Abel told me a lot of useful stuff. Theory was one thing, but his practical knowledge was something else. According to him, Shadow Plane allowed him to overcome any obstacles, except for specifically enchanted areas. If you stayed there too long, however, you would be thrust out into the material world with half of your health and a powerful dizziness debuff. The inhabitants of that plane, shadows, came in two kinds, lesser and supreme. The first was harmless, but the second group was dangerous and malevolent. Abel recommended I keep clear of them, and if necessary, use scrolls of Lightning and Flash. Sudden bright light destroyed shadows outright, annihilating their structure. He also said that light mages were the worst enemies of all shadow users; they were capable of creating areas without any shadows at all.
“If the Hird had the sense to cast a Circle of Light around their priest, I would have never gotten close to him,” Abel concluded.
“I still don’t get how you killed him. Didn’t Throgg give them complete invincibility?”
“Yes. Almost one hundred resistance to everything,” Abel said with a nod. “I didn’t hit him; it was pointless. I just used Disarm to knock his ritual dagger out of his hand. Thieves have this skill: it removes your weapon and sometimes even breaks it.”
“I see. And how do you manage to sneak up on me all the time?”
“Ah, that’s just a trick. It’s called Shadowing or Mirroring. I leave the Shadow right behind the target and copy their movements. I’m small; it’s easy for me. Nobody can see me unless I want them to.”
He showed me this technique; it didn’t seem complicated but required insane concentration and predicting the movements of the person being “mirrored.” Abel had mastered it—if he slipped out of sight, he could hide behind his “target” for as long as he wanted. He wasn’t using any invisibility, either; it was pure skill. I was blown away—perfecting a technique like that required a lot of training.
“Be careful, Cat. The Shadow is unkind,” he warned me before leaving. “It’s like a drug. If you get hooked, you start craving it more and more, but it’s dangerous. Everything has its price. Do you know that in the Shadow, you forget unused skills much faster than here? Basically, you pay for staying there with your skill points. You could easily lose an attribute. Your karma decreases, and so does your reputation with Light-worshipping factions. In short, watch out. You could really screw up a character so much you’d spend an eternity regaining the lost stats.”
That was interesting. My understanding was that nobody liked shadow users, and they preferred to keep their abilities hidden—admittedly, like everybody else in Sphere. That was the basis of the in-game mechanics: nobody was invincible; every archetype had a weak point.
While everyone was busy and work was in full swing, I went to visit the Temple. I recalled a certain someone promising me another task after I sorted out my own affairs.
The Temple looked abandoned. Sad, really. When I had freed it from the Negation Crystal, it was radiating golden light, glowing like a Christmas toy. It was no more: the halls were empty and grim, and deep shadows lay in the crevasses of narrow windows.
As I entered the long archway leading inside, I switched to Shadow Sight, and everything around me changed in an instant. In the Shadow Plane, the Temple looked like the skeleton of an unknown creature cut out of sharp bones, a work of art created by an alien mind. The statues in the recesses transformed into eyeless snakes, and shadows big and small rippled around them, their shapes shifting. I knew that if I entered the Shadow, I would hear their whispers.
I stopped by the altar amidst the large statues of Tormis. In the Shadow, they looked a little bit different: the features of the Wanderer and the Thief, the Trader and the Messenger became pointed, losing the remains of complacency. They stared at me with their eyes malevolently half-closed as if trying to probe me.
I knew how to attract the deity’s attention. Offerings, valuables, money—Tormis accepted all of them, but he loved secrets above everything else. The best sacrifice to the God of Shadows was a secret told at the altar. I bent down and whispered something I had learned through Shadow Eyes—a useful ability for a spy. I almost wasn’t surprised to hear a satisfied chuckle behind my back.
* * *
“A good story!” the man in a brown robe said, praising me. “But beware—losing face won’t stop their attack anymore. Don’t spend this secret needlessly, revenge for revenge. Remember: even a tiny stone can trigger an avalanche.”
I nodded slowly, examining him with my Shadow Sight. His figure was odd, as if shrouded in a cloak of shadows, and kept shifting every second, transforming from young Messenger to wrinkled old Beggar. It looked slightly creepy. Shadows snuggled up to him like a pack of loyal dogs to their master.
“You solved your problems and came back,” the god said. “I have a task for you. Fulfilling it won’t be easy, but you’re the only one I can charge with it. Are you ready?”
“I would like to hear more.”
“The Ancients possessed strange magic foreign to us,” Tormis said. “At the peak of their power, they were capable of many things—creating Beasts and Colossi, distorting the fabric of reality, and transporting entire worlds. They managed to steal and trap my temple. This is not the place for it. The Temple must leave Helt Akor and return to the Road of Stars.”
You are offered a quest: The Road of Stars.
Class: legendary.
Find a way to move the Grand Temple of Shadows to the Road of Stars.
Completion time and the number of participants: unlimited.
Reward: reputation, item, (varies).
“What a setup. Is this even possible?” I drawled, in no hurry to accept the golden-framed legendary quest.
“It is—otherwise, the Ancients wouldn’t have moved the temple here,” Tormis explained patiently. “You, players, inherited the strange power of the Ancients. You have their blood. You must find a way!”
“Actually, I’m having doubts. And really, undertaking a mission like that without an advance payment...” I said slowly.
“Do you want to receive a part of your reward in advance?” Tormis smiled. “What will you choose—the item, the reputation, or the skill?”
Chapter 7
“INFORMATION! You’ve mentioned the Lee-Nar nodes, told me about the Sin-Da thread. You can move through Helt Akor. I need this knowledge.”
“The knowledge... It took me a long time, searching for my temple in the web of the Endless Paths. So you’ve chosen the item!”
With a devious smile, he handed me an odd leather tube similar to a case used for maps and scrolls. Its outline glowed with the orange aura of a legendary item.
You received an item.
Helt Akor Map Fragment.
Personal. Quality: legendary. Crafted by Tormis.
Inside was a wooden shaft wrapped in several layers of slippery white fabric. To my surprise, it was easily integrated into AlexOrder’s Atlas. When I looked at it, I saw a strange chaotic network of circles, arcs, and parabolas, similar to sewing patterns from old paper magazines. It was riddled with inscriptions in Kann-Elo. When I zoomed the map, I appreciated the scope of the work made. Apparently, Olaf had been wrong: the number of Crossroads was no more than a thousand. Not all of them were identified—the map was full of blank spots. Still, the possibilities even that information would grant boggled the mind. Without a moment’s hesitation, I accepted the quest, and Tormis smiled, his expression making it clear that I sold myself short. But how?
“Other players possess this knowledge,” he said, nodding in response to my silent question. “Not many, but still. All of you are able to contact each other instantly across any distance. Often, if one of you learns something, the rest of the players know it as well. It’s strange that this map is still secret.”
So it wasn’t unique? I wouldn’t be surprised if most of it had been mapped by players manipulated by Tormis. Actually, I wouldn’t even be surprised if he had given fragments like this one to other clans exploring
Helt Akor to motivate them to look for his temple.
“You also promised me your help. Do you remember?”
Tormis laughed, the sound rippling around us. Apparently, my boldness was to his taste.
“You’re a real cocky bastard, Cat! Few would dare to speak up. Still, it doesn’t befit a god to refuse his words. What kind of help do you need?”
“Dagorrath. I want to read the Isle of Madness.”
“That is a bad place,” Tormis said, frowning. “A very bad place. That world is sealed, Cat, and for a good reason. Many things are slumbering there—things that should never walk in the light. The laws governing it are different from the ones in Sphere. The road there is closed to us.”
“Yes, I know,” I replied. “But I’ve heard that it can be reached from the Seventh Layer through something called the Arch.
“The Arch? All right, then. Hold on!”
Actually, I hadn’t planned on traveling there right away. Despite the Magister’s urging, I kept putting off the search for Svechkin, the second developer of Sphere. However, Tormis was either tired of fussing around with me or in a hurry to finish dealing with his debts and go about his business—or maybe all of that put together. In short, he grabbed my hand and pulled me into the Shadow Plane. Spectral wings hoisted me upward as the god transformed into a giant winged shade that carried me through the grey realm. I didn’t get the chance to object or get scared.
The mad flight seemingly lasted no more than several seconds—or minutes, according to the system clock. Giant dark shapes flashed past us, and something moved in the colorless haze below. A quick plunge, the feeling of land beneath my feet, and a sharp jolt pushed me out of the Shadow. Out of the corner of my eyes, I noticed a winged shadow flying away at breakneck speed.
So where was I? It was the Arch—supposedly, one of the three NPC settlements known to players. I looked around, adjusting my eyes to a strange bluish twilight. The dim illumination spread from above, its source unclear.
It was a truly remarkable place: a giant cave no smaller than the one I had just come from, if not bigger. I could see a luminescent arched dome and distant stone walls drowning in mist. Stalactites and stalagmites had fused with each other to create numerous perforated pillars of giant size. Most of them had been worked on, featuring spiral staircases and round entrances. When I looked closer, I realized that the pillars were empty inside, transformed into houses.
The bulk of the cave was flooded, and black water glistened not far from where I was standing, fog swirling above its surface. The reek of staleness and rotting weed tickled my nose. Around me was a rocky island that served as a foundation for a group of the most “habitable” pillars in the middle of the cave. Was that the Arch? It was quiet and empty, with not a soul around.
I pulled my hood up and headed to the nearest pillar dwelling, quickly finding something that resembled a street between the rows of stalagmites.
It was an odd place with even odder architecture. There were no straight lines, no rectangles or square angles; walls, doors, and windows, even the stairs, were round or oval, melted, smooth, or wave-shaped. I didn’t see any ornaments or decorations: no needless luxury or glitz. In truth, they were pretty rough. Not a soul was in sight as if the locals had all died or gone somewhere.
I didn’t have a map of that place or any details about its inhabitants. All information about it came in snippets, as only the players of several Asian clans had access there—and as usual, they were tight-lipped. I only knew that somewhere in the vicinity of the Arch was an underwater channel leading to Dagorrath.
The first local I met emerged from behind the corner, completely out of the blue. Going by her figure, it was a slender young girl dressed in form-fitting dark green clothes. She recoiled, startled, and a long white dagger flashed in her hand. Was it made from bone? A greenish noseless face with huge yellow eyes looked at me. Apparently, what I had mistaken for clothes turned out to be scales, and the girl—at least, I thought she was a girl because of her clearly female attributes—hissed like a cat. A slit tongue lashed out from her fanged maw. I had seen people like that. She was one of the serpentfolk, evil humanoids able to shapeshift.
An NPC with a yellow nickname and low karma, her name was T’hess from the Stalagmites.
I put out my hands, showing that I was unarmed, and spoke up, trying to be as friendly as possible.
“Don’t be scared! I won’t attack.”
“Who are you? What do you want? Don’t come clossser, ssstranger!” T’hess hissed furiously. The blade of her dagger was cut out of a translucent bone, timeworn but still razor-sharp.
“I’m new here. I’m looking for an inn, a place where players meet.”
Not bothering to turn around, the girl pointed at one of the pillars—the one in the center, bigger than the rest and studded with exit holes like a piece of Swiss cheese.
I carefully walked around the still-hissing, wary serpentgirl. Thankfully, the hood hid my nickname and status. The local NPC faction was clearly evil-aligned and wouldn’t treat players with positive karma well.
The aforementioned pillar turned out to be the center of local social life. There was no doubt about where to go—only one oval-shaped entrance was lit from the inside, something resembling a fish skeleton hanging just above it. Quiet, I climbed the spiral staircase and entered the room bathed in dim greenish light.
Crystalline lamps adorned the walls. Sand-filled stone bowls served as tables, weird round-bottomed glassware embedded inside them. I quickly counted the patrons: there were four of them. One, most likely the innkeeper, was an NPC, a serpentfolk. He was standing behind the pseudo-counter, glaring daggers at me. The other two were players, sitting in the corner discussing something. They had red karma, and their nicknames and clan tags were an unreadable chain of hieroglyphics—Chinese or Korean. I had read that several allied clans from Asia had access to the Arch. Judging by their gear, they were a tank and a caster. The fourth man was odd...very odd. He seemed to be an NPC, reclining on a chair in a cloud of tobacco smoke, puffing away at his short pipe. Well-worn leather armor, a wide-brimmed plumed hat...the rest was covered with grey bandages. I could make them out even under his clothes and on his face. The only areas left uncovered were his thick mustache and a narrow slit for one eye. He was a real mummy, but still, he kept smoking like a chimney.
I came up to the counter and put my hand on it, whispering to the innkeeper, “I need a ship to Dagorrath. Where can I find a captain?”
The serpentfolk flinched back, hissing in response, “What do you mean, ssstranger?”
“I’ll pay.”
My hand slid down from the counter, leaving a gold coin. My danger sense spiked—out of the corner of my eyes, I spied the two Asian players stand up from their places and approach me.
“Who are you? How did you get here?” The language pack translated their speech.
“Why are you silent? Speak up!”
I had expected something like that, which is why I was gripping the hilt of Aelmaris with my other hand under the cloak. From the looks of it, this place didn’t get many new visitors; only a small circle of players had access to the Arch. These two were fools, and they were clearly asking for a fight. The Arch didn’t have NPC guards; like the rest of Helt Akor, it was a free PVP zone. Fine; let’s say they started the fight themselves.
One of them came up behind me and abruptly pulled up my hood. Everyone saw my nickname and status—blue positive karma, the mark of a visitor from the worlds above, meaning a carebear and a weakling.
I froze, tense as a coiled spring. Two movements, two cross-counters. They had some skill, but the flaming sword didn’t care about their stats. Too bad that I would out myself. I prepared to attack, but a scuffle behind me, a shriek, and the whooshing sound of air being slashed told me that help had come from an unexpected source.
“Hey, Rocky, what are you doing? He’s a stranger with good karma! We—”
“Put your dirty paws a
way before I cut them off!” A booming bass drowned out their voices like a ship’s whistle overriding the screams of seagulls.
I turned around. The mummy smoking in the corner was suddenly right next to me. The first opponent was lying flat on the floor, pinned down by the mummy’s knee, a maingauche pressed against his throat. The second one was slowly backing away, raising his unarmed hands, the tip of a heavy rapier with a fancy crossguard frozen in front of his face. Everything had been accomplished quickly and precisely, and the players seemed to be seriously scared. I guess he was one tough customer.
“You’re going my way, mate,” he said, winking at me with his only eye. His pipe rolled over to the other corner of his mouth. At last, I saw that he was an NPC: Rocky from the Gravekeepers faction, orange karma, somewhere between bad and very bad. However, living in the lower worlds made retaining good karma almost impossible.
“Let’s go. I’ll show you where to find a ship,” he offered, standing up and putting his rapier back into the sheath. “Actually, I just came from there. The last passenger, ha-ha!”
Shadow Seer (Rogue Merchant Book #3): LitRPG Series Page 9
