by Arthur Stone
“Are you doing a quest? I’ve never seen one that involves going below with NPCs.”
“Help me level!”
“Hey! You! Short stuff! Why are you following them?”
“I’m not following them,” said Ros as passed by. “They are following me.”
“You?! Whatever do you want with them?!”
“They’ll help me level.”
“You hired NPCs to power-level you? That’s ridiculous! We’d have helped you for a third of the price!”
“My dad hired them for me. He said NPCs are much better at power-leveling.”
“You haven’t seen what we can do! Go on, tear up the contract, and we’ll take you all the way down at once! You can even peek at a boss!”
“I’ll consider your proposition,” said Ros tactfully.
“Help me level! Pleeeeeease!” whined the antsy noob again, already behind him.
Ros heard interesting snatches of conversation as his party walked on. They were discussing him. The common verdict was, “a silly girl with a rich daddy who spends tons of real money on the game.”
He smiled—that was the very image he’d intended to create and maintain, as it would make it much easier for him to buy and sell expensive items and use expensive services. A noob girl traveling this way and that with the aid of expensive teleportation seemed rather suspicious. But a noob girl with a rich daddy could get away with all this stuff easily.
“We’ll leave the path now, and the terrain will be rougher,” Mathdun warned him, and then explained. “We’ll get there a lot faster this way—the path makes a large loop here, and there’s no point in taking the long way around.”
The mercenaries dispatched a group of mobs that attacked them after the first crag, and proceeded onward without delay. The second took much longer to get through. They got a little unlucky—a group of players who had been grinding here got wiped out completely, having drawn the attention of a large train of mobs right before their demise, so all the beasts rushed their new quarry.
Things got tense for a while, but never reached a critical moment.
They stopped at the third level—the mobs here had lots of HP, and some of them possessed a number of nasty skills. They also preferred to attack in groups of two or three, sometimes more, after sneaking up on the warriors from behind tall piles of enormous slag rocks. This was no longer a pleasure walk—Ros kept dispelling debuffs on one NPC after another, although they told him to cut it out, or at least be more discreet about it to avoid drawing the aggro.
Ros kept on dispelling and healing, occasionally using Chaos Arrow to finish off half-dead mobs. Whenever they encountered a particularly powerful monster that took the entire party no less than a full minute to put down, he would cast Soul Trap.
No, he didn’t come here to power-leveled. And the reason he spent so much money had nothing to do with the measly fraction of the XP he would get.
What he needed was a pet that could compare to the elite leprus.
And, preferably, more than one.
* * *
“An elite! Level one seventy at least!” yelled the mage.
He must have had stats permitting him to identify higher-level monsters, as the NPC himself was level 135.
“Staesys! Cover the client! Sleep the beast! Shield wall, horseshoe formation! Shields on tanks!”
“It resisted sleep!” shouted the mage.
The archer froze behind Ros, throwing wary glances in every direction—to mercenaries, the death of a client was the ultimate disgrace. Both tanks rushed the beast that looked like a nine-foot-tall crimson praying mantis. Barely visible glowing cocoons enveloped them as they ran, the buffer and the healer shielding them with spells that would absorb a certain amount of damage before they started losing HP.
The “mantis” struck with both forelegs, covered in bony spikes. In the real world, the creature’s sheer mass would sweep its opponents away, but game mechanics worked a bit differently, and the buffed-up fighters repealed the attack. The mob opened its snout, unleashing a fountain of sparks that tore through the shields at once. The tanks’ HP bars began dwindling, and that was when the other two fighters—one double-wielding daggers, and the other, swords—struck from the flanks with skills that stunned the mob and saddled it with debuffs lowering attack and defenses.
As soon as the stun wore off, the mob was hit with another, this time courtesy one of the tanks.
“I got aggro!” Mathdun yelled. “Everyone but the archer, pour it on!”
The elite mob’s HP bar was steadily decreasing. He had no other surprises in stock—four fighters with stun skills were simply too much. The mob had high resistances, so the skill didn’t land every time, but with four stunners, the party still retained near-total control. The “mantis” tried to break out of its ring once, but the mage’s sleep spell got it this time, while the warriors regrouped and kept hammering away at their target.
Ros just stood there, protected by the archer and occasionally healing the tanks, redundant though it may have been. Even the healers would at times break rotation to join the mage in pelting the monster with some offensive spell.
Mathdun stepped away from the smoking corpse of the “mantis” and wiped the sweat off his brow.
“It’s time for us to leave this furnace. It’s getting late, and anything can happen in the cleft after dark. The path can be walked in both directions, after all. And the kind of critters that crawl out from the very bottom will be beyond our capabilities.”
Ros nodded.
“Sure, you can go—you have fulfilled all your contractual obligations.”
“We have to get you to the city.”
“Thanks, but I’ll make my own way.”
“It’s very dangerous to wander here on your own. You won’t make it through the upper ledges if you cannot hide in the shadows, and you do not possess that skill.”
“I’ll use a teleportation scroll.”
“As you wish. Are you quite satisfied with our performance?”
Ros nodded energetically.
“You’ve been great. If I ever need to hire warriors in your city, I’ll know who to look for.”
The orc gave a perfunctory bow, turned around, and started toward the exit, followed closely by the others.
Ros stayed on the ledge alone. He looked down at the little lights scattered across the bottom of the abyss and sighed. There must be powerful bosses wandering around down there, which likely dropped expensive trophies. But even ten such mercenary parties may not be enough to get to them. Such raids were long and arduous, and you had to be no less than level one hundred and eighty to take part in one.
There was no denying or escaping this fact—with trusty friends at one’s side, one’s opportunities in this world grew exponentially.
Ros had originally planned to change his appearance, but now decided against it. The skill took a week to reset, and there seemed to be a possibility to use it on someone else. A person in a similar situation—or maybe even worse. Someone who lived in a cage and could only dream of something better.
Someone who would surely appreciate a present like that.
Ros considered that he might be doing an unbelievably stupid thing, and that he might be instantly ratted out. But what did he have to lose? He could always teleport away, hole up in the woods for a week, and change into someone completely unrecognizable. There were other options as well—he could skip the woods altogether and spend his time doing something useful. He shouldn’t be too concerned about his current incarnation being made—so what if he’d spent a week all across the sector, using city teleports and trying to get noticed by as many people as possible?
In particular, this concerned the spies that were almost always present. They may be on the lookout for somebody else, but he doubted that the strange noob would be forgotten that easily.
He had also talked up his “rich daddy” for making it possible for him to see the entire game world.
Th
e only drawback was that people would learn that sex was no longer a constant in Second World.
But that was something Ros could live with.
It would only take a week to change his appearance. Recreating it, though, and making it as inconspicuous as possible anywhere he might turn up would be a much lengthier process. But was he really so concerned about compromising this identity? Not at all. He was already starting to detest the endless private chat windows with salivating horny degenerates believing they were talking to a young teenage girl.
If the person he planned on revealing his identity to ended up betraying his confidence, he might even thank him.
He decided he’d had enough.
Ros approached the “praying mantis” and searched the carcass. He smiled: another crystal with a high-level pet, apart from the loot. He took out a teleport scroll, broke the seal, and bent it in two. The cleft was a world dominated by every shade of red, but here was a flash of blazing white, with the bright arch of a portal appearing above the ground.
Ros visualized his destination in as much detail as he could, and stepped through the portal window.
Chapter 42
Ros was walking down the street of his hometown. Not his real-world hometown, obviously, but Arbenne, where just two months ago he’d plopped onto its cobblestones as an exceptionally dazed and confused noob. He had a somewhat different appearance back then, to put it mildly, but that did not matter to Ros now—he never did grow accustomed to his character’s looks due to the repeated radical transformations he’d undergone.
Other changes to his character were far more important and consequential—and the very things he was now so desperate to hide.
But could it be said he was a noob no longer? Not likely. His level was thirty-four—nowhere near enough to be taken seriously. He had lots of stat points earned in a variety of ways, including rare stats and skills that were notoriously hard and expensive to raise. But where did it leave him? A top player would still take him out with a few hits of some souped-up skill— perhaps only one, in some cases. Was he rich? Nowhere near that—he was still a long way from becoming a millionaire, thus far spending most of his earnings on himself. Heroic achievements? Sure, there were plenty of those, but so far they seemed to cause him more grief than anything.
This wasn’t gaming, but rather frenzied attempts of surviving, grasping at one thing after another, and wasting hours contemplating things he’d never even get a chance to try. There was never enough strength, time, or abilities…
Or hands.
Second World was a team game, but Ros was still on his own…
* * *
Ros found Digits right where he thought he’d be—on the narrow strip of land between the moat and the city wall, hunting as it was eventide. His acquaintance was squatting, holding a smooth pebble in his hand, and peering at the water’s surface, where plump frogs lounged on lily pads. He chose his target and prepared for a throw. That was when Ros, having approached the “superzero” unnoticed, greeted him politely:
“Good evening.”
The pebble still in his hand, Digits turned around, and gave Ros a puzzled look. Ros didn’t wait for him to blurt out whatever he deemed appropriate in a conversation with a total stranger—a flighting and a teenage girl at that—and immediately added:
“I want to tell you that I haven’t cursed you once. So you shouldn’t worry on that account.”
Digits, who was about to open his mouth for a suitably playful response, froze right where he stood. His jaw swung sideways in a comical way, and the expression in his eyes became impossible—too many emotions were reflected at once, stumbling one another every fraction of a second.
His made a visible attempt to collect himself, failing miserably. Then he asked in a barely audible voice that sounded near-unrecognizable.
“That’s quite a disguise you’ve got there. I’ve never seen anyone look so much like a female character.”
“Do you seriously think I’m in drag? I thought you knew me better, old friend.”
“Then how?!”
“No disguise. And the appearance is certified to represent an actual person, as you can see by the symbol next to my name. Or did you miss it?”
Digits shook his head.
“Calling you the emperor of noobs was the understatement of the century. And calling you a noob now would be rather awkward…”
“Don’t feel awkward,” Ros interrupted. “I was a noob then, and a noob I remain. And I’m not ashamed in any way. You make do with what you’ve got, after all…”
Digits rose and looked at him attentively, looking very focused.
“You do realize that if I take a short walk to the teleport and tell a few guys about you, I’m likely to get paid well in exchange.”
“No kidding. Might be enough for months on a full account. Perhaps even a year. Go on, hurry up before someone beats you to it.”
“Right you are, I’d hate to miss my chance—thanks for reminding me. So, shall I run along now?”
“Absolutely. Get to it.”
“Can I just ask you a little question?”
“Well, as long it’s a little one…”
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“You know what I’m talking about!” Digits raised his voice a little. “Cut the banter already, it’s ridiculous! Why are you here? To mock me or get back at me somehow for what happened then?”
“I bear absolutely no grudges for what happened then. On the contrary—you are the reason why I have so many opportunities now. If I didn’t wind up at that mine, I’d be doomed to endless drudgery as a gardener or a window cleaner in one of the cities. You really did me a good turn, Digits. Helped me out. Some other person might have borne a grudge, but not me. And you did warn me the job wouldn’t be too cushy, so faulting you wouldn’t be fair. I didn’t come here to mock you, either—I came to thank you, and to give you a little something as thanks for your help two months ago. Here goes.”
Ros raised his hand and activated the Clean Slate skill icon.
Digits felt his legs wobble and sat down on the ground, blinking in confusion:
“What… What was that? What have you done to me?”
“That was my thanks,” said Ros. Then he added, as he turned to leave. “And now you can run to the teleport all you want.”
* * *
Ros was already crossing the bridge when a breathless voice behind him whispered:
“Stop, will you! Why don’t you mind your private message window? My Vigor is all down to zero! I can’t keep up with you!”
“Someone once told me that was a good thing. When Vigor bottoms out, the stat levels faster. Wait, wasn’t that you who said it?”
“I sure did, gods help me… Now will you stop galloping around like a horse already?!”
“The Acrobatics skill levels faster when you leap and hop.”
“I know how to level Acrobatics! And you’re doing it like a noob!”
Ros slowed down a bit.
“So, how do you level it?”
“Screw Acrobatics! Just tell me what that was!”
“Nothing much. Just my way of saying thanks.”
“Uh-huh. Well, I’ve had people thank me many times, but so far I haven’t had stat progress locks removed once. Am I going insane, or are you not telling me everything?”
“My thanks weren’t of the ordinary variety.”
“For some reason, I instantly suspected as much. So, what was that?”
“The teleport is in the other direction.”
“Oh, is it?! As if I’m really going to run over there for my thirty silver pieces. Don’t even think you can shake me off without an answer. Well?”
“Well, it’s this skill I have, you see. A pretty rare one. If I use it on someone in a private place without any onlookers, a player becomes just as overexcited as you.”
“Let me guess—the skill was received by a certain noob along with a bunch of rather extr
aordinary achievements?”
“That sure is fine guesswork…”
“Okay, let me vouchsafe another guess—I don’t think my personal qualities were quite enough for you to return to a place where everyone’s looking for you just to express your gratitude. And I’d like to add something else: no matter your answer, I won’t run to the teleport. Thirty silver won’t solve my problems, but you, or tagging along with you, just might.”
“Useful information about me is worth ten to twenty thousand in gold. Check out the forum. It will be more in dollars, since the exchange rate keeps growing.”
“I need a lot more than that.”
“Me too.”
“So?”
“You may have been foolish enough not to have managed to earn enough for a proper account in over a year, but you still know a lot more about the game than I do. A friend like that might come in handy.”
“Well, I have enough for a worker’s account, but I need one that I could level up to ten for my modest plans to come to fruition. Even a month would suffice. That’s just my way of telling you I’m not a complete idiot. Bear in mind that stats like mine won’t get me so much as a position of a shoeshine boy at the local waste management plant, so earning money like everybody else is not exactly an option.”
“Right. So, just low-key hustles such as delivering noobs to noob mines, and so on.”
“That, too. So, is there anything else but my mental capacity that interests you?”
“You were one of the beta testers. I read about it—they locked your stats and levels completely, but they left the skills intact.”
“Yeah. Removing them would be a pain. But you can’t use them properly when your stats are locked, so they’re completely useless.”
“Your skills were often unbalanced, giving you advantage over other players, right?”
“That, too. Even if our skills are still left in the game, they’re the kind you can only get in a scroll drop from a very high-level boss.”
