Clans War (The Way of the Shaman: Book #7) LitRPG Series

by Mahanenko, Vasily

  “Erebus is off-limits to the living,” Eluna went on.

  “Then I’ll go there as a dead man,” I refused to concede. “The longer you restrain me, the less time I have.”

  “Mahan, this is not possible,” Elizabeth tore her gaze from the empty sheet and looked up at me, her eyes brimming with tears. I could’ve killed those damn devs! Gazing into the eyes of a mother who had lost her child because of me, the sense of irreality evaporated. A sense of disgust I had never experienced before filled my inner being. I wanted one thing only — to help this woman regain her child. For me Barliona had become real again, and the NPC with the codename ‘High Priestess of Eluna’ became a mother who had lost her child. Not some bit of software code.

  “Elsa, this world has something called hope. As long as it exists, Clouter lives. As do the other five guards. Eluna, what must I do to enter Erebus?”

  “You must die,” the goddess said pithily after a short pause. “You must die and forsake the Gray Lands. Be aware Mahan, you might never return.”

  “In that case, consider me a democrat,” I managed to say before my head exploded into a million tiny bits. Eluna had personally sent me to respawn.

  Loading…

  Please confirm that you wish to enter the ‘Erebus’ location.

  Please read the rules…

  I was forced to read a huge chunk of text, which would ordinarily have caused shivers to zip along my spine. It turns out that Erebus is one of the closed-off locations and if I fail the quest here, my Shaman might remain here for all eternity. That is, not for all eternity, but until the Corporation permits his lost spirit to return to the game. Smiling to myself, I pushed the ‘Accept’ button that appeared only after I had read the entire text, and my surroundings snapped into motion.

  A fog formed around me, smoothly transforming into darkness several meters away. I got the impression that I had become a little lamp that was trying to scatter the dourness of this world but lacking sufficient power to do so. I was sparkling and sputtering but not very convincingly. Nevertheless, there was enough light to see the cobble-paved path receding ahead of me into the fog and the precipice plummeting away into the same fog on either side of the path. My legs wavered beneath me, forcing me to squat. Who knows what the depth of this precipice is — it could be two meters or it could be endless. The path before me was about fifty centimeters wide, so it wouldn’t take much but a breeze to misstep and plummet into the depths.

  Forcing myself to get back up to my feet and take a first step turned out to be a fairly nontrivial challenge. My mind understood that I was surrounded by a game, but my wild fear of the unknown and the height fettered my movements, turned my legs to cotton and forced me to lie down on the path to ensure I wouldn’t fall. I had to struggle with myself for several minutes, even exiting to reality several times to prove to my sub-consciousness that the world around me was merely graphical. It seemed to help and I managed to creep along the path.

  As I expected, my connection with the external world had been cut off — neither the clan chat, nor mail, nor the amulets, nor my telepathy with Anastaria. Nothing at all. The only good news was that the quest timer before my eyes stopped every time I exited to reality. I had to complete this quest in 24 game hours, not real ones. This pleased me because it meant I would have time to talk to Anastaria when she yanked me out at the end of the day to tell her everything I’d see. By the way, about the things I was seeing…Damn it! I can’t record video here either!

  “STRANGER!” all of a sudden a drawn out, malevolent whisper tore through the silence. It sounded like some giant snake had forgotten how to hiss and learned how to speak and scare the crap out of wandering Shamans. “WHAT DO YOU SEEK IN THE LAND OF THE DEAD?”

  “Greetings!” I yelled just in case, noting the debuffs that blinked and instantly vanished, taking with them 10% of my HP. The voice didn’t merely scare me, it also hurt me. “My name is Mahan and I come in peace!”

  “YOU DID NOT ANSWER THE QUESTION,” whispered the unknown creature, after which I lost control of my character: my hands and feet began to contort themselves, their joints creaking from the strain, my Hit Points raced my Energy to the bottom, and yet I remained watching this chaos of my Shaman from the side and suddenly realized that I wasn’t feeling any pain! My character’s sensory filter was set to maximum! If I had ventured into Erebus even a couple weeks ago, I’d be a ball of pain right now, tearing muscles and burning nerves without even a hint of consciousness. After all I still recall the ‘pleasure’ of cracking joints. But now…

  “I have come for the six dead guards of Anhurs, who died several hours ago! Erebus is not their place!”

  In keeping with what was happening to my body, my voice emerged high pitched and pierced with notes of panic and shock, yet I succeeded in the main thing — the spasms stopped.

  “DEATH FOR THE DEAD, LIFE FOR THE LIVING!” whispered the voice at the level of a kitchen stoic who had spilled a pot of boiling water onto himself, leaving me on my own on the narrow path with 5% HP.

  The Shaman has three hands…

  I reflexively summoned a Spirit of Complete Healing, forgetting entirely that all my unlearned summons had been blocked, and so wasn’t particularly surprised when instead of the desired result I beheld a notification. What drew my attention was that, even though the notification was completely ordinary, it was also illogical:

  You may not summon Spirits in Erebus.

  If I was prohibited from summoning Spirits that I hadn’t yet learned, then the system should probably first check whether I can summon a Spirit at all and only then evaluate the location I’m trying to do it in. After all, I could simply sing a song of the Shaman mutant without even hinting at a summons. Why waste system resources tracking every word and checking whether it’s a summons or not? It’s dumb and unprofessional. Things like that are discouraged in the most introductory programming courses. The conclusion is evident — the restriction against summoning ‘unlicensed’ Spirits is superimposed and in the main world it might be difficult to summon them, but it’s possible. The important thing was to figure out how to do it.

  The good news was that health potions worked just as well in Erebus as anywhere else. Quaffing four bottles and making a mental note to replenish my glass stocks (which had been calculated for a Level 160 player), I cautiously moved further along the path as the quest timer continued to creep mercilessly towards zero.

  The path seemed endless. I was no longer paying attention to the precipice at its edges, moving forward at a fairly brisk pace when suddenly I came upon a fork. More precisely, a second path that joined mine at an acute angle and which boasted a lumbering, half-transparent orc with a sour mug. Wearing a burlap sack, the orc moved slowly, shuffling his feet unwillingly, as if something was prodding him onward. The paths evened out, allowing me a closer view of the orc. Not a single emotion, not a single look to the side — the face of the creature lumbering beside me displayed utter disinterest, mixed with weariness and submission to his fate. Judging by his muscles, the orc was a warrior, perhaps even a good one, but this hadn’t saved him from Erebus. I guess he came across someone stronger. I couldn’t help but touch the shoulder of the trudging creature. That is, I wanted to touch it, but my hand passed straight through the orc as if he was a projection. A ghost. At the same time, the ghost didn’t react to my lack of tact and slowly continued to approach the point where our paths joined. I didn’t exist as far as he was concerned.

  Like hell!

  The system again glibly informed me that Erebus was no place for Spirits. I was passing through the ghost like a supermodel passes through a crowd of geeks — meeting no resistance. The orc didn’t react to a single gesture I made, neither to my hands waving in front of his face, nor my shouts, nor my expletives. The Imitator couldn’t care less that I spun like a top through him, trying to scatter his form. He walked towards a goal only he knew, somewhere far ahead, reducing all my attempts to naught.

&n
bsp; Like hell squared!

  Design mode greeted me with its light and the happy recognition of upcoming work to be done. Finding the Blessed Visage of Eluna among my recipes, I combined it with an ingot of Imperial Steel, since I didn’t have any Marble in my bag or in my mail. My idea was as simple as a Barliona penny — create an Amulet of the Junior Novice and pin it to the ghost. I didn’t see any other options for having a word with the orc.

  Insufficient resources to create ‘the Blessed Visage of Eluna.’ Make sure that you have 1 unit of Marble in your inventory bag.

  Here’s where I really got angry…I don’t have the resources?! How am I supposed to craft if the Corporation blocks any attempt of doing something out of the ordinary? Am I supposed to look for recipes for everything? Like hell cubed!

  I can’t create a Pendant because I don’t have any Marble and, looking ahead, Copper ingots. I can’t create a new visage of Eluna out of, say, Imperial Steel because I simply won’t have time to do so. Yet I can do something else!

  I caught up with the ghost who had managed to get ahead of me in the meantime, opened design mode again and with a malevolent grin created the projection of an orc. If they want to force me to work by the rules, then let it be so — I’ll follow the rules. Only, the rules will be mine!

  Using the ‘Alter Essence’ ability, I inserted Eluna’s Visage into the orc’s chest, thought a bit, opened my Smithing recipes, found the most basic sword I had, added its projection to the orc’s hand (since it does no good for a warrior to die without a sword), shut my eyes and imagined what this entire arrangement would look like in reality. Were I in the normal gameworld, these actions would have created a simple statue — fragile and short-lived, since a Sculptor wouldn’t be involved in its creation. But Erebus should have its own laws…

  “Nooo!” the savage plea of the creature tore the silence around us to shreds. I opened my eyes and beheld the embodied orc, on his knees with his eyes shut, bellowing like a herd of elephants. A light as bright as a supernova burst from within him, but it didn’t blind me in the process, and I could see as the fog left the surrounding environment. Everything went cold inside of me: There were hundreds, no, thousands of paths here, all uniting and intertwining and headed towards an enormous cliff that loomed on the horizon. Animals, monsters, two-legged creatures, even fish — all trudged along the paths — an enormous army of those whose time in Barliona had reached its end and who were now heading in the direction of their last stop — the point of complete rest.

  The light went out, allowing the fog to flow back in and with it, the orc stopped screaming. Falling from nowhere, the sword clattered upon the stones, but the orc snatched it up with a quick motion and stood up, turning in my direction.

  “Freemie Cur!” he spat out with undisguised hate and his hazel eyes began to fill with blood. “The gods had mercy upon me and granted me a chance to have my revenge!”

  Before I could say anything, the orc lunged at me with his sword over his head, wishing to cleave me into two, smaller, symmetrical Shamans. On one hand, he was at Level 120 and not particularly scary to me. On the other hand, his fierce demeanor alone was enough to cause trepidation.

  “Damn it all, you’re a ghost!” the embodied orc spat when his sword passed through my arm, which I reflexively held out to protect myself. Wishing to make sure that I was a projection, the orc pushed me and then kicked me — but the result was the same. We were in two different planes of reality. But at least we could talk!

  “Who are you anyway?” I asked what seemed like an obvious question, which however led to unexpected consequences.

  “A talking ghost!” The orc’s terrible face cycled through a gamut of feelings, beginning with shock and ending with fear, after which he hopped high into the air, vanishing momentarily in the fog. Returning back to earth, the orc collapsed heavily onto the path and began to crawl away from me, scattering stones and with every moment getting closer to the edge.

  “Stop crawling!” I roared in a terrible voice, betting on the assumption that the orc was a soldier who was accustomed to following orders. “Atten-Hut! Ready, front! At ease! Report: Who, What, Where and Why? On the double!”

  A notification that my Charisma had gone up by several points flashed before me, but this didn’t bring me much joy:

  “WHAT?!” roared the orc, jumping to his feet. “No Freemie Cur shall order me around!”

  “Calm down, soldier.” I held out my palms in supplication, turning off my officer mode. “No one’s trying to give you orders. If you had gone on crawling, you would’ve fallen over the edge. Who are you anyway?”

  “The lies of a Freemie Cur shall find no audience in my soul!” Paying me no attention, the orc again tried to stab me with his sword and again confirmed that we were ghosts to one another.

  “All right, do whatever you like.” Once I realized that I wouldn’t be able to chat with this creature, I waved my hand and continued along my path. I needed to find the guards.

  “Wait!” I had only walked a few meters when the terrible stamping of the orc sounded behind me, and he ran through me, stopping and turning to face me several steps ahead. “Where am I? And what is this creature?”

  “Actually, I wanted to ask you the same thing,” I replied with surprise to the warrior who was pointing at a round monster covered in sores who was crawling along the path beside ours. I figured that the revived warrior could help me figure out how this Erebus worked as well as its rules, but it looked like the orc didn’t know anything himself. “Tell me, what is the last thing you remember?”

  “Fire,” the orc seethed. The warrior’s face filled with an internal struggle between his hate of all ‘Freemie Curs’ and the thirst to communicate with this strange creature. It was a thirst strong enough to quench the fire of fear before the unknown. And it won the day. “A Freemie Fire Mage incinerated me and my men. We were garrisoning a village. Then you appeared, this fog and this path. Where am I?”

  Ah! So this isn’t just a warrior but a commander? In that case, his Imitator must be fairly advanced to try and fight for survival. If that’s even permitted to the local AI.

  “We are in Erebus.” At these words, the orc’s face once again filled with utter despair and resignation, so I had to think of something to cheer him up. “I came here to retrieve six dead souls and return them to Barliona. If you like, I can take you with me. Will you be able to overcome your loathing of all Free Citizens?”

  I’m not really sure why I’m even dealing with this fellow. He’s an orc; he doesn’t like players; he’s only a Level 120…You could find a dozen of orcs like him in any village for the cost of a couple gold pieces. Heck, you could even ask for change. However, there I was, standing before the orc, awaiting his response. As one ancient author once said: “You become responsible, forever, for what you have tamed.” Or in my case…created. Or embodied. It doesn’t matter.

  “You don’t seem like the other Freemies,” the orc remarked after a some consideration. “You’re different.”

  “Can I take that as a ‘yes?’” I asked. The orc didn’t respond, but his eyes turned hazel again, indicating that he had already made his choice, even if he hadn’t voiced it. Looks like someone wanted to protect his pride.

  In order to safeguard myself in the future, I selected the orc and offered him to join my group. What if we had to fight? He’ll go berserk and start crushing the enemies left and right and accidentally nick me in the process. At the moment we’re in different planes of reality, but who knows what awaits us up ahead?

  “A Dragon?!” the orc’s astonished voice resounded throughout Erebus, drawing a smirk from me. Yup, I’m a Dragon. Tremble before me and all that. For the first time I recall, I actually regretted that this locale didn’t allow me to record video — the vivid expression of astonishment on the dark-green mug really was picture-worthy. The orc’s facial muscles were dancing so rapidly that I was beginning to be afraid his jaw might lock up.

  “Thes
e are all the creatures that once lived and are now dead,” I waved my hand in the direction of the path along which the round monster had passed crawling who knows where. Even if there wasn’t anyone there anymore, the orc should’ve understood whom I meant. “They are following their path to non-being as you were just now. There’s an enormous cliff up ahead which might not even be a cliff, but an enormous magnet drawing the souls towards itself. That’s where we need to go.”

  “In that case, will we be able to return to Barliona if we head in the other direction?” the orc asked, confirming my hunch that his Imitator really was an advanced version. He wanted to survive.

  “It’s possible, but I can’t go find out. First we have to search. We’ll decide how we’re going to get out of here later, after we’ve found everyone I’m looking for. Are you with me? Or are you going to go back?”

  “Gerdom Steelaxe doesn’t betray his allies, whoever they may be!” The orc puffed out his chest proudly and directed his gaze in the direction of the fog-covered cliff. If I understood what the NPC was saying, we would be going together after all.

  I’ll remember our journey to the cliff for a long time. Not so much for the terrible sight of monsters and creatures we passed along the way, as for the resignation imprinted on their faces. The ghosts trudged bleakly to their unknown goal and, the closer we got to the cliff, the more worried I became about Gerdom. What if he’s sucked into the cliff? Then reviving him would’ve been in vain. As his creator, I don’t want to see my creation destroyed.