The Way of the Outcast (Mirror World Book #3) LitRPG series

by Alexey Osadchuk

  "My son," Droy's quivering voice confirmed my suspicions. "Look."

  He turned back the blanket of animal pelts and pointed at the young man's chest.

  Jesus. Where had they gotten all these debuffs from? I took a closer look. The youngster was in a bad way. His Life bar barely glowed at 2%.

  "Hold on, man," I said softly, reaching for another scroll.

  "Don't move, you wretched Lightie!" the angry voice made both me and Droy jump.

  I swung round. A skinny Caltean stood in the doorway. He was dressed in a long muddy-colored robe hung with bone charms. A long white beard, a hooked nose, spiteful gray eyes and a perfectly bald scalp: not a pleasant individual to look at.

  Figures of warriors hovered behind the shaman's back (no points for guessing who it was). They had a rather guilty look. Apparently, my new friend was a respected tribe elder.

  Droy frowned regally. "Who said you had the right to enter my house, Laosh?"

  "And who said you had the right to bring a stranger to the camp without my permission?" the shaman retorted.

  "He's not a stranger to me! Twice he saved my life!"

  That was admittedly good to hear.

  "And you, Laosh — where were you when my wife was dying?" Droy continued. "And why won't you help my son now, seeing as you're already here?"

  "You know very well there's no cure for Lithron venom," the shaman frowned, shaking his long gnarly staff in the air.

  "No cure? Are you sure? What's this, then?" Droy victoriously bared his arm.

  Everybody gasped. Even the shaman looked slightly taken aback.

  Then we were showered with questions. "How did you do it?" "Tell us!" Lots of people seemed to have the same problem here.

  "I know what it is!" the despicable old shaman finally announced, pointing a crooked finger at me. "It's Light magic!"

  Rather than yelling at the host in his own house, he'd have better clipped his fingernails once in a while.

  The others recoiled. They didn't seem to like alien witchcraft here.

  "This was the will of the Higher Beings!" Droy announced, sticking out his chest.

  I glanced at the sick youth. His Life was at 1% already. While the others were engaged in their pissing contest, the boy could die.

  "Droy," I said under my breath. "Your son is dying."

  He bared his sword. "Heal him! Whoever tries to stand in his way, I'll personally wrap his guts around my sword!"

  I hurried to activate the scroll. The poisonous debuff disappeared in a cascade of golden glow.

  The crowd heaved a collective sigh behind my back.

  "And? Olgerd? Did it work?"

  I stepped aside. "Take a look."

  The happy father leaned over his son's bed and ripped the bandages away, exposing his perfectly healthy chest.

  "Now he needs some sleep," I said in the patronizing tone of a doctor. "Make sure there's enough food at hand. By sunset, your son will be capable of eating your biggest bull."

  Droy ran his shaking hand over the youth's hair. It was probably my imagination but I thought I saw his eyes well with tears.

  A light touch to my shoulder distracted me from the happy scene.

  I turned round. The shaman had already made himself scarce. A few of the warriors stood behind me, hope in their eyes.

  "Listen, Lightie... any chance you could heal me too?" the tallest one asked.

  "Me too..."

  "And me too, please..."

  "And my son..."

  I nodded my agreement. I just hoped I had enough scrolls. In any case, I could always pop back to the Citadel and buy some more.

  Oh wow. My Reputation was definitely going up.

  * * *

  My fears had proven true. Sick Calteans started coming in their droves. I barely had time to produce new scrolls. Droy's tent had turned into some sort of field hospital. My popularity had truly soared by the evening when Tim, his son, had finally come round and asked for something to eat.

  I had to send a lot of them back though. Not because I didn't have enough scrolls but simply because I didn't know much about healing.

  All sorts of people kept coming, asking me to heal their broken legs and crossed eyes, sore throats and missing arms. It had taken Droy some time to explain to his fellow kinsmen that I wasn't a healer and that all I could do was extract Lithron venom.

  As I did my healing bit, I kept an ear out for any useful information. Admittedly, the Calteans didn't conceal anything from "the doctor". They turned out to be a chatty bunch.

  So what had I gleaned? The Red Owls used to live in the Silver Mountain Valley behind the Ardean Range. Then one day they'd been attacked by some Nocteans who forced them off their lands.

  Fear and loathing filled the Calteans' voices whenever they mentioned the Nocteans. According to the warriors, they were invincible by their sheer weight of numbers. That's how it had come to pass that their Clan Council had decided that in order to survive, the Calteans would have to leave their valley.

  The Calteans were actually a settled nation. They weren't used to nomadic lifestyle. Add to this the fact they'd had to leave their dwellings in a great hurry, leaving behind a wealth of hard-earned possessions.

  Some had decided against leaving: those were mainly the old and sick. Basically, this was the local apocalypse of an entire nation. My heart went out to them.

  Having listened to their stories, I'd come to the conclusion that the main reason behind the Calteans' defeat was their lack of unity. Integrity was an alien word to them.

  Firstly, the Calteans counted several dozen smaller clans, each ruled by a shaman chief — who was considered the ultimate power on earth. Imagine the scope of his ambition.

  Secondly, the clans were constantly feuding with each other, their vendettas sometimes erupting in long-term military conflicts. Even though the Noctean invasion had happened during a hiatus of relative peace, none of the shamans had even considered the advantages this fact offered. Basically, they didn't give a damn about their neighbors.

  That's how the Calteans' old grudges had played a nasty trick on them. Even when they absolutely had to unite in the face of a mutual enemy, those pig-headed pagans refused to bury the hatchet.

  As a triumph of their diplomatic efforts, they'd managed to call up a Council of Chiefs. After a prolonged high-tension, air-blue-with-cussing dispute, all they had achieved was agreement on their exodus' general direction. But they'd gotten so hot under the collar in the process that it was decided best if every clan went their own way.

  Predictably, the strongest clans got the best pick and moved southward without even realizing they were heading directly for the Citadel walls.

  The weaklings had to make do with the locations situated to the east and west of their old homes. Trust the Red Owls — the poorest of the poor and the weakest of the weak — to get the worst pick. Strangely enough, the Caltean Council hadn't even considered the northern direction, which was exactly where the Twilight Castle stood.

  All this offered a lot of food for thought.

  It had taken the Red Owls a long time to get to the Ardean Range. They had kept stubbornly walking like a herd of migrating bison, suffering constant attacks from predators which took out their best warriors.

  Poisonous debuffs were part of the same story. During one of their recon missions, the Owls' scouts had come across a Lithron nest in a deep mountainous gorge. My patients described them as "stinky, bitey, furry beasts". Many a warrior had died that day; the survivors had all been "rewarded" with the debuffs.

  By my estimation, had I not interfered just in time, the clan could have lost about another fifty of their strongest men. No wonder my Reputation had soared. The sheer fact that they'd stopped calling me Lightie was already a victory.

  It looked like we might need to have a talk. I had a few things to tell my new friends.

  When the flood of the sick by the tent began to dwindle, I called Droy aside.

  "You wanna tal
k?" he asked.

  "Yeah," I mouthed. "Somewhere no one can hear."

  He nodded at his tent. "Let's go in."

  As we entered, he pointed at a trestle bed by the fire. "Sit down," he said. "And speak freely. No one can hear us here."

  "Before I say anything, I need to ask you something."

  "Go ahead."

  "Where exactly are you heading?" I ventured.

  He grinned. "Had you asked me this morning, I'd have had to kill you. But you've saved my son. I owe you."

  "Is it so serious? Well, I'm sorry..."

  "It's all right," he brushed my apology away. "Laosh the shaman had a vision. We must go south west."

  "South west, where exactly?"

  "Dunno. That's what Laosh said."

  "Why south west?" I tried to find out more.

  "Spirits told him there was a valley on the other side of the Ardean Range. Lots of grass for the cattle, lots of game to hunt. We'll be safe there. That's what he said."

  I could almost see this Laosh the shaman's pantomime at the Council of Chiefs. Everybody must have simply ignored the old boy. In the meantime, he'd already come up with a Promised Land story for his clansmen.

  I nodded. "I see. What else did the spirits tell him?"

  "Nothing. That's it."

  "So you don't know what lies on the other side of the range, do you?"

  He shook his head. "We sent out some scouts but they haven't been back yet."

  I heaved a sigh.

  "Have you seen them?" Droy's voice filled with hope. "They were our best warriors. The best hunters."

  'Sorry. I haven't seen them. But I do know what lies on the other side."

  He sat up, his glare glowing, his mouth slightly open. "Speak up."

  "There's no valley on the other side of the Ardean Range."

  It took him some time to take this in. Then he sprang to his feet and began pacing the tent. His hand kept rhythmically closing around his sword hilt. He knitted his bushy eyebrows, his black beard standing bolt upright.

  "I knew it! I knew something wasn't right!" he whispered furiously without stopping. "Old fart! Spirits talking to him! What a skunk! I just can't believe it..."

  He froze. "Wait here!" he snapped and darted out of the tent.

  In the following few minutes, the tent became crowded with angry bearded warriors levels 200 to 270. Apparently, none of them had needed a special invitation.

  Finally they all sat down in three semicircles in front of me. Droy stepped into the center of the tent and raised his hand, stopping their talking and whispers.

  He went on with a brief opening speech on the subject of his sacred brotherly friendship with all those present, interspersed by occasional statements whose meaning was best described as "You know me!" and "You've fought with me!", giving me ample opportunity to study the newcomers.

  Their rugged faces were furrowed with scars, both old and new. These guys had been through a lot — and they'd survived to tell the tale. The clan's elite. Besides, it turned out I already knew most of them. Earlier that day, I'd healed many of them or their family members. This was encouraging. I had a funny feeling I knew why Droy had called them all up.

  "Olgerd, tell them! Tell them what you know!"

  What did I say?

  Slowly I rose to my feet and took Droy's place at the center of the tent. "Ask your questions. I'll answer them if I can."

  "Droy says there's no valley on the other side of the Range," the red-bearded Arrum began. "He says the shaman's prophesy was wrong. What is there then?"

  "A huge river. It's called the River Quiet. It's seething with monsters this big."

  "And behind it?" demanded Seet, a guy who resembled a large weathered boulder.

  "The Rocky desert. Nothing grows there," I replied patiently.

  "Anyone live there?"

  I nodded. "I didn't get a chance to have a good look at them. They're too fast and there're lots of them."

  "And what lies beyond the desert?" asked the mountainous Orman.

  "The Quartan Valley."

  At the word "valley" they perked up.

  "Don't hold your breath. The place is absolutely packed with giant spiders."

  "How big?" the bald-headed Shorve asked.

  I cast a look around me. "They're about as tall as this tent is high."

  They were a sorry sight. The good thing was, they believed me. My Reputation kept working in my favor.

  "Beyond the Valley lies the Blackwood," I said. "But it doesn't matter. Even if you manage to survive crossing the river, the Rocky Desert, the Spider Valley and the Blackwood, you won't be able to advance much further."

  "Why not?" they asked almost in unison.

  "Because you'll walk right into the walls of Maragar Citadel where you'll share the fate of all the other clans."

  Dead silence hung in the tent.

  "Do you mean that-" Droy began, shattered by the news.

  "Exactly. I can even venture a guess that those of your clans that headed east must have eventually walked into some Dark fortress, too. I'll tell you more: I'm pretty convinced that at the moment, the Red Owls are the biggest and strongest among your clans. Both Light and Dark fortress defenders are very well armed. They have high walls defended by the best warriors and wizards."

  Bang! I'd just lost 200 pt. Reputation with Mellenville!

  Then again, it was only logical. I'd just revealed some of the Citadel's secrets to its potential enemy.

  My path as the outcast had begun.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  "You stupid idiots! Who did you believe? A stranger, a snake oil salesman? He's only been here a few days and already you believe everything he says? By doubting my words you doubt the will of the Higher Beings! Have you ever thought that he might have come here on purpose? What if his Lightie bosses sent him here deliberately, to talk us out of crossing the Ardean Range? In which case, Droy, you're an idiot! Did it ever occur to you that Lighties might have captured our scouts and tortured them into disclosing our plans?"

  I was witness to a local revolution. In just a few days, Droy had managed to stir quite a kerfuffle. Still, the shaman hadn't been born yesterday, either. The old schemer hadn't wasted his time. While Droy was simple-heartedly trying to tell his clanmates about the looming danger, Laosh the shaman had managed to secure support from the clan's strongest members. He'd promptly managed to call up the council and every time Droy had delivered his passionate yet unarticulated speech, the shaman would tear his arguments to bits.

  He really was on a power trip, that one. Oh how he loved every win he scored over his inexperienced opponent! How smug he was, playing with words and choosing just the right expressions to illustrate his point! Droy had nothing left to do but watch forlornly as his only hope to save his people dwindled to nothing.

  Oh, yes. My friends had lost this round, that much was clear. All of them were warriors, hunters, shepherds and craftsmen: simple-hearted folk unschooled in the fine art of scheming and politics.

  It takes a different mindset to battle someone like this Laosh. You need to know when to play along with them, when to offer a baksheesh or even to receive it. Men like him stop at nothing — and strangely enough, this is also their biggest weakness. Sooner or later, people's trust in them tends to erode, forcing them to seek support from weaker — albeit just as hungry — allies. That means sharing your hard-earned power with your new friends, closing your eyes to their appetites — until the moment when they shed their masks of humble anonymity to overthrow the ruler reckless enough to share the precious resource of his power with them.

  Besides, Droy tended to press his point too hard. Once the first excitement had died down, no one seemed to care that much. When you spend too much time waiting for a disaster to strike, you sort of get used to the thought and aren't that afraid anymore.

  Same thing had happened to the Calteans. At first they'd been really scared, desperate to do something ASAP. But then their everyday concerns
had sort of dulled the initial shock. Subconsciously all the clan members wanted to hear their chief's speech — and Laosh had delivered, giving them exactly what they wanted to hear.

  Admittedly, no one was skeptical of Droy's story. He was no village idiot either: to the contrary, he was a respected commander and a great warrior. Which was a big fat plus to our cause.

  Laosh didn't realize it yet. He was too busy enjoying the sound of his own voice. In the meantime, the grains of doubt sown by Droy were bound to germinate.

  All we had to do was bide our time. We needed to send out another scout group and wait for their report. As soon as the Calteans realized that their precious shaman was taking them for a long and pointless ride, I would be ready to offer an alternative.

  Laosh' fierce voice distracted me from my musings. Wait a sec. Was he talking to me?

  "Speak up! Cat got your tongue? Have you got nothing to say to us?"

  That's right. He was talking to me. Was it some sort of speaking duel?

  I knew what he was up to. But I equally knew I was going to lose this game. My Reputation just wasn't up to it yet. Laosh had had all the time in the world to level his own up.

  Very well, mister. Thanks for the opportunity, anyway.

  I wasn't going to try to convince the rich and powerful. They were unlikely to sacrifice their comfortable lifestyle for some weird stranger and his ideas. I had to target those who were already on the fence. I had to improve their trust. Off we go!

  I gave the gloomy Droy a wink and walked out of the crowd, facing the council.

  "You're wrong, Laosh," I said calmly. "I have a lot to say to you all. You've just accused me of lying. You're very welcome to think so. There's nothing I can do to convince you otherwise so I'm not going to try. You also said that I want to talk your people out of going west. And you're dead right there!"

  Whispers ran through the crowd. Droy and his supporters stared at me in disbelief. Laosh stuck out his chest, looking like a winner.

  "You're right, Shaman," I repeated. "You only got one little thing wrong. You said that the people of Light are afraid of you and that's why they sent me here. What a ridiculous thing to say. The people of Light can't wait for you to come. With every Caltean they kill, they get stronger. I saw what happened to another Caltean camp. It was razed to the ground by the forces of Light. Their best wizards and warriors stormed it, destroying the trebuchets so prized by your Caltean neighbors."