"Sorry, man. Got lots of things to do. Nice meeting you."
"You have a cheek!"
"Listen, dude," I said, trying to keep my shaking voice level. "I really need to go now. It's been nice talking to you. But now we both have things to do."
He paused, thinking. Yes, he definitely was wary of me. I'd love to know what they were saying about me in the forums.
"I think you're right, dude. We both have things to do."
Aha, so he'd decided to attack me anyway. Perfectly understandable. A high-level player afraid of a newb? I don't think so.
Still, it was probably a good idea to attack him first. What a waste of resources... but it was well worth it.
You've built the simplest mechanical creature: a Swarm of Fleas!
Level: 120
Number of swarm members: 5
Wow! Five of them, all level 120! Quality of source materials at 70%, too! Each flea was the size of a microwave.
They went for the player all at once. If even one of them managed to bite him, it would be of great help.
In the meantime, I hurried to activate a teleport crystal.
Warning! You can't activate the scroll in the course of battle!
Excuse me? What was it now?
A powerful blow threw me back a good dozen feet.
Warning! The Swarm of Fleas has been destroyed!
Wow. Already? Prankie's Shield too had been deactivated, his Life barely glowing at 3%. And the guy was virtually naked!
I glimpsed some ash crumbling to the ground from his hand. Was it some kind of scroll spell he'd just used on me?
His long face betrayed amazement. Apparently, I wasn't supposed to have survived the blow. Graveyard Wind: judging by the name, it must have been some Necro magic.
They liked these zombie shticks here, didn't they? Had I not been protected against it, I'd have been heading for my resurrection point already.
I gulped a vial of Ale of Life and jumped to my feet. Leaping onto Boris' back, I unsummoned Prankie.
The player darted toward his chest. No points for guessing he had a bow waiting there.
Boris soared up — unfortunately, not fast enough.
I kept snapping my slingshot non-stop, clueless as to how many slugs I'd already loosed off. They did less damage to him than mosquito bites.
Some Ranger this guy was! Normally, they're low on defenses. Not this one. Even naked, he completely ignored my hits.
I created five more fleas and sent them down after him.
The player had already slung his bow. For him this was just target practice.
Look at the damage he'd dealt! He killed a flea with two arrows. Then again, why would that surprise me?
I could see his smug grin. It looked like we might die, after all. Oh. So stupid of me.
I dropped five more fleas.
But no. He didn't even look at them, the bastard! He was aiming directly at Boris.
I'll never be able to forget what I did next.
I unsummoned Boris right there in the air.
And we'd already climbed a good hundred feet.
At first it felt like zero gravity. The system must never have come across such unorthodox use of the summoning charm before. The next moment, however, the forest below began to shoot toward me.
A loud whooshing sound a few feet overhead told me that Furius had missed.
Up yours, mister!
I span through the air until a series of impacts stopped my descent, knocking all the wind out of me. I landed.
Warning! You've been injured!
Injuries sustained:
Dislocation of your right shoulder
Lacerated wound of your left thigh
Could have been worse, I suppose. Luckily, tree branches had cushioned my fall.
Excellent. I'd managed to save Boris and even survived in the process. All I had to do now was make myself scarce. The fleas were doing a good job distracting Furius but I had a feeling it wouldn't last.
I quickly picked up the greaves and a pauldron I'd lost in my fall, summoned Boris and told him to make his way through the woods. Judging by my injury counters, it didn't look like I might be doing much running in the next twenty-four hours.
And as far as looters went, I wasn't much better, either. That was a fact.
Boris was doing his best, barging through the bushes without slowing down.
A few moments later, I received another system message, telling me I'd "lost the fight for the reason of fleeing the battlefield" and removing a few XP percent.
Had we really made it? Somehow I didn't think so. I whipped out the teleportation crystal.
Please choose your destination.
Yes! "Hold it, kiddo," I whispered, casting furtive looks around.
Boris stopped, then promptly disappeared as I unsummoned him.
"We have some growing to do ASAP," I said, selecting my last bind point.
Chapter Twenty-Four
The shaman was a sorry sight. Every word uttered by Scraggie hammered another nail into the coffin of his "Higher Beings theory".
On one hand, it worked in my favor, improving my authority. But on the other, we had a big problem now. Namely, Scraggie himself.
The shaman's main group had caught up with us by midday. Almost straight away, an impromptu rally started up, demanding Scraggie speak.
My injuries had healed overnight. I was fresh and ready for new challenges. Now I was standing slightly aside from the others, watching the shaman lose face in public.
The warriors listened to Scraggie's speech intently. Every now and then, heads turned to check me out. Their grim faces betrayed one single thought: The Lightie told us the truth. He hadn't lied to us.
Scraggie was enjoying the audience, spinning a glorious yarn about the Black Axes' campaign southward. He didn't spare praise describing the epic battle by the Citadel walls, mentioning their defeat but fleetingly. He didn't forget to thank Droy's group for rescuing him. He hadn't mentioned me though, for obvious reasons.
That wasn't what I was interested in. Why all the hoo-hah? What was he up to?
Having duly warmed up his audience, Scraggie finally moved to the point. As it turned out, his group had been chased by a Dark raid. And weren't good neighbors supposed to help each other out in times of trouble?
He delivered all that in a rich, flavorful language. Had Droy been able to speak like that, we wouldn't be standing here now.
It turned out, I was right. The Black Axes — once the strongest clan Under the Mountain — had been reduced to a handful of refugees, mainly women and children plus about twenty warriors and their shaman chief. All of them much the worse for wear.
A lot of them had perished on their way south. These were uncharted lands, and the Axes had had no nomadic experience. Sickness. Monsters. Battling the Lighties. Then a long and exhausting way back... I was surprised some had survived at all.
Those Dark players were smart bastards! They sent the Calteans in front to give them a free ride through No-Man's Lands! All the Darkies had to do was follow in their slipstream picking up the loot.
Now my encountering a Dark scout so far from their original habitat seemed perfectly logical.
But that wasn't the problem. The problem was, the Red Owls had bought Scraggie's speech hook, line and sinker. They agreed to help the Axes battle their way back.
So stupid.
This Scraggie was a piece of work, really. He'd put up quite a show. No wonder: charity begins at home, as they say.
Laosh the shaman was the only person who in theory could talk his kinsmen out of it. But unfortunately, by now his authority had waned.
Just when everything was coming together so nicely! The Red Owls would have reached the River Quiet, seen for themselves that there was no land of milk and honey lying beyond it, and promptly turned back, having suffered no losses. As it was, we didn't even have to continue to the river as by now everybody realized I'd been right all along. But then there
was this loud-mouthed Scraggie ruining the whole picture.
Just look at the warriors hanging on his every word, their eyes glowing with righteous anger. They just couldn't wait to offer their neighbors a helping hand, completely forgetting it had been the Black Axes who'd unceremoniously walked all over them during the initial choosing of the route.
There was something else I realized as I tried to assess the situation. At the moment, the only person who really wanted to avoid confrontation was myself. All the others profited from fighting. The admins earned their living selling combat gear: all that costly armor, resources and combat spells. Players needed the loot, the fame, the adrenaline rush, not to even mention Reputation leveling. Even the Calteans, for some reason of their own, seemed to need the upcoming battle.
It didn't look as if I could prevent it, no matter how hard I tried. Wretched computer program! Why should it care that this battle might become the last for most of my new friends? And I, in the meantime, had some really grandiose plans for them.
I had no doubts that the Dark raid was strong. But there was no way I could explain to the Calteans that their opponents were immortal, capable of resurrecting time after time and rejoining the battle.
It wouldn't have surprised me if the news of a new mega event had already been advertised in every chat and forum. Things like "Bring 20 ears of Caltean warriors to earn 1 Rep point!" Bastards.
Still, it didn't look as if I could stop them. No one was going to listen to me, as simple as that. If anything, they might even bear a grudge against me as if I were trying to strip them of their rightly-deserved glory.
Just look at Droy puffing out his chest in pride! A life saver! Had he only known...
There was only one chance left. I had to talk to Laosh.
* * *
"Ah, it's you," the shaman said as I entered his tent. He sounded tired.
Admittedly, he hadn't played too hard to get. He'd agreed to meet me almost straight away.
I cast a quick glance around. I didn't expect this at all. I'd thought his tent would be packed with luxuries and creature comforts. Nothing of the kind. It was Spartan. A small table and a stool stood in the corner. Animal skins were heaped by the wall further along — apparently serving as his bed. The tent itself was small. Very modest. The old man was full of surprises.
"Have you come to gloat, Lightie?" he asked, apparently misunderstanding my expression.
"No. I've come to you to prevent your warriors from going to a certain death."
"Oh," he stared at me with interest.
How funny. His gaze was free of enmity or hatred. It was tired — almost apathetic.
Whatever had happened to the Laosh who'd used to dictate his will to the council? Where were his confidence and charisma? I was looking at an old-age pensioner who'd been short-changed by a cheeky marketwife.
"And how are you going to do it?" he asked.
I shook my head. "I won't. You will."
* * *
"So?" Droy nodded at the direction of the river.
"They're coming," I said. "Ten of them. And a supply train."
His face brightened up. He must have thought that ten Dark players against his sixty warriors was a good ratio.
Well, well. Don't hold your breath, man. One Dark wagon driver could easily smoke ten of our warriors. At least.
Had I just said "our warriors"?
I seemed to have fallen into my role. It probably had something to do with the fact that the place was quite poor on game details. An occasional system message reporting new Reputation points, the combat logs which I didn't bother to check anymore, and a few other bells and whistles, that was the extent of it. It felt as if I was in some sort of a parallel real world.
"They must be an advance party," Droy said.
Somehow I didn't think so. "Remember what I said about their best wizards and warriors?"
"Why, you think that's what some of them are?"
"They all are. You need to be very careful."
All the players belonged to the Lords of Chaos. A top clan, all of them level 250-plus. This was one hell of a strong group.
Their leader was Sub Zero, a level-270 wizard. I'd often come across his name in the Glasshouse news. An experienced and clever commander.
"You think our women and children are far enough back by now?" Seet asked me.
"I do," I nodded. "They're safe."
We'd sent our "civilians" back to the main camp already several hours ago, keeping only experienced warriors.
Having said that, Black Axe children had been scared witless of Boris. They must have seen their fair share of terrible monsters in their travels. The other clan members hadn't appreciated my arrival, either. For that reason I tried to stick with the Red Owls.
When I'd returned from my recon flight, I'd been faced with the fact that Laosh had failed to talk his warriors into retreating. The Black Axes' commander had quickly taken over the leadership. Little wonder: apparently, this had always been his modus operandi.
My friends had even congratulated me on getting rid of my arch enemy, saying that Laosh would never recover from the blow. They even added they might elect another shaman now — the Black Axes' Ameret sounded like a good alternative to them. They were deliriously happy. This was the dawn of a new Caltean era! They were about to teach the Darkies a lesson!
Poor bastards.
The Black Axes, however, didn't seem to look forward to fighting the Darks. They apparently already knew enough about their enemy. The Owls had even been "offered the honor" of going first into battle. My friends naïvely celebrated the new respect their highland neighbors seemed to have for them. As an old client of mine used to say, they'd been "taken for a nice long ride".
I hadn't hesitated to share my concerns with Droy but found little support from him. He was too fascinated by Scraggie's unexpected show of friendship to pay attention. All I'd managed to procure from him was a promise not to rush headlong into battle.
Laosh had refused to talk to me. He took his defeat really badly.
Basically, I'd done my best. How did that Schiller quotation go? "The Moor has done his duty..." There was precious little I could do against some of Mirror World's best players. I'd just had a miraculous escape from Furius — and only because he'd rather conveniently been in his birthday suit.
Had I made a mistake joining the Red Owls, then?
Experienced players might disagree. They might even call me an idiot.
Indeed, this was probably a highly advantageous position, especially considering the recent developments in the Caltean army. Now that our little group had joined the Black Axes' raid, I was going to receive XP by the bucketful.
Someone might have considered this a gift from the gods: being rushed through levels by a few dozen NPCs, what's there not to like? In which case, why did I feel so rotten?
"There're coming!" the sentry's voice awoke me from my sad musings.
"Olgerd, up you go!" Droy shouted. "Keep your eyes peeled! Stay out of it unless you can't help it!"
"You too!" I shouted from above. "Don't stick your neck out! You promised!"
He waved my warning away and turned to his soldiers.
There was nothing I could do. What a shame.
The Calteans had decided to meet the enemy on a small hill. No idea whether that was the right thing. How could you even talk about tactics when your enemy could burn the whole place to ashes in a matter of seconds?
Still, fear takes molehills for mountains, or so they say. I just hoped I was overreacting.
On seeing their enemy, the Dark players stopped. Their "supply train" was comprised of two wagons exactly like those used by my old friends the Guiding Eyes. They unhurriedly lined it up across the path like a mini siege vehicle.
How interesting. Had I been wrong thinking that I couldn't second-guess their actions?
Even the dumbest of strategists would have used the wagons as a cover for vulnerable group members such as healers,
buffers and archers. That way they could support the damagers without having to waste magic resources on their own protection.
Five tanks, two archers, a buffer, a healer, Sub Zero himself and two wagon drivers both under level 200 — that made twelve players in total. Still, I had a gut feeling there were more of them there. You couldn't disregard any potential stealthers. And considering every player also had a mount and a pet... oh. I felt very sorry for the Calteans.
The tanks moved forward, falling into line. The others took cover behind the wagons. I was right, wasn't I? Sub Zero knew what he was doing. This was a foolproof tactic against mobs or NPCs. I'd have done the same.
Come on, Olgerd, use your head... What did I know about tactics? Tanks aggroed mobs. Buffed to their teeth, tanks were virtually unkillable — with all the support from the buffers, healers and archers, they turned into regular killing machines. Mobs or NPCs, it didn't really matter. The tanks' job was to stubbornly aggro those with higher damage counts.
So basically, this battle against sixty Calteans was going to become a pleasant end to the Darkies' hard day.
Now that I had a pretty good idea of their tactics, I also knew what the Calteans should be doing. Question was, who was going to listen to me? I'd tried everything already. The Calteans were chomping at the bit like battle horses, deaf to the voice of reason. All I could do was watch helplessly from above as the tragedy unfolded on the river bank.
The distance between the two groups had shrunk to a mere hundred paces. That was no range for wizards and archers. Still, Sub Zero seemed to be lingering. Why?
In the meantime, the Calteans' ranks were promptly regrouping, shield-carrying warriors encircling the Black Axes shaman. He was about to cast his magic. I couldn't see Laosh anywhere. Was he going to stay in his tent?
The Red Owls lined up in front, shouting and spitting at their enemy. I couldn't hear what they were saying but somehow I doubted they were wishing the Darks a good day.
This lull before the storm sent shivers down my spine. I suddenly realized I wanted it to be over quickly. This was like watching your team play while knowing the final score all along — still hoping it had been but a typo in the news stream.
The Way of the Outcast (Mirror World Book #3) LitRPG series Page 24
