Respawn: The Last Crossing (Respawn LitRPG series Book 6)

by Arthur Stone

  “OK, we’ll figure it out,” Cheater said.

  “Yes. By the way, when the Devils had me by the balls, I could still read the chat. I couldn’t send anything, but I could see what you were writing. Including your loot. You have a lot of interesting things, and I could use a few mods. I’d like to make a great weapon for myself.”

  “Let me make it,” Cheater nodded. “I’ve gotten the hang of it.”

  “That’s kind of you.”

  An explosion rumbled somewhere nearby. Startled birds climbed into the sky, car alarms began to join in chorus, and confused pedestrians stopped and stared in the direction of the blast. Even their waitress rushed out into the street, looking the same way.

  In the whole area, only the three at the table failed to react. None of them even flinched.

  Cheater decided to make himself clear. “I’m not giving you mods in exchange for this pearl, you know. Maybe it sounds cheesy, but we’re a team. I also benefit if you have an incredible weapon. When you become stronger, the team does, too.”

  “That’s reasonable,” March said. “I’m glad you came to that conclusion. Now, I won’t have to explain the next thing I’ll give you. You can have most of the free experience drops for basic and bonus stats. And the random experience drops, too. But only on one condition: all of the base stat points, you can assign as you’d like. Every drop that goes to bonus stats, though, you must invest exclusively into Luck. Along with all of the reserve points you’ve saved up. I know you’re a real Ebenezer with those, so you must have plenty. Each and every last point, to Luck.”

  “Keep the drops yourself, then,” Cheater said without bothering to calculate—the difference was obvious immediately. “I have move points saved up than I’ll get from the drops. A lot more. I also have plans for those drops, and I’ll use them as soon as we’re in a safe place for a while. It’s too important a task to do on the run.”

  March unhurriedly finished off another mug and shook his head. “You no longer have plans of your own. What happened to all of that pretentious crap about the team you just gave me? We work for the team. Well, the team needs your Luck more than anything. As much Luck as you can get. I don’t mean it’s what I need, and I don’t mean it’s what you need. It’s what our team needs.”

  “Why? My Luck is already through the roof.”

  “He means the pearls,” Clown intervened. “Plus other things.”

  Cheater blinked, missing the point. What are they not telling me?

  “The pearls?”

  “Right. How many golden pearls do you think an Unnamed One drops? Normally.”

  Cheater shrugged. “Based on my experience, five. That’s all the data I—” he paused, and his eyes widened.

  “Right. I have the real data. I’ve seen one pearl before. I’ve seen two. I heard a rumor once that someone got three. I’ve never heard of anyone getting four, never mind five. The Unnamed One we fought was a common Unnamed One. They’re all unique, of course, but there was nothing elite about the one we fought, from what I saw. So why didn’t it just drop us one golden pearl? It could be a coincidence. It could be luck. Or it could be Luck,” he gestured towards Cheater. “Don’t you remember how we used your lucky ability just as we killed it? Well, that ability works many times better if it’s got a higher Luck value behind it. That was not our last Unnamed One. Luck will help us out with more than just Unnamed Ones, too. Do you understand now?”

  “So then I should flood not just Luck but also Willpower,” Cheater added, without explaining further.

  That was, after all, the stat he wanted to pump most of all, and he could point March’s interest to pumping it, as well.

  March’s interest, life had shown, was worth a great deal.

  His comrade nodded. “Alright. I hope you have the numbers right.”

  “It’s pretty clear. My skill increases Luck by 20x. Well, every ten levels of Willpower adds another unit to that 20. So each boost of Luck by 1 is actually a boost by 20. My Luck hit the seventies a long time ago now, so adding to it is expensive and doesn’t increase the total very much. But the next plus ten Willpower level? That will give me more than 60 additional Luck when I use the ability. So even though my Willpower is higher than my Luck, the best decision is to boost the Willpower.”

  “Alright, you’ve convinced me.”

  “Also,” Cheater continued, “I know that I’m most important to you when I play the role of a self-propelled and non-traitorous sack of Luck. But I would like to consider some other stats, as well. Perhaps I could reserve, say, 10% of the free experience for them? Or better yet, 20%?”

  March nodded. “Your sack of Luck self-titling is on point. Luck is what we need most of all. You should accept that. I know how to make sacrifices for the team, you know. I know how to sacrifice myself, quite literally. Your Luck will come in handy for you, after all. And to us, in all situations. This is more than slaying Unnamed Ones now. With a Lucky like you, we can become a unique party. I doubt anything like us will exist anywhere else on the Continent. Your other stats will play catch up as we collect bonuses and so on. As long as you focus on Luck.”

  “But a bump to the ‘other stats’ could make me stronger right now.”

  “Your Luck is your power. Nothing else. You might as well accept that. Some tiny portion you may assign to other stats, but when I say ‘tiny,’ I mean it.”

  “Alright,” Cheater nodded. “Just remember that I did convince you about the Willpower. Both of us will benefit from that. And remember you allowed the tiny portion, too.”

  “Alright, alright, I have faith in you,” March summed up as he directed more attention over Cheater’s shoulder.

  The latter managed to fight the impulse to turn around. “What’s going on back there?”

  “A little holiday I arranged,” March beamed.

  Clown turned and shook his head. “No, I don’t see any kegs over there. Are you sure?”

  “This seat was a very specific choice,” March said. “This is a special street. It’s like it was created to funnel players along. If you try any other path, something gets in your way. There is indeed less risk of getting hit by a wave of ghouls here, too, since it ends at a narrow strip of black land, which the infecteds hate. So as I waited for you, a couple of familiar faces showed up. I have a good memory for faces, you know, and so I’m sure I encountered them recently, when I was a guest of the Devils. Some grunts from their clan, it seems. Ah, now I see two of them at once, and they’re going somewhere. They want to get out of here. A huge number of Devils are respawning today, as if they are having some problems.”

  “They’re not just having problems. They just got royally screwed,” Clown escalated.

  “Is that so? Interesting. You can tell me later. For now, Cheater, I’d like to ask you for a small favor.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You see, I have nothing against rank and file grunts. They’re just doing the best they can to get along, to survive in this cluster. But that pair are different. They really like what they do. They’re making me angry. I’d like to do something very bad to them. What’s that rifle you’ve got? What caliber?”

  “Same one as ever, 12 point 7.”

  March smiled. “Perfect. Can you shoot them both, one leg at a time? You pick the order. Just something to take the spring out of their step.”

  “If you’re looking to just cripple them, it might not work. 12.7 might not tear their legs clean off, but it’ll be close. They might die. It’s getting tough to call an ambulance here.”

  “If they die, I won’t be shedding any tears for them. Take your shots.”

  “You sure they’ll let us finish our beer after that?”

  “No, so I asked for a couple of growlers to go,” March pointed to a couple of bags on the square table’s sole empty chair. “I know how to be prepared.”

  “Alright, whatever you say,” Cheater drew his rifle.

  “Oh, wait! Look, an old friend!” March excl
aimed.

  “Where?” Cheater asked, assuming that March meant another member of the Devils’ clan had shown up.

  “Well, an old friend of yours, not mine. Do you remember Glock? You should. I had some issues with my vision at the time, you’ll recall, but I had met him before that. Hard to forget his face. He’s an interesting character. Wow, he’s come a long way. And judging by what he’s wearing, he just came back to life. What a coincidence!”

  “Wow, he sure respawned fast,” Clown noted.

  “Fast?” March cocked his head. “Is that your doing?”

  “I had a front-row seat when he was shot,” Clown grinned.

  Cheater finally found him and smiled, with all the innocence of an obedient toddler. Without taking his eyes off the target, he unfolded his bipod, set the rifle on the table, sat down, looked through the eyepiece, and made his grin as malicious as he could. “Clown, this loser’s on my blacklist. You know that. Could you kindly do me a favor? Write him a message informing him that he has exactly 50 seconds. Five more than last time. I’m a fair man, after all. He must run straight down the road, without turning to the left or the right. After 50 seconds, he can go wherever he wants, if he has the time.”

  “Gladly. I’ll have the message off in a few seconds.”

  “What a lucky day!”

  “Not for Glock,” Clown protested as he reached into his backpack for his rapidly emptying bag of popcorn.

  Let others do the work. He was here to enjoy the show.

  Chapter 7

  Life Nine. Under Wise Direction

  March had his idiosyncrasies. As all players did. Even those to whom the System had returned significant portions of their memories still felt a profound emptiness. An unrelenting, oppressive feeling that something was missing. Something without which no one could consider themselves complete. Each player felt that he had lost the most important part of himself, without any possibility of finding it again. That seed, planted in soil watered with continual stress, produced all kinds of mental aberrations. Some became outright psychos. Some had less obvious, latent issues. The rest just freaked out now and then.

  March was not an outright psycho, but Cheater was starting to suspect problems.

  He devoted most of his time to his passion: beer. That passion was not always harmless to him and his party, as he would sometimes risk a great deal to get his hands on a couple of cans. Otherwise, though, March was a very thoughtful player. Yes, it was infuriating that he often didn’t say much and would hold back key information until the last possible moment.

  He loved to make things mysterious, or even confusing.

  At this moment, March was not disclosing to the team their current course of action. Nor disclosing anything whatsoever. The newly-spawned city was doomed, but the tidal wave of madness had not yet submerged it entirely, and the old order struggled to cling to life. Meaning that, as soon as Cheater fired his shots, the party had to leave the drinking establishment. Very quickly.

  Their conversation ground to a halt in the process. They were weighed down, moving quickly, and trying to navigate through unfamiliar territory.

  But March knew what he was doing. He was following some sort of plan. Cheater and Clown merely kept up.

  As usual. They could have easily figured out for themselves which way was east, of course. But geographical prowess was not enough here. Crossing a border was considered the most perilous activity this world offered—beside obvious suicides such as solo attacks on Nolds or bot convoys. Despite March’s flamboyance, Cheater had to admit that he knew how to get out of sticky situations.

  Whether they could have done it without him would remain an open question. Cheater had grown, but too quickly.

  It was best for him to have an experienced comrade around.

  So he only asked one question, a clarification, really, as they ran. Had March somehow, perhaps, forgotten where they needed to end up? March’s answer was vague. It was not really an answer.

  That was upsetting.

  Once they had exited the city, crossed a black cluster, and at last made a stop in a strip of forest, Cheater repeated his concern. “March, in case you don’t know, I was heading east—and that’s where I intend to continue heading. Into the next region. I’d like to get there soon. But we’re not heading east, and I’d like to know why.”

  The man he was interrogating opened another can of beer and drained nearly half its contents, then smiled. “So, you’re going east, to the next region over. Is that right?”

  “Yes. What’s wrong with that?”

  “Nothing, nothing, everything’s fine. I haven’t decided against going with you. Don’t worry about that. But I was, I admit, a bit confused. I thought you were heading towards Kitty, not just to this nebulous ‘east’. There are many, many places which could be called ‘east,’ you know. You could go east for the rest of your lives, all the way out, to the eastern ocean itself. I suppose you could start swimming, then, or take a boat, but you wouldn’t get far. The Nolds hate people who strike out to sea. I’m not sure how to appease them on that one. Perhaps if...”

  Cheater cut into his comrade’s mockery. “I’m going towards Kitty. You know that. She’s somewhere east of here, so I’m going east.”

  March replied in the patient tones of a mental hospital worker, talking to a patient who was unable to unzip his fly on his own. “Why do you keep handing her the party leader role?”

  Cheater shrugged. “It’s like a stupid game we have. It’s the only way we have to contact each other. At any time, we can communicate that everything is all right. I can convey that we’re fine. And that I haven’t forgotten about her.”

  “You really don’t think that the fact you haven’t kicked her from the party is enough proof you haven’t forgotten?”

  “It’s not that. That’s just a static indicator. It doesn’t change. It’s passive. But changing leadership is an active move, showing her that I’m thinking about her at this moment. It doesn’t sound like much, sure, but it really is our only way of communicating. Like saying hello. Checking in.”

  March carefully placed his can on the ground and held his head in his hands. “Gods of this world, why did you give so much Luck, stubbornness, and self-confidence to such an imbecile? Couldn’t you have assigned at least a little bit of your graces to giving him some brains? A canary has more gray matter!”

  Cheater tensed. “What?”

  “Nothing. Don’t worry about it. You’re just doing what you’re made to do. I haven’t seen you for a long time, you know, so I started to forget how dense you were. No wonder the beer doesn’t go to your brains. You don’t have any.”

  “What did I do wrong, then? Quit stalling.”

  “I’m not stalling,” March sighed. “I’m just not sure where to begin. Let’s start with the simplest part. Maybe you’ll catch on. Miracles still do happen here. Have you ever sat down and considered why Kitty always gives the party leader role back to you?”

  “Sure. For the same reasons I give it to her. I explained that already. Plus, she’s a loner, but sometimes I have to add people to the party, which requires me to be leader. She knows that, so she gives it back. After all, no one is trying to join her party.”

  “Have you noticed her sometimes returning it immediately, and sometimes only after a while?”

  “Of course. That makes perfect sense. Maybe she’s sleeping or in the middle of something, or just misses the new leadership notification. Or any number of other reasons.”

  March increased his insulting tone to such a level that it was the only detectable timbre in his voice. “The party logs show all leadership changes down to the second. System time. Haven’t you ever looked at those numbers?”

  Cheater was beginning to guess where March was going, and he hastened to show it. “So she’s trying to communicate something to me using the gaps between each time she returns the leader role to me?”

  “Wow, you only needed a dozen hints! I thought it’d t
ake a thousand,” March praised him, without reducing the sarcasm. “Yes, Cheat, those were no simple hellos, as the vacuum in your skull led you to believe. They were messages. I’m starting to wonder why this girl Kitty hasn’t given up on you. She’s obviously intelligent. I guess opposites attract. No, don’t you start thinking that means she’s a genius. Any scrap of smart is enough to count as opposite to your negative infinity. Now, she is realizing the great intellectual abyss that separates you. What makes me say that? Because before she gave up on trying to communicate with you, she selected the most primitive communication code of all. Morse code seemed the obvious way to go. In fact, it was the first thing I thought of when I saw this little ‘game’ of yours. Long and short intervals, like the old telegraph operators had to use. But you didn’t get it, so she started trying other methods. By the end, she had encoded the whole alphabet in a digital cipher. Each letter received a number. ‘A’ became ‘1,’ ‘B’ became ‘2,’ and so on. Simple, but not sensible, since it takes a lot of time to transmit a message in this way. Morse code is much more practical. Besides, it often took you a very long time to make her leader again. She needed to sleep, too, or as you said became distracted—resulting in errors in transmission or lost time due to the need to start the current letter over. If this happens, she waits nearly an hour before resuming. Unless it’s nighttime. That way, the long pause will clearly show ‘I’m starting this one again.’ Now stop looking at me like I just invented fire, the wheel, and the steam engine before your very eyes. Your beloved girl has been trying to communicate with you this whole time. Not only do you have no idea what she’s been talking about, you don’t even know that there’s a conversation going on. The stereotypical stupid boyfriend.”