Rise of the Grandmaster

by Bradford Bates

  Aligning his body to the target, Tim thought about his last few throws and what had gone wrong. This next attempt needed to be softer than the last one, but he still shouldn’t need to compensate for the knife’s flight toward a target that was only ten feet away.

  Time seemed to slow down as Tim pulled the last blade free. The throwing knife felt heavy in his hand. He tossed it up and down a few times, working out the balance of the blade. He slowly curled his fingers around the hilt, then his breathing slowed and the knife flew from his hand. It struck the bullseye and quivered there, just as Gaston’s blade had done earlier.

  The burly assassin wrapped Tim in his arm, lifting him off his feet as he cheered. “I knew you had it in you.” He set Tim down, beaming from ear to ear. “I’ve got one last thing to teach you before I want to see that spell of yours.”

  Gaston walked around the room putting covers over some of the torches, creating pools of dark shadows around the room. Gaston covered one last torch, and the man seemed to disappear. Looking around wildly, Tim tried to locate the assassin, but he just couldn’t see him.

  “I’ve got a feeling this is going to hurt,” Tim mumbled as his legs were swept out from under him. He hit the ground with a thud and scanned the air above him for the next blow. Instead, a smiling face peered down at him.

  “You’re dead.” Gaston extended his hand and helped Tim to his feet.

  Gaston gently brushed off the back of Tim’s shirt, then turned toward the room, extending his arms wide. “Shadows are an assassin’s best friend. Strike from the dark, and fade to black.”

  He stepped into the shadows, disappearing almost entirely from sight. Tim could make out just the hint of his outline as he moved through the darkness. It must have been his perception skill helping him, but it didn’t take Gaston long to lose him.

  “Fuck.” I can’t see shit in here.

  Tim frantically searched the shadows for any sign of the assassin. He turned slowly from side to side, vainly hoping that whatever Gaston did to him this time might hurt a little less than the last lesson. When the man didn’t appear behind him, Tim turned to face the front of the room again, then spun and lashed out with a fist.

  His hand sailed through the air, connecting with nothing. Tim stumbled forward, his balance completely thrown off by the wild swing. He had time to think about how stupid he must have looked before he felt a hand on his back. The simple shove sent him crashing to the ground.

  He hit the wooden planks, a scream tearing from his mouth as a giant splinter sank into the palm of his hand. Gaston landed on his back, and four rapid punches slammed into places that must have been vital organs. He groaned. He rolled onto his back and looked up at the assassin.

  “Maybe with a little less enthusiasm next time,” Tim bitched as he pulled the splinter out of his hand and cast healing orb.

  Gaston helped him to his feet. “Now it’s your turn.”

  The assassin showed him how to use the darkness for cover and went over the points he’d hit on Tim’s back. Even when attacking from concealment and behind the target, it was still important to hit something vital, or the fight could get out of control quickly.

  Gaston called a halt to their training about an hour later. “I do have other things to do today.” He smiled at his new apprentice. “But I still want to see this spell of yours.” Gaston crossed his arms and leaned against the railing.

  Tim put his new daggers back into his inventory and pulled out his scepter. He scanned the spell, instantly understanding how it functioned. His hand started moving through the casting when Gaston jumped in front of him. Tim faltered, then fell to the ground, clutching his head.

  “That’s mana burn, boy. You never want to stop casting in the middle of a spell.” He helped Tim up. “Sorry to do that to you, but I didn’t want the first time you used the spell in a fight to be the last time.”

  Tim glared at Gaston. “Yes, it’s much better when the very first time I try to cast a spell, it causes me an immense amount of pain.” Tim picked up his scepter. “Thanks for that.”

  “Maybe I was a little overeager in my instruction. It’s not my fault you magic types are so finicky.” He twirled one side of his mustache. “Also remember this if you are on the other side of a casting. Sharp knives being thrown at you can have the same effect as the surprise I just gave you.”

  “How about this time you just let me cast the spell, and we work on beating distraction in our next lesson?” Tim waited until the assassin nodded in acknowledgment and then tried casting flame burst again.

  “Wait!” Gaston jumped in front of him. “This isn’t a fire spell, is it?”

  Tim looked up at Gaston from his place on the floor. Maybe he should just stay down here. You could cast while sitting, and he wouldn’t fall nearly as far if the assassin interrupted him again. Although he was catching on. If you wanted to be a magical caster in this game, you had to have rock-solid focus.

  “Of course it has fire. It’s called ‘flame burst,’ for Eternia’s sake,” Tim shouted at Gaston as he disappeared into the shadows.

  The assassin returned a moment later with two buckets of water. “What?” He shrugged. “If you haven’t noticed, we’re basically in a wooden box.

  Tim smiled sheepishly. “I guess not being burned to death below the inn holds a certain appeal.” Tim glanced at Gaston and pretended to start his spell before glaring at the man again. The assassin held up his hands in submission, and Tim focused on what needed to be done.

  Words tumbled from his lips, and his hand moved through the ritual gestures. He pointed his staff at the training dummy and flames erupted from the tip, washing over the wooden target.

  Gaston rushed forward and doused the training dummy with water. “Not too bad. If you get overwhelmed, I’d definitely use that!”

  Tim smiled as he looked at the singed dummy. The spell was much more powerful than he’d expected. Some of the monsters in this game would inevitably have fire resistance, and so would some of the players. Still, flame burst was a powerful tool. Maybe it was time for him to get some use out of it.

  Gaston looked at his blackened training dummy and back at Tim. “Why don’t we start focusing more on what you have to do tonight and less on burning down the inn?” Gaston put an arm around Tim’s shoulders and led him back up the stairs.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Ernie had left them a pitcher of rumpleberry juice and a plate of hardtack.

  “The man might as well be a saint,” Tim exclaimed, pouring himself a large glass.

  “Or the Grim Reaper.” Gaston chuckled. “Ernie is our master of poisons.”

  Tim sprayed his juice all over the floor. “Poison?” It made sense. Assassins normally had some kind of poison-covered weapon in most games. In a lot of them, the poison added a damage-over-time effect, but in rare occurrences, the poison could transfer some of the damage back to the user as life.

  Gaston poured his own glass of juice and took a delighted sip. “Yep.” He smiled devilishly. “But I’m sure the juice is fine.”

  Glaring at Gaston, Tim topped off his glass. “I’ll be down in a minute.” Grabbing a biscuit, he shoved it into his mouth and ran for the stairs.

  So the assassin had a sense of humor that was low key funny. It was hard not to like Gaston, now that he was getting to see more of the man’s personality, and a lot less of the “I’ll slit your throat if you look at me wrong” vibe he’d given off when they’d first met. Plus, the burly assassin’s display with the dummy still had Tim questioning his class choices.

  I bet he could solo the BrewMaster.

  But it wasn’t like Tim had seen what a high-level mage could do yet, and he was pretty sure there was a cleric or two out there who had gone into DPS specialization. Master and grandmaster spells of any class had to be impressive, but the magic users might have had an edge, at least visually. Sure, it was cool to move like the wind, but imagine calling down meteors from the heavens, or summoning a dragon to
fight by your side.

  That was good shit! Far better than poking people with daggers.

  It wasn’t out of the question to believe a grandmaster of the healing arts could keep an entire army alive. Tim imagined standing above two armies fighting in the valley below him. The tide had turned against his men, and it was time for him to intervene. Calling upon the Goddess Eternia, Tim channeled her power through himself into his staff.

  With a thunderous crash, he slammed his staff on the ground three times and screamed the final word of his spell. The clouds above them drew together, darkening as his magic flowed into them. Lightning arced, killing several of his foes, and then a gentle rain started to fall amongst the men.

  As their wounds began to heal, the tide of the battle turned in their favor. Tim fell to his knees as the men cheered their victory. Rising to his feet again, he looked out over the soldiers. The men turned to him, and Tim held his staff aloft in triumph. “For the Goddess!”

  The men below picked up the chant, and it swept across the battlefield as they wiped out the rest of the enemy.

  What a vivid daydream.

  Entering his room, Tim shook off the thoughts of leading an army. Right now he was terrified of trying to kill one man, let alone thousands. He quickly finished the hardtack and his glass of juice. After a quick look in the mirror, Tim un-equipped his clothes and used his last bit of free time to go to the bathroom. If there was one thing he could live without having to do in the game, it would be taking a shit.

  And toilet paper…

  He was going to have to remember to ask about the fucking toilet paper. With his business concluded and his less-than-fun wiping completed, Tim slipped his loincloth back into place. He set the chamber pot by the door in the hallway, then went back to the table. Filling a basin with water, Tim wiped his body with a towel.

  Truth be told, he was starting to smell a bit ripe and was really missing deodorant. If Ernie didn’t have a shower, maybe there was a tub he could soak in, and some soap he could use to wash off the grime. He’d have to find out after he got back.

  With the necessities out of the way, Tim sat down in front of the fire to collect his thoughts. Before he could sink too deeply into brooding about his quest, the notifications at the bottom right of his screen caught his eye.

  Skill Granted: Small Blades

  Rank: Apprentice rank one

  You have mastered the basics. Ok, who are we kidding? You’ve learned from the hands of a master and benefited from his years of study. Don’t worry, it’s a long, slow climb up the rest of the skill tree.

  Bonus: Attacks with blades less than eighteen inches long do five percent more damage. Dexterity requirement for weapons reduced by a factor of two.

  Interesting. At some point, weapons would come with stat requirements, making where you put your stat points even more valuable. Sure, they were coming to him quickly now, but after level twenty, he’d bet things really slowed down. Imagine finding the perfect weapon for your class and not being able to use it because you put a point in a stat that didn’t matter. He’d have to be even more careful of where he allocated his points going forward.

  Skill Granted: Throwing Knives

  Rank Apprentice rank one

  Remember how horrible your second throw was? The system will, for the rest of eternity.

  That seemed a little extreme.

  Bonus: Your knives will be ten percent more accurate when thrown at a distance under twenty feet, and will do five percent more damage.

  Learning from a master certainly had its privileges. Tim thought about how long it’d taken him to get healing orb to the first apprentice rank on his own and shuddered. There was a good chance that without Gaston’s training, he would have died tonight. Now he felt as if he had a real chance.

  Skill Granted: Sneak

  Rank: Apprentice rank one

  Your ability to hide in the shadows is almost legendary. You know, as long as you don’t move and no one is looking for you. You shouldn’t get too excited; chances are that if someone spots you, you’ll probably end up talking to your caseworker again.

  Bonus: Shadows cling to you like a second skin. Your ability to hide in them is increased by ten percent. When you aren’t moving, characters searching for you must pass a perception check to see you.

  Bet that perception check is pretty damn low.

  Wow, the system was really starting to rub off on him. Now the game had him talking shit instead of being excited about his new skills. Everything he learned was at apprentice rank, and other people would probably spend a week getting to this point. Tim re-equipped the rest of his clothes as he read his last alert.

  Skill Increased: Night Vision

  Rank: Novice rank three

  It is now three percent easier for you to see in low-light conditions.

  I guess practicing hiding in the shadows comes with additional perks.

  Looking over his newly acquired skills, Tim felt nervous, but there was light at the end of the tunnel. He could do this. Dapper Don Diego was going down. So what if Paul couldn’t provide him any support and the guards didn’t care that he’d been killed? He’d found everything he needed at his inn in the slums.

  Those northsiders don’t know what they’re missing.

  A smile tried to form on his face, but Tim only managed a weak upturn at the corners of his mouth. It was fine, he could do this. It was like anything else he’d ever wanted—he had to keep his eyes on the ultimate goal. Shit, soldiers were just normal people thrust into extraordinary circumstances. He’d seen The Pacific. Tim knew you only found out what you were made of when the bullets started flying.

  He was pretty sure that when push came to shove, he wouldn’t hesitate. If he was going to be in the game for twenty years, he had to take control. The last thing he wanted to do was be stuck handing out quests for Ironbeard while Sierra was off having wild adventures. He had to accomplish Lady Briarthorn’s quest. His future depended on it.

  Pulling one of his throwing knives free, Tim spun the blade idly in his hand. He’d learned it wasn’t that hard to kill a person. It turned out people were pretty squishy. Who knew? If he could just sneak onto the boat and catch Dapper Don alone, it would be over quickly. Then he could call in the cavalry to loot the boat.

  With a flick of his arm, Tim sent the knife flying. The blade thudded into the wall and quivered. Standing, he grabbed the knife, tucked it back in his bandolier, and headed out the door.

  The time for fucking around was over. He was ready to roll.

  Tim was downstairs in a flash and stepped into the main room a moment later. He saw the innkeeper huddled with Gaston at the central table. A few of his men lounged around them, drinking and chatting.

  Tim almost felt bad about breaking the mood, but he didn’t have long before he had to head to the docks and find the Mary Lou. “Tell me you have some good news for me, Ernie?”

  The innkeeper frowned. “Seems Marvin’s a bit smarter than I gave him credit for.” Ernie shrugged. “He wasn’t home, but I’ll find him.”

  “Good.” I wouldn’t have been able to take care of Marvin tonight anyway. “And the man with the orange sash?”

  Ernie looked at Gaston for help, but the big man just held out his hands as if to say, “This is on you.” The Innkeeper frowned at the assassin but carried on regardless. “The man in orange has been a bit harder to track down. I have Freddy working on it. After you healed him, he’s determined to do something for you.”

  Tim felt a shiver of emotion. It seemed these men really cared about what happened to him. They weren’t just pieces on the board to be used. The man with the orange sash was dangerous, and he didn’t want Freddy getting hurt because of him. “Tell him to be careful. That guy is a stone-cold killer.”

  Ernie finally smiled. “On that note, I did find the house you told us about and a considerable amount of blood in the back room.”

  Tim pointed at the ground. “I’m telling you…dead.” He po
inted at himself. “Then not so dead.” He gazed at the two men. “And now I’m ready to exact a little justice.”

  Gaston chuckled. “Why don’t you see if you can make it back from tonight in one piece?” He stood up and clamped a fatherly hand on Tim’s shoulder. “When you wake up in the morning, you’re going to know one of two things.”

  His hand tightened as he searched Tim’s eyes. “You’re either going to be okay with what you’ve done, or you’re going to be sick about it.”

  “If you’re going to be sick, try not to do it in your room,” Ernie cautioned.

  Gaston glared at the innkeeper, and Ernie mimicked zipping his lips. “Just know that if you need to talk about what you had to do, I’ll be here for you.”

  If anything, Gaston’s speech filled him with resolve. He could do this, and if he needed support, he had it. “If I need to, I’ll come find you.”

  “Come find us anyway.” One of Gaston’s crew chimed from the table. “We’ll be having drinks.”

  Gaston smiled. “If you’re up for it. You’ll be welcome to join us.”

  It felt good, being part of a group. There was a certain sense of accomplishment when things got done as a team versus on your own. “I’d be honored. I might even have to buy you guys a round.”

  “I’m going to hold you to that.” Gaston clapped Tim on the shoulder and went back to the table. He picked up a small bundle and tossed it to Tim. “For tonight.”

  Tim started to open the package, and his first genuine smile since deciding to go through with this formed on his face. Inside of the bundle was an outfit made out of black cloth and leather, including a pair of boots, and gloves.

  “Ok, so now I really have to buy you a drink,” Tim mumbled as he looked at the gift he’d just received.

  Ernie nudged him. “Don’t leave us in suspense, boy-o. Try them on.”

  Tim equipped the clothes through the inventory system. Only one thought came to mind as he saw his reflection in the stained glass over the bar.