Sting and Gray guffawed.
"Now listen, Digger," the gang's leader said. "When you come round and get some loot together, come and see me. Off you go."
The last thing I felt before the lights went out was a huge bone hammer landing on top of my head.
Chapter Eight
"I'm an idiot! I should have known!" I circled my little room under Dmitry's watchful stare following me from the computer screen. "Who did I think I was — Mr. Smartass? My prided paranoia was having a day off! Why didn't it set my alarm bells ringing? I followed that wizzy through the forest without a single thought! Was I deaf and blind or something? He wasn't just yelling — he was calling his masters!"
"This is funny," my brother added calmly, offering his two cents. "They weren't expecting you, were they? They couldn't have been so smart as to calculate the exact time of your landing."
"Calculate, yeah right," I grumbled, slumping back into the chair. "No one could do that."
He nodded. "Exactly. They just chose a nice secluded clearing, sent their agents out in every direction and sat there waiting new..."
"New idiots?" I finished his phrase for him. "Like myself, is that it? Just think that I spent all that time hiding and watching my own back, and what for? They've fleeced me like the proverbial lamb! Just because I felt responsible — for whom? Someone I didn't even know! He didn't give a damn about me and my problems! He couldn't care less about how I felt!"
New thoughts arrived one after the other, tearing my brain apart.
Dmitry maintained a tactful silence, allowing me to get it off my chest.
"The loss of all the expensive gear is only half the problem," I jumped back to my feet and resumed my pacing of the room. "I can't really blame Vitar or the robbers, either. The way they make their living in the game reflects their human nature, that's it. May God judge them. It doesn't mean I'm trying to justify their actions — they're lowlifes, as simple as that. But that's not the point. I'm angry with myself! How stupid. I should have smelled a rat. Now I've lost all that time."
Dmitry still didn't say anything. He opened a new pack of cigarettes and clicked a lighter. He didn't even look at me. Actually, I got the impression he wasn't even listening to me.
Strangely enough, his behavior had curbed my bout of hysterics. My anger began to subside, replaced by a peculiar peaceful feeling which I later recognized as apathy.
I slumped into the chair and closed my eyes.
His voice came after a pause. "Better now?"
I opened my eyes. "I think so."
"Good," he let out a puff of blue smoke. "Keep your hair on. You're not the first one and you're definitely not the last. Everyone goes through this, especially at lower levels. Some people die several times a day, losing everything they have. So what? You get up, wipe away the snot and keep going."
"What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," I repeated the Glasshouse's unofficial motto.
"Exactly. You're mad now but later you'll agree with me."
He stubbed out the cigarette. "It may sound trite but Mirror World adverts don't lie when they promise 'boundless opportunities to everyone'," he said with a sarcastic smile. "The game rules form a new behavioral model. Who are you in the real world? A skinny bespectacled nerd. Every bully can kick your butt without even noticing it. Any attempts to stand up for yourself — and you will try, I know you — might have negative consequences for your own body. The scope of your injuries will only depend on your opponent's weight class."
"What are you driving at?"
"I'll tell you now. Had your own level been closer to 25, to say nothing of your two pets, this PK encounter might have had a totally different outcome. And one more thing..."
He sat up and laid both his hands onto the table, which made him resemble Dad even more. "Your main mistake was, you were considering yourself small fry in this boundless virtual ocean. You were constantly on high alert for predators' attacks, forgetting that you too can grow a set of teeth. Your idea of 'quiet inconspicuous farming' was doomed from the start. You're being pulled into a powerful whirlpool of events; being passive just won't cut it. It's survival of the fittest out there. The sooner you realize it and, most importantly, the sooner you accept it, the faster you'll adapt to this new environment."
He leaned closer to the screen. "Listen, brother. You need to understand. You're not a Grinder anymore. You're a warrior. So behave like one."
"Warrior, yeah right."
"Cut out the sarcasm, will you? You know very well that I'm right."
He was. I had nothing to say to that.
Dmitry must have understood me. He cut his preaching short and moved on to the business at hand, "Have they taken everything everything? What have you got left?"
"Only my bag. And the Monks loot. I have the beads and some pebbles. That's all, I think."
"Gold?"
"They took the obligatory 1% of the money in my purse. I only had thirty gold there so it's peanuts. The rest of the money is in the bank. All the quest items and no-drops are with me. The slingshot, too."
"Lost a lot of XP?"
"Not really."
He nodded. "Normal. You and this Gloom guy have a big level gap."
"How did he do it, by the way?" I asked.
"By smoking Stompers, probably," Dmitry replied. "Or whatever. Lots of weird monsters out there. The location's bestiary is long out of date. The developers need to test new mobs somewhere so they keep adding occasional surprises for the newbs. But I don't think there's anything above level 30 there. The developers can't overrun the location's restrictions. How are your stats, actually?"
I shook my head. "So-so. Threes and fours mainly."
"Call it a C-student, not bad," he grinned. "Never mind. It'll all come back. You have your pets, that's the main thing. Have you decided what to do next?"
I rubbed my forehead. Then rearranged my glasses. "Nothing's changed, really. I need to do the instance. Luckily, there's no deadline. No one's gonna be in the way there. It might take longer, that's all."
"Good decision. You'll level up a bit and get some practice. You need to get the hang of your pets in combat too. Zombies are not the same as crabs. They won't stand in one place snapping their claws."
"I know," I mumbled. "Some newb location this is!"
He smirked. "You don't know the half of it yet."
I grinned back. The day's pressure seemed to have gradually subsided, all thanks to his natural positivity.
"One more thing," I said. "Please not a word of this to Sveta."
He nodded. "That goes without saying."
"And... I might need to stay virtual for a couple of days."
"If you say so."
I thought he might object. But he must have realized that time was an issue.
I smiled. "See you, then."
"Good luck."
* * *
Two hours and a long conversation with Sveta later, I walked downstairs to my capsule.
Sergei the module controller seemed happy to see me. "Good evening, Oleg!"
"Hi."
"We received a message from you an hour ago saying you're in for an extended immersion."
"That's right."
"For how long?"
"Depends. At least a couple of days. Maybe three."
"I see," he nodded. "Then I have to ask you to come here first," he pointed at a white chair. "We'll fit you out with a catheter. Doctor's orders. He's prescribed you some vitamins and minerals in case of extended immersions."
Five minutes later, I was already lying in the capsule watching the lid of my "coffin" lowering slowly.
Darkness enveloped me.
Enter
The first thing I saw when they switched the lights back on was the gray rocky beach of Crab Island. This was the game's resurrection point choice for me.
It was probably for the better. Good job I hadn't had the time to switch my resurrection point to the Fort. This place was nice and quiet — and it
abounded with ammo. Which was an important thing indeed.
Rain pelted my bare back and shoulders. I still could sense some pressure weighing me down but way less than on my first day here. Level 12 began to show.
I did a quick check of my inventory, with a cooler head this time.
All I had left in my bag were the steel beads, a handful of pebbles and a few vials containing Monk slime and venom. The system's consolation gift. I gave a nervous shrug. All my hard-earned stuff and gear was gone — probably already shared between Gloom's gangsters.
I slumped to the ground. Immediately, the cold stone began to siphon whatever leftover warmth I still had in my body.
With the loss of my clothes, this had become a totally different ball game. Plus I couldn't buy anything from the warehouse keeper: the alternative quest branch had taken care of that. I wasn't welcome in the village anymore.
I could ask Dreadlock to sell me something but I had a funny feeling he had more important problems. When I'd hung suspended in the air, I'd managed to get a glimpse of the name tags on the other chests. Dreadlock's was there too. The robbers must have smoked his group minutes before my illustrious arrival. I should send him word anyway, but not now.
Trying to find a vendor among other players was a chancy and not particularly clever option.
One solution was to enter the instance and get some clothes there.
Now, my stats.
Protection, Speed and Health had 4 pt. each. Stamina and Strength, 3 each. Intellect: 2 pt. Not much, really. Almost the same as I'd had at the start of my first immersion. Once again I'd turned into a clumsy blob of flesh.
I used Health to bring Life up to 120. Energy was what really worried me. I only had 100 pt. left. I might need to "unplug" Prankster and switch him to autonomy mode, raising his Stamina. Luckily, he had 5 available points after having made level 10.
So I did. My little Grison was a free spirit now! Funny really: his Energy bar had 30 pt. more than that of his master. Me, I didn't even have my starting clothes: the rain had ruined them when I'd been busy doing level 8.
Seeing as my Stamina left much to be desired, I might have to wait before applying new Bind Lines onto pebbles. Every step of it took half of whatever meager Energy reserves I now had. Never mind. Single-use pebbles would do nicely for a start. Those by the water's edge were actually the best, almost uniform and just the right size.
That's sorted, then. I walked toward the ocean gingerly, trying not to cut my bare feet on the rocks. It was remarkably quiet, the rustle of the rain the only sound I could hear.
A vicious-looking Ennan stared back at me from the water's rippling surface. What a sight. My beard stood on end, my hair so scraggly that a sea bird could make a nest in it.
My reflection curved its lips in a smirk. How funny. When I'd looked at it right now, this was exactly what I'd expected to see. Not the respectable citizen Oleg Ivanenko whom I'd seen in the mirror countless times before, but Olgerd the Ennan.
Chapter Nine
"Well, guys? Second time lucky?" I murmured, peering at where the drawbridge was supposed to be.
Boris shook like a dog by way of an answer, showering me with cold drizzle. All I could do was grin and bear it. It was so incredibly cold! My brain was seriously playing up. How could I convince my little gray cells that a bare-chested man pelted by the freezing rain and staggering under the tree-bending wind in the middle of the pitch-black night is actually warm and comfortable?
The night was indeed dark. Even with my famed Ennan eyesight I couldn't see much at all. Which was actually a good thing.
"Never mind. No good standing here chattering our teeth, is it? Let's do it!"
Boris couldn't agree more. The apprehension of combat made him tense up. He'd grown considerably: his Health was up 5 pt. and Satiety, 500. Besides, every new level gave him +2 to Damage. So basically, he was our main hope now.
I gingerly rearranged my backpack and climbed into the saddle. "Off we go, kiddo. Just be gentle."
Softly like a cat he slid out of the undergrowth and darted for the drawbridge in long rapid leaps.
My slingshot was ready. I'd spent the last two hours collecting new pebbles on the beach.
The dark outline of the fortress loomed out of the darkness, its rusted portcullis grinning at me.
Whoever designed this stone monster was a genius. It really got to you.
As we were crossing the bridge, a new system message popped up,
Warning! This location can be too dangerous for players of your level! Solo players are advised to abstain from visiting the Fort.
I ignored it. As we approached the portcullis, another message appeared,
We strongly suggest you make the Fort your new resurrection point. Accept: Yes/No
Once you enter the instance, no other player can do the same unless he or she is a member of your group.
I clicked Yes.
There was no deadline for storming the fortress. I had all the time in the world. Also, the Fort defenders' levels were supposed to adjust to that of the player. Forums kept warning against some very nasty abilities the Lich received on reaching level 30. The loot was worth it, of course, but all the combat expenses might not be worth it.
I reread the Welcome message, simply to work up the nerve by reminding myself that this was still a game. The place was just too believable and spooky.
Never mind. Off we go!
I ducked under the half-lowered portcullis and stepped in. Then I stopped, allowing my eyes to adjust to the dark.
I stood in a long stone corridor. Narrow arrowslits lined the walls high overhead. I just hoped that a company of archers wasn't the Lich's first surprise.
I knew very little about fortifications — if the truth were known, I knew nothing at all. Still, a long-forgotten word had escaped the recesses of my teenage memories. Was it berbekin? Or barbican? Something like that.
The floor by the walls was littered with heaped-up rags.
I took a better look.
Nothing special. Just some useless stage props. I shouldn't expect anything of interest to happen straight away.
I kept going.
It was probably time to let Prankster out. It was more fun with the three of us.
He appeared in his signature lightning-bolt style. Was it my imagination or had my little four-legged friend grown a little? Then again, what's so surprising? He was level 10 already, after all.
Prankster didn't seem to like it here, either. His little nose was twitching, sniffing the air. He kept close to Boris without venturing too far on his own.
Finally the corridor ended, blocked with what looked like some steel bars ripped to pieces. The splintered halves of the fat door were shattered.
According to the Sarge, the wizard had been instrumental to the successful storming of the fortress. Which meant that he was responsible for all this mess. And in order to get back from the Isles, I was supposed to defeat him! Judging by the havoc he'd wreaked, I had my work cut out for me.
We cautiously threaded our way amid chunks of stone, door boards black with age and rusty fragments of the bars. Finally the corridor ended.
What did we have here? A small inner yard surrounded by tall walls. It felt a bit like sitting in a well.
Which meant that if any potential attackers successfully completed the corridor, their troubles weren't yet over. They entered this "stone well" where they were showered with arrows, rocks and other unpleasant surprises.
Having said that, hadn't our ancestors stormed fortresses just like this one with only a sword and shield? I could only envy their fearless spirit.
Boris growled, distracting me. I swung round. Aha. The first inhabitant of this giant graveyard.
A huge pile of rags lying by the opposite wall shifted.
My two group members took up their positions. Boris stepped forward; Prankster moved to my right, ready to heal me whenever necessary. I strung my sling taut and stepped back.
In the meantime, this unknown and admittedly slow enemy had finally scrambled out of his hole. His hiding place was comprised of all kinds of junk: rotting leaves and smelly straw, pieces of tattered clothing and bones picked clean.
Finally he stood up to his full height.
Oh well. What a creature. Had I mentioned archers? Well, he was one, as large as life and twice as ugly.
The system, however, had its own name for him,
Name: a Walking Skeleton
Level: 12
Very well. As an archer, he wasn't really dangerous. Unless of course he could shoot his stringless bow one-handed.
Bits of tattered clothing still clung to his ribs and legs. An empty quiver dangled behind his back. The remaining piece of bowstring was caught on the bones of his right hand, the bow itself dragging along the ground behind him.
His eye sockets glowed with darkness. It reached deep into your heart, trying to break you, subjugate and enslave you.
Spooky.
The skeleton had already covered half the distance toward me.
"Boris, attack!"
In one smooth motion (practiced to perfection on the crabs), Boris soared several feet into the air, then dove onto the enemy. He nailed the undead to the ground and tore his skull apart in a few strokes of his powerful beak.
Congratulations!
We thank you, Sir Olgerd, for releasing the soul trapped in this poor body by ancient witchcraft!
That was it. I hadn't even had a chance to use my slingshot.
I gave Boris a slap on his back (he looked terribly pleased with himself) and bent over the pile of bones that the monster had left behind.
Not much.
Six arrowheads: four armor-piercing, two more for hunting. In my bag you go.
Next.
A copper ring with +3 to Speed. Hopelessly oxidized, with only 5 Durability left. Will do.
I slid the ring on my finger. Good enough. My Speed had promptly risen. 7 points, not bad!
The Way of the Outcast (Mirror World Book #3) LitRPG series Page 10
