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

by Alexey Osadchuk

  Oops. Another system message and another -100 to my Reputation with Mellenville.

  "How do you know about the trebuchets?" a white-haired elder wheezed.

  I smiled. "The ones that launch Rock Erezes onto enemy cities? You said it. How would I know about them, really? I'm an enemy spy and a liar, aren't I?"

  Many a warrior's face darkened. Women gasped. Children instinctively clung to their parents.

  "That proves nothing!" Laosh spat.

  "No, it doesn't," I agreed. "I'm not trying to prove anything here. I'm just telling you what I saw myself. Your trebuchets are powerful weapons. I once saw an Erez kill all of Droy's warriors in one clean sweep. But I also saw a warrior of Light kill an Erez with his own hands back in the Citadel. The armies of both Light and Dark have scores of soldiers like him."

  Okay, so I'd exaggerated a bit but not too much, really.

  "And what's more," I added, "their armies are heading this way — and very soon, too. There'll be a big war. For you it'll be over quickly. Which is why we need-"

  "Enough!" Laosh butted in. "We've already heard your tales! Go back to your seat, stranger! The council will decide your fate!"

  Oh, well. If you say so. I shrugged and took my place next to Droy.

  I had some idea of what Laosh and his henchmen would decide. Still, that was irrelevant. I'd done what I'd wanted to do. The crowd followed me with grateful stares: the lowborn Red Owls had believed me, judging by the flicker of system messages and the spinning of my Reputation counter. A bit more, and I might receive a Gray order.

  After a quick deliberation, the council announced their decision. Droy was allowed to extend his hospitality for one more week. Once it elapsed, I had to leave the camp. In other words, I received a conditional banishment.

  The Red Owls didn't look happy with their chief's decision. That was good news.

  The crowd began to disperse when Laosh announced, "One more thing! Tomorrow a team of forty warriors will leave the camp. And just to dispel your doubts, I'm going to lead it myself. Those remaining should begin to break camp. Stranger, you're coming with us!"

  His cunning face dissolved in a smug smile. Clever bastard. If I declined, it would mean he'd been right all along. If I agreed, he'd be free to swat me like a fly at his first convenience.

  I nodded, accepting the offer.

  It made him happy no end. I had a gut feeling he'd already thought of some nasty trick to play on me.

  "Cheer up," Droy gave me a hearty slap on the shoulder. "You'll come with us. We won't let him get to you."

  Great minds think alike...

  A non-player character has sent you an invitation to join his group!

  Accept: Yes/No

  Oh really? Okay. I pressed Yes.

  You've just joined an NPC group!

  From now on, you'll receive 1% of the group's combat experience.

  For your information: as the holder of an Order of Heroic Strength, you bring +30% to Strength of all group members.

  As I tried to weigh up all the pros and cons of joining an NPC group, Droy and his friends inconspicuously surrounded me and guided me back to camp.

  Flames danced in the night, dispelling its viscous gloom. Sparks shot out toward the starry sky like so many lightbugs, expiring on their journey and turning into tiny ashes.

  We sat around the campfire: Arrum Red Beard, Seet the Burly, Horm the Turtle, Orman the Bear, Shorve the Hasty and Droy the Fang. And myself.

  It turned out that Droy wasn't just a warlord. He was also the elder of a small clan of his own. That's why he enjoyed so much authority. And that's why I had known nothing about it earlier. I hadn't had the right access yet.

  But now as my Reputation with the clan grew, new details continued to come to light. Like the men's nicknames.

  They were preparing for the journey. Some were checking their weapons, others mending their clothes. A few like myself sat leisurely enjoying the dance of the flames.

  "Olgerd," Orman the Bear turned to me, busy rubbing some nasty-looking substance into the tip of his spear. "Is it true what you said about wizards and warriors who can defeat an Erez?"

  "Unfortunately," I said. "Not one but many even."

  "Wow," Seet the Burly said slowly. "I'm not a coward but now I start to think that the Nocteans weren't the worst enemy."

  "You can say that," Shorve the Hasty agreed.

  "Can't we make a deal with them or something?" Horm the Turtle suggested.

  No idea why they'd nicknamed him Turtle. True, he was a bit on the slow side but he was a very clever man, that's for sure.

  "I don't think so," I said.

  "Why not?"

  "Because for the warriors of both Light and Dark, killing a Caltean is a feat of valor. They get rewarded for your heads."

  The men sat up straight, proud of themselves. Their opponents thought them valuable trophies! That meant that their enemies had respect for them!

  I immediately thought of the medieval Russian Prince Svyatoslav who'd died in battle against the invading Pecheneg tribes while crossing the Don rapids. They said that his enemy Khan Kurya made a chalice out of his skull believing it to be the greatest honor to Russia's slain ruler. Afterwards, both the Khan and his wife used to drink wine from the chalice hoping that the dead Prince's spirit would grant his strength to their future son.

  Somehow I didn't think anyone would pay the Calteans' bodies the same kind of respect. At best, their scalps, clothes and weapons might serve as evidence when someone claimed his or her Reputation upgrade.

  I understood of course they were only a bunch of game scripts. Still, my heart refused to accept it. I couldn't bear the thought of the fate that awaited my new friends once they met some of the top players. I didn't doubt for one moment that only the top players would venture into No-Man's Lands. This wasn't the place for the weak.

  "What, even trebuchets don't work against them?" Droy the Fang asked, sounding insecure.

  Shorve the Hasty had already told me how Droy had received his nickname. He'd been still a small child when a pack of wolves had attacked their herds. Little Droy had had enough presence of mind to confront them and even assaulted one with a stone, knocking out a few of the wolf's teeth. He would have died for sure had it not been for his father and uncle who'd come running to his aid.

  So it looked like my Droy was a warrior from a young age, literally.

  "Not really," I replied. "Last time I saw members of your tribe in action, they destroyed a few houses and set free a few Erezes. Still, the Lighties rebuilt everything they'd destroyed in three days. May I ask you something?"

  "You can try," Droy said.

  "Where did you get the trebuchets from?"

  I'd been racking my brains over this ever since I'd seen the Caltean camp. They just didn't look capable of building such complex machinery. They were a primitive tribe living in tents and clad in animal skins. Many of them still used spears with either stone or bone tips. It just didn't sum up.

  Horm the Turtle shrugged. "They aren't ours, those things. Never have been."

  "What do you mean?" I turned to Droy. "How about the trap your warriors caught the Erez with before it killed them, remember?"

  Droy fidgeted on his mat. He heaved a sigh. I must have touched on a very sensitive subject.

  "Yes, those machines... and the traps... and lots of other things. The Black Axes procured them."

  "Where did they get them from?"

  "The Forbidden City."

  "Their survivors told us it was only a fraction of all the treasures they'd found there," Horm added.

  The group emitted a collective sigh, their expressions dreamy, their eyes glowing. This place must have been some kind of local El Dorado.

  "Do I understand correctly that those Black Axes are the strongest clan among you?" I asked an uncomfortable question.

  "They are," Droy replied matter-of-factly. "They're the only ones who can assemble the ancient machines."

  H
ow interesting. A nomadic clan capable of handling complex machinery. They wouldn't have come across some blueprints, by any chance?

  "They were always into mechanical things and stuff," Seet said. "They were constantly busy inside that Silver Mountain of theirs like it was an anthill!"

  Aha. This was starting to become clear.

  "Traps and trebuchets! That's nothing," Shorve hurried to butt in. "I heard that the City Palace dungeons are absolutely packed with all sorts of stuff. Lots of weapons there, they say. And steel monsters. They're huge. Only they're asleep. Or maybe dead, I dunno."

  Curiouser and curiouser.

  "Had it not been for the Forbidden City's guards, the Black Axes would have had a ball..."

  The warriors grew long faces.

  "Are there guards there?" I asked.

  Orman nodded. "They wiped the floor with the Axes. Lots of great warriors died that day."

  Others began eulogizing the names of their friends who'd died in that battle. This was the system's all-too-subtle message: enough info for the time being.

  "And the trap you saw," Droy added, his face drawn, "I swapped it with one of the Axes for five buffaloes. Still, I failed to save my brothers. Had it not been for you, I wouldn't be here to tell the tale. Damnation! I rue the day we did it."

  "What do you mean?" I asked.

  "Our shaman needs trapped animals for his magic tricks," Seet replied. "He offers a good price for them. Leave it, Fang, don't beat yourself up. The guys knew what they were into. At least you helped their families out by selling the Erez. Everybody knows that. We all respect you for what you did."

  Droy was about to reply when the shaman's messenger arrived.

  "Laosh orders you to go first," he said calmly. "The main group will set off in three hours."

  "Tell that old far-" Orman began.

  "Okay," Droy butted in. "You can tell Laosh we heard him. Now go."

  Once the messenger left, Seet put in words what everybody was thinking, "The old bastard knows we're the best scouts around."

  Everybody looked at me expectantly.

  I chuckled. Sure. The shaman was obliged to know that my skills made the scouts' job a breeze. He knew they could count on my aerial recon support. What a cheek!

  "Everybody hit the sack now," Droy ordered. "We're setting off at daybreak."

  * * *

  The next morning was cold and cloudy. The sky was completely covered. It might actually snow by lunchtime.

  Boris and I soared just under the clouds studying the area. Below, a group of six warriors hand-picked by Droy himself was busy negotiating the cliffs. Hand-picked was an overstatement: same old faces, their levels exceeding 250. They were a force to be reckoned with.

  Nothing had happened... yet. Our progress was quiet and peaceful.

  What a shame NPCs didn't have a chat of their own. That way I could warn them about the unsafe parts of their trek. As it was now, I was obliged to descend every time I saw something suspicious. Now too, I'd noticed a few long shadows in a gorge and hurried to cruise lower.

  "What is it?" Droy asked me the moment Boris landed.

  'I can't really tell," I said, removing the helmet. "I only saw their outlines. There're about six or seven of them."

  "Sounds like the Shaggies," Arrum Red Beard suggested.

  "How far are they?" Droy asked.

  "Around that bend over there," I pointed.

  Droy gave me a slap on the shoulder. "Good. Go back up now and keep your eyes peeled."

  I put the helmet back on and leapt into the saddle. Sensing my excitement, Boris took off like a missile.

  Having said that, why not? Just look at him shining in his brand-new suit of armor. A fine monster he was!

  Considering our levels, as warriors we were pretty useless. Still, it was our rightful job to give the enemy a bad hair day.

  I'd forgotten to mention that as soon as we'd left the newb location, I'd received the system message lifting the ban on air-to-ground. Which meant we could now deal 100% damage!

  Oh, and talking about weapons, my Minor Pocket Slingshot had left a lasting impression on the Calteans. The way they'd guffawed I thought they might trigger an avalanche. The advice they'd given me! According to them, I could use it to kill sparrows, to scratch my feet or to launch fish food into the pond. I should have made a list. Even my pretty accurate skull-cracking practice had failed to impress them. Then again, what did I expect, with my level and all?

  The sun poked out from behind the clouds. Excellent. It made me harder to detect in the sky.

  The Calteans fanned out. They showed good training. Droy definitely knew what he was doing.

  Aha! Now I could really get a good eyeful of the local beasties. So that's what they looked like, then.

  There were six of them. Judging by their body shapes, I could describe them as giant hairy lizards the size of large alligator, with sharp triangular teeth and long curved claws. They froze, holding their breath. They definitely knew we'd be using this path and had taken up strategic positions all around it.

  I told Boris to fly over the cliff. As soon as I reached its north side, I knew my gut feeling had been right all along. How many of them were there? Twenty, thirty? Fifty? Had we just walked into an incubator or something? I had to hurry back and warn the others!

  I returned to the sunny side, searching out Droy's figure amid the cliffs.

  Warning! Your group is engaged in battle!

  Reminder: you're a member of an NPC group!

  You receive 1% of the group's combat experience.

  For your information: as the holder of an Order of Heroic Strength, you bring +30% to Strength of all group members.

  Engaged, already? What about the lizards they were fighting? Let's have a look... the strongest one was level 220. Uh oh. Way too much for humble me. Arrum Red Beard, the weakest warrior in the group, was level 255.

  So it looked like this unexpected bonus wasn't meant for me. My presence, however, had given the Red Owls the boost they needed. They were making mincemeat out of the poor beasties.

  Olgerd, what are you waiting for? You still have personal XP to take care of!

  My slingshot began cracking off in rapid fire as I tried to deal as much damage as I possibly could in the time I still had.

  You've attacked a level 220 Hairy Pangolin.

  Damage dealt: 455

  Keep on fighting!

  In a couple of minutes, the melee was over. My group had smoked the whole six-strong pack.

  Your group has killed a Pack of Hairy Pangolins!

  You've received Experience!

  You've received a new level!

  You've received a new level!

  You've received a new level!

  You've received a new level!

  You've received a new level!

  Current level: 35

  Reward:

  A Teleportation Scroll

  +20 to Knowledge

  Current Knowledge: 196/340

  Available points: 5

  I loved it. Five levels just like that!

  Seeing as I'd failed to find any Intellect-boosting runes or items, I had to invest all the available points into it. By now I had no doubt Intellect was my priority. Growing my Knowledge bar was indispensable for my "Army Mechanic's" further development.

  I couldn't wait to see what my Pocket Book of Blueprints would surprise me with this time. If scarabs and fleas were considered "simple beings", I could only imagine the kind of complexity these blueprints had in store for me.

  Apparently, the more valuable a blueprint, the more Knowledge its study required. I was only a few points short of 200 Knowledge. Had the Pangolin pack counted seven beasts instead of six...

  A thought stirred somewhere in the deep recesses of my darker self. Wouldn't it be good if Droy's group "accidentally" came across the large pangolin pack I'd just seen on the other side of the cliff?

  But the existence of dark thoughts is to be ignored. I shook
my head free of them. Some idea! I could only explain it by the excitement still ravaging my blood.

  "Droy! You can't go north!" I shouted. "We'll have to make a detour! Turn onto that path over there!"

  "Why?" he hadn't even broken a sweat in battle.

  I pointed north. "There're many more of them there. At least twenty times more. Big ones, too."

  Droy frowned. "In that case you're right. We'd better make a detour. If they're too many, they might kill my warriors. Seet! Leave a sign for those who'll follow."

  Then he turned to me. "Thank you, friend."

  The game engine seemed to be having a generosity day. Reputation, XP, loot — I had plenty of everything. I cheered up. And I knew somebody else who'd be more than happy to see all the Pangolin claws, teeth and hair — Rrhorgus. Purple resources were always in demand.

  What a shame there was no email access in No-Man's Lands! Even the auction and the info portal were unavailable. I might have to use Boris to take me to see Rrhorgus — which would be a shameful waste of time.

  None of the Calteans seemed to notice me collecting the loot. Even when the monsters' bodies dissolved into thin air, they just accepted it matter-of-factly. The game mechanics is a sobering thing indeed.

  Well, that was a good start to the day. Let's wait and see what else it might bring.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  "Olgerd, what takes you so long?"

  "Sorry Arrum, I won't be a moment," I said, hurrying to take another swing with my pick. "Five more stones, then I'm done."

  Arrum Red Beard shrugged. "You and your stones! Well, suit yourself. If you like your backpack heavy..."

  I hid a smile in my beard. They may be "useless stones" to him, but as far as I was concerned, they were very useful. How can Master-level Purple quartz rock be useless? Someone was bound to need it and this someone might just be prepared to shell out a nice fat sum for it.