Congratulations! You’ve just built a Frame of the Charm of Arakh!
I reached into my backpack for the fragment of Blue Ice.
Would you like to build a Charm of Arakh?
Warning! Building a Charm of Arakh will deprive you of 5,000 pt. pure Energy!
Would you like to continue?
Accept/Decline
The moment I pressed Accept, my hands began living a life of their own. This time I wasn’t even scared. The experience was familiar.
My right hand picked up the Frame, my left one, the Unworked Charm. In one smooth motion, I joined the two parts. A flash followed, depleting me of 5,000 pt. Energy. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched Pritus’ and Zachary’s open-mouthed faces.
Congratulations! You’ve built a Charm of Arakh!
All done!
“Is this what I think it is?” Pritus managed.
“I think so, my learned friend,” I replied, walking over to the Brock. “All we have to do now is test it.
Would you like to connect the Charm of Arakh to the Brock: Yes/No
The moment of truth. I pressed Yes, then plugged my creation in. It fit the indentation like a glove.
Congratulations! The Brock’s power charge has grown 5,000 pt.!
Warning! The depletion of the power charge will destroy the Charm.
A small handle appeared next to the plug. Now Pritus and his assistants could control the Brock without me. Excellent.
The only problem was, the Charms had turned out to be disposable. And I only had sixty-nine fragments of Blue Ice left. No idea where I could get any more.
Suddenly an idea struck me. And what if...
“If you refuse to work now, I’ll scrap you, I promise I will!” I murmured, producing the Replicator.
“You sure you’re an engineer?” Pritus laughed, watching me.
I smiled to him. “Good question.”
The moment I placed the Charm into the Replicator’s tray, the system generously offered a new message,
Would you like to start the replication process?
Finally this weird contraption which resembled a school microscope was good for something! It had been worth lugging it around the No-Man’s Lands, after all.
Yes, I would! I would very much like to start this wretched process!
Upon receiving my consent, the strange device came to life. Its tiny cog wheels, springs and little coils started moving.
The charm lying in the tray dematerialized.
What was that now? What if everything went wrong? What if I’d misunderstood the meaning of replication? What if the game developers had their own ideas of what it was supposed to signify?
Twenty seconds seemed like twenty hours. Still, the little machine hadn’t let me down.
Congratulations! The replication process successfully completed!
Replication results:
The Charm of Arach, 3
Time until next replication: 23:59:59
Chapter Eighteen
THE PREVIOUS NIGHT, I’d warned Droy I was going to go on a recon flight. I’d already assembled all the Ennan machines. Camp life was more or less under control. I could safely entrust the whole caboodle to him. We had too many enemies: the Noctean horde as well as the players of both Dark and Light, and we needed to know where they were exactly. I was the only one up to the task. Without the intel we were blind.
There was another reason, though, and I wasn’t in a hurry to divulge it to anyone. And that was the question I’d asked myself a thousand times before: if I failed to discover the Twilight Obelisk, then what? What was to happen then?
And the more I tried to analyze the situation, the grimmer it seemed to me. This Ennan City was in fact a trap. A choice morsel whose job it was to attract all the vultures in the area.
Naturally, I still hoped that this wretched Obelisk would one day declare itself, but in the meantime, our magic protection was dwindling — and nothing was happening.
Honestly, I felt worried: on the brink of panic, even. In such cases, I always need a backup option. Two would be even better. In other words, I was desperate for Plan B.
So while the sphere was still active, I decided to spend some time working on it.
I decided to start with the Silver Mountain Valley which was in the south, about two weeks’ hike from Ennan City and a month’ away from the players’ territories.
That was the Calteans’ original home which they’d been forced to surrender to the Horde. According to them, it used to be a great place to live. Lots of fields and lakes, mountains and meadows. It only snowed there in winter time.
So naturally, I had a question: if the Noctean horde was already on its way here, what was going on at Silver Mountain?
So I decided to check it out.
The thick viscous fog covered the ground like an enormous, endless quilt. I couldn’t see anything below in the white haze which promised an approaching snowstorm. I had to land.
A rocky ridge nearby looked just the thing. Obeying my mental command, Boris began to descend.
The rocks were unbelievable. I stared, transfixed, at their bizarre shapes carved by Mother Nature, thwarted by the realization of my own insignificance in the face of these behemoths. At moments like these, I didn’t want to remember that they were only stage props created by programmers and game designers.
Their powerful tops seemed to be piercing the sky. The thick snow clouds got caught on their massive primeval bodies. Finding a natural wonder like this here had come as a complete surprise.
I looked around me. The barren surface was covered in dry tufts of some scrub sprouting out of every crack and fissure. I couldn’t see a single creature sheltering within their entwined branches: not a bird’s nest nor a single rodent. The place looked dead.
We were still too high. The fog prevented me from seeing anything below.
A touch of frosty breeze brushed my face, growing stronger with every minute. It swept the fog away, replacing it with a fresh crisp transparency. Soon I was looking at a truly fascinating picture.
A boundless valley lay below, studded with clusters of cliffs. The wind had dispersed the last of the fog, revealing the panorama in all its majestic serenity.
But that wasn’t what had made my heart miss a beat. A countless herd of some animals was grazing below at what looked like a deceitfully close distance.
Wait a sec. Aren’t they buffaloes? So many? I almost choked with the discovery.
I leapt into the saddle and told Boris to descend.
A large herd like that was bound to attract unwanted attention. I was almost sure some large predators were already lurking nearby.
The ground below was a filthy mess of slush mixed with animal excrement trampled in by thousands of hooves.
Was it my imagination or the further into No-Man’s Lands I advanced, the more lifelike everything had become around me?
Those were buffaloes all right. They were slightly bigger than those bred by the Calteans, tall with long powerful legs and broad hooves. Their long hair was gray spotted with black. They had small ears and long horns that pointed forward, crowning their large heads.
Without straying too far from their enormous herd, buffaloes grazed calmly, scooping the mud with their hooves in order to get to the blue moss covering the frozen ground. The air hung heavy with the smell of dung.
The herd had ignored our arrival entirely. Either the wind was blowing toward us or they were too short-sighted. Or most likely, they simply didn’t consider my flying beast to be a threat.
The boundless valley stretched to the horizon. There was enough blue moss here to feed dozens of herds like this one. The buffaloes flowed across the valley unhurriedly like a gray river, feeding, bellowing, defecating, leaving the ground in their wake plowed as if by a thousand tractors.
We continued our flight along a rocky ridge that stretched the entire length of the valley. I noticed several streams babbling happily amid the cliffs. A few minutes
later, I came across a family of wild pigs.
I decided to stop for a while to watch them from above. We landed on a cliff ledge. Immediately Boris stretched out on the rocks, lounging happily.
I too was enjoying the peaceful break watching a totally cute family of wild pigs. Their daddy the boar was enormous, the size of an adult rhino. His powerful yellow tusks protruded far from under his lower lip, making him look a bit like a forklift. He used them to peruse through the frozen ground with ease, leaving deep furrows in his wake. He was a mountain of muscle propped on fat stubby legs.
A few smaller males were feeding nearby, snorting contentedly as they dug through the earth. The tuskless females followed closely behind with their snouts pressed to the ground, vacuuming up any remaining food. Baby pigs frolicked around, squeaking happily and adding an extra note of cuteness to their family idyll.
I leaned against Boris’ soft belly, admiring the scene. I’d always loved animals and enjoyed watching them. And now, with every hour that I spent in this dangerous and formidable land, I realized I was becoming one with its forest, growing into these cliffs and this valley.
I definitely liked it here, and not just because of the breathtaking views. I was yet to see a mob below level 50. The daddy boar was level 600+! A huge territory densely populated with high-level mobs was an excellent addition to my Plan B.
The forest beyond the cliff ridge looked perfectly normal. I even noticed some conifers, their evergreen needles standing out bright amid the bare trees still awakening from their hibernation.
Spring was in the air. After the lifeless and silent snow dunes, the valley felt like some kind of wildlife metropolis.
A flock of birds arrived and began dashing around on their own errands, chirruping and trilling in a multitude of calls.
We resumed our flight and banked to the right, following the buffalo herd. We seemed to be heading in the same direction. Such a huge mass of potential prey was bound to attract predators.
Speak of the devil.
I could clearly see a large pack of some black animals exit the forest. Big cats, by the looks of it. Their young, restless and quarrelsome, followed the pride.
A group of a dozen adult felines led the pride. They slid across the valley like unstoppable black torpedoes, stealing up on the unsuspecting herd in a predatory semicircle. The sight was breathtaking.
The cats’ giant leader broke into a run, leaping toward the buffaloes who seemed to be already aware of the danger. The cat’s blood-curdling growl sent shivers down my spine.
The buffaloes nearest to it seemed to have frozen in panic. Admittedly, I couldn’t move, either.
Finally, the herd heaved and flowed away, trying to escape their pursuers. Still, they’d wasted too much time. The leading cat, as fast as an arrow, rammed the edge of the herd and clawed its way into the very thick of the terrified animals. Drunk on blood and their fear, it towered over their gray bodies.
The other cats followed, trampling the poor buffaloes and ripping them apart. Seeing the adults feasting on their prey, the cubs darted for a long-overdue meal too, rolling into the mutilated herd like a ball of yelping, fighting fluff.
“I think we’ve seen enough,” I grumbled to Boris. “Let’s go.”
Midday enveloped the valley and the cliffs in its warm sunny veil. Unable to resist the all-pervasive sunrays, the snow had melted into hundreds of little streams trickling away from their home to new unknown horizons.
The winter-tired cliffs offered their frozen flanks to the sun. Spring was traveling across the valley, her every fleeting green step reviving the frigid, unyielding soil from its anabiosis.
The more I saw, the more I liked this location. At least it was much warmer here. The further we flew, the nicer the temperature got.
We’d parted ways with the giant buffalo herd which continued its flow deep into the valley while we were still skirting it, following the mountain ridge.
The cliffs seemed to be changing too. Overgrown with low shrubs and new grass, they now resembled fluffy green giants. Bird flocks clamored amid the greenery, busy with their own agendas.
We landed on a mountain top. I jumped down from the saddle and stretched my legs, then reached into my backpack for my fur coat. With my back to the valley, I unfolded it while casting an absent-minded eye over the forest to the other side of the ridge.
I froze in disbelief. A thin streak of smoke rose swirling to the sky from the thick of the forest quite close to where we now stood.
I blinked and rubbed my eyes, then looked again. The weak gray trail hadn’t disappeared anywhere. It reached bolt upright to the sky and dissipated high overhead.
What was that now? Players? Other Calteans? Or other NPCs?
I checked my clothes and weapons and leapt back into saddle.
Boris made off toward the smoke.
As we flew, I gave it some thought. It probably wouldn’t be a good idea to expose ourselves to any Tom, Dick or Harry. The fact that they didn’t even try to conceal the smoke could only mean one of two things: they were either clueless beginners or they had no one to hide from. You had to be really careful in this world of hungry, toothy, angry mobs who considered you to be their rightful meal. What kind of creature could it be that could control fire but wasn’t afraid of prowling cats or Noctean hordes?
How sure was I they would be happy to see me?
Lots of questions, and the only way to answer them was by going on a recon mission. Right, Sir Olgerd, off you go!
* * *
The smoke trail brought me to a small farm surrounded by a flimsy low stockade. Parts of it had collapsed, revealing the still-smoldering skeleton of what must have once been a log hut.
The stockade appeared very old. The logs it was built from were dark and dried with age, crudely sharpened and spotted with patches of green moss. This looked like an illustration to a Grimms’ tale: the stockade baring its rickety teeth against a backdrop of gnarly gray wood.
Having made a few circles over the farm and found no signs of life, I decided to drop down.
Having landed by the forest edge, I looked around me, listening out for any sounds. Then I noticed some weird paw prints on the ground, leading toward the stockade.
At first they were large with sharp claws. After a few feet, they seemed to have transformed, becoming smaller and smaller, until they reached the stockade where they turned into the prints of a small human.
I got the impression that something huge and very carnivorous, judging by the size of its claws, had walked out of the woods very recently and headed for the farm grounds — and this something had turned into a human in the process, the size of a ten-year-old child.
Then again, I could be wrong. I’m not a boy scout, am I?
I followed the footprints until they brought me to a hole in the stockade. Here, the thick black logs clumsily driven into the loose ground had listed as if having been hit by something very big and very heavy.
Whoever had lived on the farm had paid a high price for their recklessness. They should have fixed the stockade when they’d had the chance. Apparently, whoever had left the weird footprints in the snow didn’t forgive this kind of oversight.
I peeked through the gap. The entire farm was about an acre. All of its outbuildings were burnt. Everything was covered in brown spots of caked blood. The trampled snow sported all kinds of footprints, including the clawed ones. Oh. I must have been right, then.
This looked like one of the remote Caltean settlements. Maybe a family which had split away from their clan. Judging by the miserable quality of the fence and the buildings, they’d been in a bad way. Or had they relaxed without the threat of an external enemy?
God knows. In any case, this farm was dead.
Time for us to go.
Chapter Nineteen
LESS THAN TWO HOURS LATER, Boris brought us to an endless expanse of water. It was marked on the map as the White Sea. Between the heavy swell, the freezing wind and the dar
k clouds, I wouldn’t call its shores particularly welcoming.
Despite the obnoxious weather, Boris soared effortlessly under the clouds on his powerful wings. He even looked pleased, enjoying this bit of extreme flying.
I was about to tell him to head back inland when I noticed a few dark oblong spots on the shore. From afar, they resembled the dead bodies of either beached seals or very large birds.
That wouldn’t be so bad if it wasn’t for the way they were positioned. The bodies were lined up neatly, as if by a sentient hand.
When I approached, I realized I was only half-right. The dark oblong bodies turned out to be upended boats lying on the shore. They looked very old, too, their blackened sides cracked, rotten and gaping with holes.
What did this imply? The first thing that came to mind was that there must have been a settlement of sentient creatures nearby. They must have dumped their old boats on the shore to rot. The game offered no prompts when I focused on the boats which meant they were simply part of the scenery.
Wait a sec. Now this was getting interesting.
A skeleton lay on the sand next to the last boat. Even with its skull smashed beyond recognition, I couldn’t mistake a Noctean for any other race under the sun. And the stone axe which was still lying under the boat was a sure giveaway.
Plus, all the footprints around were old and barely discernible. These weren’t Nocteans.
How very interesting.
“Let’s follow them, kiddo,” I told Boris, leaping back into the saddle.
We didn’t have far to go. I discovered the next skeleton lying about five hundred feet further on.
This Noctean had large boulders piled up on him. His head was a mess. Apparently, he’d tried to climb out from under the rocks: I could see that by the deep claw marks left on the boulders’ surface.
Now why did this look familiar?
The Twilight Obelisk (Mirror World Book #4) LitRPG series Page 18
