My HP bar dwindled almost to nothing, furiously flashing red. I was dying...
I roared and swung my free hand to cast Thorn Hedge, but it took the Gray Gyrfalcon just a single kick to destroy the bush. Then he stabbed me again. The HP bar flashed one last time and went black, all the colors disappeared, leaving everything in black and white, and my body no longer responded.
I crashed down to the ground like a puppet with its strings cut, a silvery mist enveloping me. My conscience had still been present when the greedy hands of my killer plunged elbow-deep into what had been my body a split second earlier.
There was a white flash. I looked at the well-familiar rainbow for a brief instant, and then I found myself sitting on a huge stone disc covered in a variety of intricate runes clad in nothing but a snow-white diaper, looking at a new system message:
Achievement unlocked!
You have received an achievement: Resurrection, Tier 1.
You can see the table of achievements in your character's menu.
Your reward:
+1% to the chance of keeping one or several equipment items after death.
+0.5% to the chance of not losing XP.
Current level of the bonus: +1%.
Additional information:
Death is not the end! Remember that you are immortal in the world of Waldyra! The player will be transported to the nearest resurrection location after each death. There are certain punitive sanctions that vary depending on location, a player’s level, and the type of the opponent.
I uttered a muffled curse, shut the information window, and stared toward the west with unseeing eyes. The rocky hill stood a few leagues away in that direction, with my misty carcass right on top, and my killer standing above it.
They’d killed me... The bastards!
One brief glance confirmed that I’d lost half the XP I’d gained previously, and I had no equipment left anymore. Robbed of absolutely everything by a nasty bird of prey — the Grey Gyrfalcon, a Level 37 half-orc, a PK armed with a poisoned blade. And I’d crawled right into its beak.
I took a few deep breaths and let my rage abate. I had indeed been killed, but I should have expected that. This was a game, after all. It happened inevitably here, and to everyone, without exception.
That was precisely why I had left my horse in the stable, and the most valuable things and the money, at the inn. All my losses were leather clothes, the shirt from the Crèche embroidered by Vlasilena, my staff, healing potions, and a few more things. Still, I’d kept all my spells, the legendary bracelet remained stashed away safely, and the horse was chewing its virtual hay peacefully, in a stable just as virtual. It could have been much worse.
I was only raging about the unpredictable and idiotic way in which I’d died. I should have saved myself the time and effort and let the wolves feast on me, but then again, who could have known?
As I was trying to wind down thinking these simple thoughts, I blacklisted the Grey Gyrfalcon. That was one nasty bird.
“My good man, please get off the holy stone,” a soft voice of an old man startled me.
There was a white-bearded ancient individual standing near the stone with a gnarly staff in his hand, giving me a look of mild reproach. It figured — I didn’t get in anybody’s way there, but legends were legends, and the locals venerated respawn locations. Little wonder, that. They were resurrection places for immortal strangers who had come into their world — nothing short of a miracle.
I nodded silently, got off the disc, looked around me, and made sure I was in the shady park right next to the market square and its hawkers. That was another advantage to my situation — I ended up in Selene, which had been my original destination.
I got my bearings and headed for the nearest inn. A few paces on, I saw a short message in cyan lettering pop up.
You have a new message from the player Gray Gyrfalcon.
I chose the confirmation pictogram and passionlessly read the following:
You sure carry nothing but crap on you. Even the clothes suck. Anyway, thanks for the presents. No hard feelings, right?
Laconic and smug. The instant I read the first one, the system informed me of another incoming message from the same player. I decided against reading it. I browsed through the menus and added the Gray Gyrfalcon to my ignore list.
I really hated his kind.
Okay, so he’d tricked me, used his advantage, and seized the moment, but why add insult to injury by sending me such self-congratulatory crap? To please his ego and have even more shits and giggles at my expense? What scum.
Anyway, it was a small world. I could run into him again. Or I could try finding this mountain bird deliberately. He appeared to have had an observation point there. Only one of the faces was rocky; the other slopes were easy to climb and just as easy to descend.
“Hey!”
I turned around and looked at the player who’d called me inquisitively. A human, wearing steel armor with a crimson cross on his chest and a white cape on his back.
“Did a KP do you in? Or were they mobs?”
“A PK,” I replied laconically, beginning to suspect the reason for this inquiry.
“Great!” The player looked buoyed by the news. “Where did it happen? Who was it, and what level?”
“At the top of the rocky hill to the west of the village, at the Craggy Rocks location. Half-orc, Level 37, nicknamed the Gray Gyrfalcon.”
“Gotcha! Thanks! We’ll find him and give him a hard time in a moment,” the player promised, patting me on the shoulder. We are the Crimson Cross! These are our clan’s lands!”
“Thanks,” I nodded, waving my goodbye and heading on, having noticed that the crusader sat down on one of the numerous benches and closed his eyes. He must have been sending out messages to his fellow clan members reporting a dangerous criminal by the name of Gray Gyrfalcon. Something along the lines of, “Wanted! Gray Gyrfalcon, a dangerous career criminal! Armed and dangerous! Shoot to kill!”
No matter. Even if they take him out, I’d still have a score to settle with the swine.
I remembered something, turned around, and added,
“He has a poisoned sword. Be careful.”
“He can have a nuclear missile for all I care!” the player snorted derisively.
I shrugged and ambled on toward the inn.
I was in dire need of some trousers. I didn’t feel much like walking around the village in just a diaper.
* * **
As I was walking in through the east gates of the village, I looked at the slowly setting sun, tired, but satisfied at the same time.
The day had been spent most productively.
I’d reached Level 23.
I spent the rest of the day in one of the most boring pastimes ever. I made broad circles around the village, without going too far, and exterminating every living creature I could find. I hated doing this, or staying at the same location for too long, but there wasn’t really any choice
I used nothing but Fire Ember and Thorn Hedge. I meticulously aimed at the smallest monsters that were easiest to kill, paying almost no attention to any of the bigger ones.
I had to escape KPs roaming the area about half a dozen times. Fortunately, there’d been no serious opponents. Bloody amateurs. They couldn’t wait long enough to let the victim get closer, they hardly relied on their characters’ abilities, and were equipped haphazardly without so much as a thought about focusing on PvP gaming. I could have killed each one of them, most likely, but I would still retreat each time deliberately, paying no attention to their jeers. I also declined two offers of a duel.
I had a completely different goal that day — I was grinding for XP and just as diligently stuffing my bag with everything I could find. Cheap loot from monsters, herbs, mushrooms — everything. I got to the first tier in Mushroom Gathering, but didn’t even notice. All I’d needed was to stuff my sack to the max. As soon as I’d accomplish that, I’d run back to the village and sell everything as soon as I could
.
I also completed four quests, giving them my all. Apart from XP or items, that gave me the much-desired brownie points with the locals.
There was a quest involving bringing a shepherd his lunch, completed by three more players at around the same time. I wondered how the poor shepherd managed to eat all that food. Then I was asked to kill ten ferrets constantly attacking the hen coop of a wealthy farm. Then I helped an old lady dig her vegetable garden patch, receiving the Digger achievement as a result, which gave you a bonus to the speed of digging. The very same old lady asked me to fill an enormous barrel on her porch with water from the well, and I was happy to oblige. There was no achievement received as a result of carrying water, but I didn’t mind much.
I did not manage to kill any wolves or bring back any wolf tails, but only since I was trying to play it safe and stay reasonably close to Selene. Also, some wise guy told me why I’d gotten into such a fix during my first attempt on one of those grey-pelted pests. It had been meant to happen that way, since wolves were the “number one enemy” for this particular location.
It turned out that the village was suffering from three main scourges — wolves in the woods, spiders in dark ravines and dense fir and spruce forests, and the vicious kobolds, residents of the Sinkhole Caverns, bearing nothing but ill will for the locals.
The perfidious enemies have been besieging poor Selene for years now, and only the heroic deeds of valiant strangers help with holding back the scourge. That was the legend, anyway. What it translated to was that wolves, kobolds, and the spiders, yet unfamiliar to me, were a special kind of mob. They dealt more damage, had more XP, were resistant to certain elements, and had an advanced “brain.” They all moved around in groups, so they were best hunted by a party of players.
One encountered such monsters around many towns and villages, and I would often take such quests way back when I played as the archer Khrushchot. But it was easier for a beginner to play as a ranger. You could run faster and get less tired, attack mobs from a distance, and have excellent evasion power. One’s primary characteristics, after all, were Agility, Stamina, and sometimes also Strength... In general, an archer was a force to be reckoned with. I was beginning to wax nostalgic...
It was harder for a mage. Sure, later on, once I’d learned and leveled up some of the more powerful spells, I’d be able to wave a finger to transform a part of the woodland. But all of that would have to wait for much later. I had nothing but a few puny first-tier spells currently, which was my main issue.
Summon an Adder, Fire Ember, and Ice Arrow kept blinking merrily, urging me to upgrade them at the nearest Mages’ Guild, and that was my intention precisely, should I manage to put into action a certain plan that I’d thought up; codeword Plaintive Whining. I’d only wished I could upgrade Lesser Healing, too, but it hadn’t been ready yet, and it was outside my immediate specialization, anyway.
I swept through the village like a hurricane, selling all the trophies and ending up the proud owner of seven gold pieces, two silvers, and ten coppers. That much was an advantage. As for disadvantages, I’d been forced to sell Squeak’s crossbow to buy some equipment, namely, shoes, a hat, and a pair of gloves; all standard issue, with bonuses to Defense and Stamina, cheap and sturdy enough. I did already have a jacket and a pair of pants, once again, courtesy of Squeak. Beggars can’t be choosers. It could sound vogue, on the other hand. Couture de Squeak, this season’s favorite! Yeah, right...
I kept laughing at the jokes I’d been coming up with by myself as I trotted to the marketplace and crossed the finish line — that is to say, stopped next to the alchemist player who’d still been standing there advertising his wares to customers. Speak of natural born traders. I’d have expired of boredom after an hour.
However, his perseverance was advantageous to me. I’d sold all my loot except for herbs and mushrooms. They weighed next to nothing, and it would be a crime to sell them cheaply at a regular supplies store.
“Hi!”
“Hello,” the alchemist beamed at me. It was a true capitalist’s smile — dazzling, sincere, and wide as any shark’s.
“Do you buy herbs and mushrooms?” I inquired in a businesslike manner, taking the pack off my shoulder.
“It depends...” the player started, and then choked as his eyes bulged at the enormous bunch of vegetation displayed in the trade window. “Holy guacamole!”
He had every reason to be impressed. I’d gathered enough to feed a horse to near-bursting. All the herbs were simple — chamomile, mint, ribwort, and St. John’s wort, but I had a lot. It was even simpler with mushrooms — russula, yellow-capped fly agaric, and death caps. I’d need to read some manuals to gather other kinds of herbs and mushrooms, given the money to buy them and the time to read them.
“Will you take them?” I asked hopefully.
There was no point in haggling — some of the herbs had already started to wilt, and would become useless hay in just a few hours. And I wasn’t exactly spoiled for choice, either.
“Sure!” the fair-haired player answered firmly. He closed his eyes pensively, thought for a second, and then named his price, “Six gold pieces and two silvers for the lot. Deal?”
“Any chance of just a little bit extra?” I inquired timidly.
“There would be, if you had any empty vials. I’ll have to brew all this vegetation now, and then somehow bottle the result. Damn... I was about to log out, and it looks like I’ll get stuck now.”
“No vials, unfortunately.”
“In that case, six gold pieces and... Well, let’s say three silvers. Are you fine with that?”
“Deal,” I nodded, activating the corresponding virtual interface pictogram. There was an oily clinking sound, and I became just a little bit richer.
“Write down my nickname,” the alchemist added. “I’ll buy all your herbs, no matter how much you gather. All right?”
“Sure,” I said. “Good luck to you.”
“And to you”
We were happy with the deal, and I headed for the inn. I’d need to get my hands on some gold free of charge.
A flash.
Logout.
* * *
Once I’d taken off my helmet, I opened the cocoon lid, yawned with gusto, and stretched my stiff muscles. When I turned my head, I uttered a muffled curse to the accompaniment of loud guffawing coming from Vlas, who’d been sitting on my bed. Kyre, sitting modestly on a stool she’d brought in from the kitchen, also chimed in with an involuntary giggle.
It sure must have been funny to them. But I’d been accustomed to living on my own without thinking that anyone else might be present. A yawn was fine. I could have broken wind, for example.
As I sat up, I looked around the room, puzzled. There were definite changes — namely, the abovementioned stool as well as the kitchen table, had an array of bottles with multicolored labels standing upon it.
Another thing I saw was a long and twisted piece of metal covered in a thick layer of rust, hanging on the wall right above my bed. It took one look for me to realize it was the very piece of metal that had given me my name.
“Yo, Katana!” Vlas grunted, still laughing. “Didn’t expect us to barge in, did you? Well, we have! Bearing gifts, too!”
“You have barged in,” Kyre remarked, clad as she was in blue pajamas, and taking a sip from my favorite glass. “As for me, I lived here. You should be grateful I’d let you in, anyway.”
“Ri-i-i-i-ight,” I said slowly.
I glanced at the clock briefly. It was almost 6 PM.
“He wanted to push the emergency logout button,” Kyre wasted no time in ratting on our friend. “But I didn’t let him. You could have been in the middle of a battle, after all.”
“Sure,” I responded in the same monosyllabic manner.
Vlas patted the bed with his hand. “Why don’t you sit down? Let’s get down to some serious PvP. We sit. We have a few. We’ve got stuff to talk about, too.”
“Deal,” I
chuckled. “Just let me wash my face first.”
Having reached the bathroom, I rinsed my face quickly, drank my fill of water straight from the tap, and, having returned to the room, slumped down onto the bed. Having made sure I was in position, Vlas immediately proceeded with the second part of his devious plan, namely, to get Kyre out of the room.
“Kyre, my dearest, are you planning to go to the party with us?” Vlas inquired ingratiatingly.
“Sure thing!” the girl replied at once. “By all means.”
“That’s perfect. Why don’t you go to the bathroom, then? We’ll be heading off soon, and you haven’t even started with your makeup.”
“There’s always time,” Kyre said dismissively, but Vlas remained adamant.
Clan Dominance - the Sleepless Ones 2 Page 19