points. Cooldown: 1000 seconds. The spell consumes 4 magic energy points per second until cancelled. The effect of the spell can be cancelled by repeated use or dispelled with a debuffing skill. The spell is also dispelled in case of the character’s death.”
Damn—that was something he hadn’t been aware of. The Intellect condition was rather unpleasant, meaning the protection wasn’t absolute. However, it should still help him escape.
And now it was time for Clean Slate.
Once Ros entered the character modification mode, the first thing he did was raise his Intellect so that it would be slightly above six hundred—with the aid of the bonuses of the legendary invisible belt. Now even the famous level three hundred Chinese player would not be able to see anything he wasn’t supposed to.
Additionally, high Intellect implied quick mana regeneration. That would more than compensate for the magic energy points spent on keeping the Veil of Mystery up.
His appearance came next. He chose a race that wasn’t very popular this time—the flightings. The racial bonuses were the main reason for the race’s low popularity—their most powerful abilities were oriented at providing support to other players. Flightings made excellent buffers and healers, but few players enjoyed playing as a “first aid kit” or “party amplifier.” They were next to useless on their own—a typical class for playing as part of a group.
“Attention: you have entered the administrative mode with extended account editing options. Are you sure you want to change the character’s sex?”
It was hardly something he dreamed of, but this was no time to be conservative about one’s means. Everyone on the forum claimed it was impossible to play with a character whose sex differed from your own. For everyone but him, that is. Ros should never again be suspected by anyone once he went through with the sex change.
“Attention: this option functions in limited availability mode. Enter the test period duration.”
Ros moved the slider all the way to the right.
“A hundred-day test period has been chosen. The character’s stats will be corrected automatically after the end of the period.”
Even a week would be fine by Ros—all he wanted was to leave the building.
Now he had to work on his appearance and select a name. He decided to settle on the most banal option: NurseLady. It would instantly make it clear to everyone that his character was oriented toward support from the very beginning.
The ethical issues associated with such a radical method of camouflage did not bother Ros at all. He wouldn’t think twice about becoming a camel if it meant he would be left alone.
In fact, he was prepared to spend a week standing on his head. And when it was over, he’d most likely change his appearance again.
Ros did everything he could in the editor to transform his character in the most radical way. He ended up with the likeness of a frail-looking teenage girl looking perfectly harmless and not even remotely pretty, placing an icon indicating his character’s in-game appearance was similar to how the owner looked in real life next to his name as a coup de grace. He also distorted his voice to make it sound almost like the squeaking of a rodent.
His new image was complete. To be sure, it wasn’t without flaws, but it would be absolutely impossible to see any similarity between his new appearance and his former character.
He quit the editor and cast Veil of Mystery on himself. Once the spell took, he got access to fine-tuning options of what others could or could not see. He made his stats look normal and made sure the players in his party or clan would get no bonuses from his achievements.
Ros had thirty-eight undistributed levels left—he could jump to level forty-nine from his current level of eleven (raised from ten by cutting gems and smelting ore). It would be stupid to use them right now, and far more prudent to level to two hundred first, whereupon progress would grind to a halt, and make the leap then.
Nevertheless, he very reluctantly sacrificed three levels, raising his to fourteen.
Now it was time to take care of his clothes. He removed the well-worn archer’s glove, as well as everything else. It was a pity he hadn’t thought of buying one for women at the market. But it wasn’t a big deal—noobs wore all sorts of things. It took them until level thirty or forty before they started sporting decent equipment. Also, level fourteen was better than ten or eleven—he had a wider selection of items in his bags.
* * *
John Archer44, a light elf who had entered the Mages’ Guild was tall and long-eared, with long fair hair and an unprepossessing bow at his back, clad in halfway decent clothes and boots. No one ever saw him afterwards.
In his stead came out a flighting by the name of NurseLady: petite, frail-looking, dark-haired, unarmed and barefoot, wearing a long cuirass made of thamyl tree bark with something resembling a skirt made of the same material attached to it. Ros had found it in one of the dungeon’s caches, and decided to take it, since it wasn’t particularly heavy, even though its class wasn’t any higher than enhanced. Not exactly a dress, but it looked similar enough to come in handy. The small coquettish cap was the icing on the cake—no man would ever put on anything like it, unless he was fond of dressing in drag. Or unless he was in dire straits, like Ros.
He was aware that lower-level players aiming to level up their earth magic skills often went barefoot, which drew them closer to their element of choice and yielded infinitesimal bonuses, so he wouldn’t look suspicious. The lack of a weapon wasn’t critical, either—many players preferred to keep their weapons out of sight in the city, and you could stuff a lot in your bag, provided you had enough slots.
Ros didn’t leave the guild building at once. He descended to the first floor, noticing greater numbers of high-level players who were obviously on the lookout for someone. He found a mage responsible for healing and support, and spent the rest of his money on four scrolls: Armor Aura, Attack Aura, Regeneration Aura, and Lesser Healing. Now he could pass for an actual flighting noobster under any circumstances.
Or, given his present circumstances, a noobsterette.
There was a bunch of high-level players at the bottom of the staircase. One of them kept repeating the same announcement in a monotonous voice:
“We are conducting a search. Accept our invitations and reveal your stats. Whoever fails to comply will automatically be blacklisted.”
That was the first time Ros thought of taking a look at the name of their guild. It was J_P—the very same “Jeeps” who chased the “Corsicans” from the destroyed mine without breaking a sweat. They ranked among the strongest clans of the sector—and the game world as a whole. These guys would have enough resources and chutzpah to destroy the whole town, consequences be damned.
He also received an invitation to join a party. He accepted it, trying to look as surprised and confused as a schoolgirl noob would in a strange situation. A few seconds later, a system message told him:
“You have been removed from the party.”
“NurseLady is free to go!” a voice said around the same moment.
Another player swore.
“Are you a complete idiot?! Why are you checking chicks?”
“Duh, I just poked her
without thinking. Hey! You! The necro over there! Accept the party invitation, or there’ll be trouble for you!”
They weren’t interested in Ros. No one had an inkling that someone in this world could hide under such a disguise. The extended editor options and the Veil of Mystery proved extremely useful—had he been unable to disable the heroic party bonuses, they would have found him out at once.
The Jeeps were causing quite a commotion—the local chat was aswarm with messages. Ros also received two private messages from male players wishing to get acquainted more closely. He turned off all the messages except for those sent by the system, and hurried to leave the dangerous place. Once he got away from the bustle, he asked an NPC about a place where one could get a good price for bars of metal, then made for the part of town with the workshops, smithies, and foundries. Once there, he sold all the copper he had smelted on the road.
Players at the market would probably pay more, but they might wonder about a character with a non-worker specialization selling large quantities of atypical loot. But the NPCs didn’t seem to care—not a single one looked surprised.
As Ros browsed the market, he managed to sell a couple of enhanced rings and pick up some needed equipment: common wizard shoes, an enhanced amulet, and, most importantly, a mage’s staff. It wasn’t expensive, but it wasn’t too crappy, either, and just right for his level.
All he had to do now was leave the town. And he had three options to choose from.
The first was the stationary teleport to reach a nearby town or city. The second was the teleportation scroll or the skill received in the dungeon along with his heroic achievements. And the third was to walk out on foot or catch a coach or a caravan headed in the same direction.
Ros would take every teleport under control, had he been looking for a player like himself.
Teleportation was expensive—players of his level only used it when they flush with extra dough. Even though it was near impossible to identify him now, there were still a few methods that might work. People might wonder about a poorly-dressed girl spending a small fortune on teleportation. A single debuff or something of that sort might prove sufficient for them to find out everything about him.
A teleport scroll or skill would take him to any place he had visited before. Even if he failed to pull it off in the city due to the omnipresent players, he could search for a private place outside city limits.
However, people would spare no effort looking for John Archer, so it would be logical to suss out where he came from. He must have been sighted in the village and along the road; apart from that, the NPC who must have exposed him was aware whence Ros came after making his escape from the bandits. The mine and its environs wouldn’t stay unattended, either.
He felt that turning up where the search party would look for him would be imprudent.
Very imprudent.
That meant the third option would be his best bet.
* * *
There were four gates in the city wall, and Ros got lucky, running into a peasant caravan with a dozen carts leaving the city. He found out their destination from one of their drivers, and then asked the gaffer whether he could take him to the village of Aypa, which they would pass on their way. He even offered to pay—however, the bearded peasant did not take his money, saying that flightings were always welcome, and that, should anything happen, she was by no means to take part in the battle, and concentrate on healing.
Ros made himself comfortable in one of the carts on a pile of empty sacks left from sold agricultural produce. It appeared that the city never did get a proper blockade—there were no players checking everyone at the gates.
But that wouldn’t last long.
Chapter 37
Ros would nod off every now and then, and then wake up again whenever the cart would hopped over a rock or a hillock. The coachman kept muttering monotonously about the prices for oats, gigantic shrews that had the audacity of spoiling the harvest of sugar beet, the drunk shepherd who had managed to drown two calves in a shallow pond, and other significant events of his glorious village life. He didn’t care much about people listening—the blabbering must have been his method of staying awake.
In the morning, the coachman woke Ros up with a shout:
“Come on, beautiful, get up!”
“Eh? Say what?”
“You wanted Aypa, didn’t you?”
“I sure did.”
“Well, you have arrived. Follow this path, and you’ll be in Aypa in about an hour. Not that I would recommend you to go there, mind you.”
“Why?”
“It’s a rotten place. The people who live there are mean, stingy, and lazy. Evil has them enthralled.”
“Just what do you mean?”
“There used to be a big city there, proud and rich. It got buried when the mages warred for domination over elements, people and all. There’s a hill where the city used to stand—you can reach it through burrows in the ground. As for the denizens, they got buried, but they didn’t die. Or, rather, they did—how do I put it without scaring you too much… Well, your best bet would be staying away from there.”
“Thank you. I’ll think about it.”
“If you decide to return, don’t walk the main road on your own. There are many evil people among your kin. A caravan is too much for them to handle, but if you walk alone, they may cause you trouble. They have no shame—they won’t hold back even if you’re a good-natured flighting.”
Ros watched the caravan leave, and then started toward Aypa. The NPCs may be as scared of the undead, but for him, the living dead were precisely what he needed. He studied the map published at the forum, and confirmed this was the area used by players between the levels of twelve and twenty-five to level up.
A low-level noob girl, poorly dressed, sixteen years old or even younger, judging by the icon next to her name. The choice of class was logical for someone like her—a good-natured healer incapable of killing anyone, grinding away like she was supposed to. No one could be more harmless and less suspicious…
* * *
Ros liked the village. It was much bigger than the one where he’d learned Jewelry and Gem-Cutting. There was a lot more going on here, and it had nothing to do with groups of high-level players moving from one place to another. It was easy to identify this place as a true noob capital. There were groups of noobs as well as individual noobs, running this way and that, cursing each other aloud and in the zone chat, looking for someone or something and making a fuss about it, peddling useless and overpriced items, and asking silly questions about everything.
As soon as Ros reached the outskirts of the village, a private message from someone named Romeo Harlem lit up. He didn’t say a single word, but drew two bright red hearts and a tiny rose instead. A true chat wizard—the game had no emoticon sets; you had to roll your own.
A few minutes later someone called Titrach Amigo asked him, without bothering to draw any flowers: “Let’s get to know each other? Add me to your friends list.”
Another message reached him around the same time, with a much more straightforward and lewd suggestion.
Ros realized he hadn’t taken everything into account when deciding on his new image. It was unlikely that all female players were just as popular. The icon testifying to the similarity between the character’s appearance and that of its owner must be playing a part.
There were lots of girls in Second World, all of them young and amazingly beautiful. But who could guarantee that when you flirted with a cute light elf, the owner of the character wasn’t an ugly old crone with a triple chin?
The only guarantee was the icon next to one’s username. It was believed that this symbol could not be counterfeited.
Likewise one’s sex.
Before Ros, that is.
It didn’t matter much that his character would never make it as a model. The link to reality mattered to many players.
Within minutes he felt like disabling chat altogether. For som
e reason, most of the players tried to text him instead of sending a voice message. Perhaps the reality of the image attracted timid players, or there may have been some other psychological factor at play.
Ros ignored the messages from everyone trying to get to know him better (intimately, in some cases), and studied the local chat. There was enough to read there.
“A party to the Fallen City needs a tank[12]!”
“Level five elixirs for sale: mana and HP.”
“Hello, everyone! Why doesn’t my wolf cub level up?”
“LFG[13] the Fallen City. Halfling gob, dagger specced, level 19.”
“New clan recruiting! We grow fast!”
“Zombie teeth needed! Wholesale!”
“Anyone from Texas around?”
“Experienced level 23 tank forming a party to raid the Fallen City! DPS[14] players needed, as well as a healer! PM with your level and spec.”
Ros answered the last announcement, deeming it most reasonable and well-articulated.
“Hi, I’m a level 14 flighting buffer, all healing spells learned.”
He received a response nearly instantly:
“Barry Bar offers you to join their party. Accept/decline?”
Ros accepted.
The party leader’s mark flashed up on the map as a tiny orange dot.
Over the time it took Ros to reach Barry, another player joined the party: SexyBabe79, followed almost instantly by another party member by the name of Marrak.
Barry turned out to be a dwarf. Ros wasn’t surprised—his forum research had yielded a lot of information. The underground denizens weren’t merely good miners, but also excelled as warriors, even though their race had a rather narrow specialization—nearly all of them were tanks. SexyBabe79 was a typical golden-haired elven maiden with a bow; Ros expected something of that sort from the moment he saw her name.
Marrak was the only one to surprise him. His skin green as an orc’s, the character was short—almost a midget—with spindly arms reaching all the way down to his knees. His race was called a goblin halfling. He must have mixed two or more races together, which was allowed for extended account holders.
