Rise of the Grandmaster

by Bradford Bates

  Tim strolled through the market before heading back to the slums. Using the market to shake any unwanted followers was becoming a habit. At least this time, he didn’t have to spill the merchants’ wares all over the street to get away. Chances were he wasn’t being followed. No one should be looking for him, since as far as Jepsom knew, Tim was dead.

  Being dead came with the gift of anonymity, but that wouldn’t last long. As soon as Tim held his next healing-shed session, Jepsom would hear about it. Then he’d have to be on his toes all the time. What he really needed was a group, or at least a half-elven warrior princess. He was pretty confident that with Sierra by his side, they could conquer anything.

  The familiar arch leading to the slums came into view, and the same two guards were stationed on either side of the entrance. He looked at the men’s metal breastplates and hardened leather greaves. Each of them carried a halberd, and also had a bastard sword strapped to his waist.

  If these men were also hardened soldiers, they would be formidable foes in battle—just the kind of people Tim wanted to track down the asshole who had stabbed him. The man with the orange sash had to pay for what he had done, and Marvin needed to go down with him. I mean, even in the gameworld, murdering people in the city had to be bad, right?

  Tim knew some games featured PvP as a primary source of combat or even just a fun diversion, but player versus player was different. He’d been murdered by an NPC in cold blood. It hadn’t been a monster. He hadn’t even left the city to go hunting yet. Players were out there passing him and making fat stacks, while he was getting murdered and falling farther behind the curve.

  Just because he wanted something to be true, it didn’t mean it was going to be. Maybe the guards were the game’s way of making sure crime didn’t take place openly in the streets. That kind of thing might be bad for PR. All citizens should be reminded that if you wanted to kill someone, do it indoors.

  Trying to shake the cynicism from his thoughts, Tim focused on the guards. He might as well take the time to inspect them. Who knows, maybe under their names it would say, fuck off gamers, we’ve got better things to do.

  With a thought, he inspected the two men.

  City Guard: Barry, level twenty-five.

  City Guard: Chris, level twenty-five.

  Yep, they could both flatten me in a heartbeat. Just the kind of help I need to make sure those bastards pay.

  Tim slapped a hand against his forehead. He should have inspected Marvin last night. Maybe the inspection would have revealed something about the man that would have stopped Tim from following him into a trap. So far, his inspections hadn’t revealed much, but Tim expected Marvin’s would have said Sneaky Little Shit if his perception had been high enough.

  He could still hear the fucker laughing.

  Anger bubbled up inside him like a tar pit erupting from the earth. His hate wasn’t bright and sharp, it was dull and full of darkness. Killing these men wouldn’t be enough; he wanted them to suffer. They had to pay for what they had done, for making him feel the way he felt right now.

  Weak.

  Tim never wanted to feel that way again, and it wasn’t right that he should have to. Who expected to be lured into a building to get murdered? It didn’t happen to normal people where he was from, at least not on the regular. He’d thought he was safe in the slums, where the people cared about him, but instead, his assassins had used his willingness to help others against him.

  It was going to be their turn to deal with the repercussions of their actions. Tim stopped in front of the guards. “Howdy, gentleman.”

  Chris’s head turned toward him, but his body stayed firmly at attention. “Move along.”

  Barry smiled, taking one hand off his halberd to make a little shooing gesture.

  Never one to be detoured by failing on his first try, Tim continued, “I’d like to report a crime.”

  “A fashion crime?” Barry chirped.

  Chris smiled. “That’s what happens when your closet is the city’s rubbish pile.”

  The two men clinked their halberds together and had a good chuckle, probably thinking about how all their guard buddies would laugh along with them over pints at the tavern after work. It was always a letdown when the people you thought were there to protect and help you didn’t come through for you.

  Sometimes the world outside the game felt the exact same way. When their house off campus had been robbed, it had taken the cops over three hours to show up. The cops didn’t even take fingerprints or pictures, they just handed him a statement for his insurance and a card to use if he had to add any other items to the list of stolen property.

  What a fucking letdown. It’s a wonder they ever catch anyone who doesn’t turn themselves in.

  Tim wasn’t done trying, but he wanted to handle things the right way. Vigilante justice was all fine and good in the movies, but in real life, you had to let the cops handle things, or you went to jail too. If the city guards would help him, he was more than content to let the two men mete out justice as they saw fit.

  Chris grinned at Barry. “Well, he didn’t go away, so I guess he’s going to tell us what’s on his mind.”

  Barry smiled back. “I’m sure he has a fantastical tale.”

  Tim tried to keep his anger at bay. If the two men weren’t being such colossal dicks to him, he probably would have been laughing at their antics. “Not too fantastic, just a murder to report.”

  Barry grinned. “Ohhhh, a murder.”

  Chris winked at Tim. “Probably just a bit of theater. Street trash trying to make a few coins.” He waved away Tim’s concerns as if they were of no importance. “You’d think with ingenuity like that, they’d be able to fix the damn streets.”

  Tim growled in frustration. “They stabbed him.” He reached out to tap Barry’s chest plate. “Right in the heart.”

  Barry took a scrap of cloth out his pocket and wiped away the smudge Tim’s finger had left on his breastplate. “And you were there when this happened?”

  “I was the one who got fucking stabbed.” Oh, no. He’d done it. As soon as he told the guards it was him, their eyes rolled.

  Chris looked at Barry, and they both broke out in peals of laughter. “But you’re not dead, boy. You’re right-fucking-here.”

  Barry grabbed Tim’s arm. “Certainly not a ghost.”

  “I can prove it to you.” Tim reached into his inventory and pulled out his bloody robes. He held out the garment so the men could see it. “They are covered in my blood.”

  “Blood?” the men asked together.

  Tim turned the robes around, and they were clean. This was the one time putting something in his inventory had totally fucked him. At least the hole was gone, and he didn’t need new robes. But how the hell was he going to convince the guards to help him? Right now, they probably thought he needed to be locked up in the looney bin.

  “Maybe one of you could come with me to where it happened?” Tim shoved the robes back into his inventory as he pled his case.

  “Listen, kid, we enjoy a good gag, but now you’re just wasting our time.” Barry looked him right in the eyes. “I don’t want to have to arrest you for disturbing the peace.”

  “Move along,” Chris intoned.

  Motherfucker!

  He looked at the two men with despair gripping his heart. How could someone be considered dead if they were up and walking around without a mark on them? Tim understood the guard's point, but shouldn’t there be something they could do? If not, then NPCs could just go around killing players without repercussions.

  While he understood how it looked from their point of view, he was still pissed because they were being huge flaming assholes about it. He wished the curse of a thousand fiery chicken wings on them.

  May their asses burn twice as badly as their mouths did.

  He made the sign of the goddess over his heart and walked through the archway to the slums, leaving the two men behind him. A gentle mist started to fall. As much as
he loved the rain, the mist stoked his anger. How was he going to get to the bottom of this without help?

  Lady Briarthorn wasn’t an option until he had earned her trust. He’d never make it back inside the temple to speak with Paul, not with Jepsom on the lookout for him. The guards would rather snicker and make fun of him because he couldn’t prove that a crime had been committed.

  A knife to the chest fucking hurt. He wasn’t willing to just let it go.

  So that left him with Sierra and the men back at the inn. Ernie seemed like he had contacts, and Gaston knew his way around a knife. Maybe the two men could help put his mind at ease. Or even better, take care of the problem for him.

  Arriving at the front door of the inn made him feel a little better. At least inside these four walls, he knew exactly what to expect.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “Oh, good, you’re here,” Ernie came around the counter to greet him.

  “I’ve got some ideas for the healing shed.” The innkeeper started speaking again but stopped abruptly at the forlorn look on Tim’s face. Ernie put an arm around the shocked-looking young man and guided him into the first available chair in the main room.

  Tim wanted to say something, but he felt so frustrated. He hated it when he couldn’t do things on his own. Relying on others was something he was still getting used too, and the trust component was the hardest part. He’d brought these problems with him from the real world, and they were being magnified by the life-or-death nature of the game.

  How could you trust someone when the smallest of screw-ups got you dead?

  Ernie looked at him with concern, but Tim waved him away and took a sip of water to buy himself time to think. He was looking at this all wrong. This was an MMO at its core. It might be an overly simplistic explanation, but the rules probably still held true. Content was always easier to tackle in a group, and skilled groups normally geared up quickly, leaving the others far behind.

  So, instead of trying to do this on his own, he had to trust his instincts and enlist the help of the people around him. “Ernie, I’ve got a problem.”

  Ernie sat down, scratching the stubble on his cheek absentmindedly. He looked at Tim with the eyes of a man who had heard more than his share of sad stories. “I’m not going to like this, am I?”

  Tim tried not to smile. Ernie probably wasn’t going to believe what he had to say, let alone like it, but Tim was determined to tell him the truth. “Someone killed me last night.”

  The innkeeper’s eyes widened. “You mean, someone tried to kill you.”

  Gaston stood up and dragged a chair over to Tim’s smaller table. He spun the chair around and sat down with his arms crossed over the back. “What’s all this about someone trying to kill you?”

  Shaking his head, Tim replied. “Not tried, did. Someone killed me last night.” He knew how it sounded. It sounded fucking crazy, but he had to tell them the truth.

  Was it really so hard to believe he’d been resurrected when the world was full of magic?

  Both men were looking at him as if he might have been bumped on the head. Ernie’s concern was touching, but Tim didn’t want it right now. What he wanted was for them to believe him. Someone had to. “It’s a long explanation, but I can show you where it happened.”

  Wagging his finger, Gaston stood up, mustache dancing as he smiled. “You almost had me.”

  Tim was desperate. He needed these men to believe him if he was going to stand a chance going forward. If they heard some of the details, it might add credence to his story. “There was a man wearing an orange sash, and some guy calling himself Marvin.”

  Ernie seemed lost in thought as Gaston stood up and took his chair back to his own table. Some distant memory seemed to click into place, and Ernie’s eyes sparkled with mischief as they locked onto Tim’s. “There was a guy with long dark hair sulking around in front of the inn last night. I thought it was odd because he never tried to come inside, but the guy’s name wasn’t Marvin.”

  “Martin,” Gaston growled. “Idiot didn’t even have the brains to change his name enough for a proper disguise.”

  The innkeeper looked at Gaston, shocked by his simple acceptance of Tim’s story after hearing about Martin. He still wasn’t sure what to make of things, so he turned his eyes back to Tim. “Are you saying Martin killed you?”

  Tim sighed, knowing it was his fault for not telling them the entire story from the beginning. “No! I’m saying that little shitweasel led me to a house by telling me his fucking mother was too sick to come to the inn. When I got there, Mr. Orange Sash stabbed me in the chest.”

  He took a deep breath to calm himself, but this was also where he could make his story believable. “It’s only because of the Goddess that I’m still here.” Tim hoped Eternia wouldn’t mind him using her to explain his resurrection.

  Gaston sat back down at their table. “I might be able to track those men down, but I have a feeling you have something darker in mind.”

  Ernie stood and planted his hands on the table. He stared at Gaston with an intensity Tim hadn’t seen before. “You can’t, Gaston. If you get caught, it’s over for all of us, and we’re so damn close,” Ernie shouted at the burly assassin.

  Twirling one finger in his mustache, Gaston leaned back in his chair as if he were about to tilt his hat down over his eyes and take a nap. “I owe him for Frankie.” The assassin said the words slowly, leaving no room for discussion.

  This was just the information he needed to get farther in his quest line. “So close to what?” Tim blurted.

  Both men’s heads snapped around, and both of them mumbled, “Nothing,” and looked anywhere but at Tim.

  Maybe Ernie had just given him a clue, or maybe they had a secret stash hidden somewhere in the inn. Now might not be the right time to go down that particular rabbit hole. There were much more pressing needs he had to address first, such as how the hell he was going to sneak onto a boat and kill someone.

  Tim decided to pretend he hadn’t asked the last question, since both the men appeared to be so uncomfortable about it. If Ernie didn’t want Gaston to kill the men for him, maybe there was something he could teach him so Tim could do it himself. This was just the thing to take their minds off his attempt to pry into their business.

  Tim leaned back in his chair, watching both men. “I’d never ask either of you to do anything that would put you at risk.”

  Tim focused on Ernie, and the man nodded to acknowledge his statement. Now that they understood each other, Tim shifted his gaze back to Gaston. “But there is something you can help me with.”

  Both men leaned closer, but it was Gaston who spoke. “Do tell.”

  “I get the feeling you’re handy with a blade. Is there a way you could teach me a few tricks, so I can handle this business myself?” Tim smiled like he was offering them the best deal in the world. “You get to keep your hands blood-free, and whatever you don’t want me to know about this place stays hidden.”

  “Not sure what you’re talking about,” Ernie chimed in on cue.

  Gaston smiled as if he’d finally found a worthwhile opponent. “I might be able to show you a thing or two if you have the aptitude. Working with a dagger takes a certain amount of finesse.”

  The assassin’s eyes went blank for a moment, then he frowned. “I might be able to teach you not to stab yourself in the leg. If you want to learn how to wield a blade properly, you’re going to need more dexterity.”

  It wasn’t much, but Tim had two stat points left to spend, and he still hadn’t examined the circlet the high priest had given him. Before he made any hasty decisions, he needed to look over his stats.

  A quick examination of the circlet revealed that it had added +1 to his wisdom, which was up to 20, explaining the extra point. Tim clicked on the wisdom stat, wondering what the bonus for crossing the threshold to twenty-one would be.

  A small notice appeared next to the stat. As long as your wisdom remains above twenty points, you wil
l receive a +2 bonus to perception. He probably could have figured that out on his own by looking at his extended stats for perception, vitality, revitalization, and luck.

  “Interesting.” Tim tapped his fingers on the display. How would higher perception help him? There was no way to be sure until he needed to use it, but any increase in his secondary stats couldn’t hurt.

  The circlet pushing him up to twenty points made it easier to do what he knew was coming next. Wincing slightly, Tim assigned his two remaining points to dexterity. It was a stat he thought he’d never even touch, and now he was sinking his hard-earned points into it. He hoped this moment didn’t come back to bite him in the ass later.

  If I want to get justice, I’m going to have to take risks.

  Ernie and Gaston were locked in conversation about how the assassin had to help Tim with whatever he needed done because there was no way the kid could do it himself without getting killed. Tim listened to them for a moment, then tapped Gaston on the shoulder to get his attention. “How about now?”

  Gaston inspected him again. “At least now you’re giving me a little something to work with.”

  Quest Received: Revenge They Say, I call it Justice

  Success: Execute Martin and the Man with the Orange Sash

  Failure: This quest can only be accomplished if both individuals are dead

  Reward: Increased Reputation with Ernie and Gaston

  Accept Quest

  Tim quickly accepted the quest. Now that his stats were high enough to learn something from the assassin, he was getting excited about tonight. That and the new quest were going to give him bonus experience for doing something he planned to do anyway. Never do anything for free when you could be getting paid was his new motto.

  Ernie smiled now that Gaston was off the hook. “See? I told you the kid would be fine.”