Steel Orc- Player Reborn

by Deck Davis

  “Right. They’re psychic arrows, and I’m hoping that they will let us see part of the room without having to get locked in.”

  “You made these?” said Jon, holding one in front of him. “They’re pretty good.”

  Tripp smiled. It was always good to be appreciated for your workmanship.

  “Let’s get to it,” said Warren. “Standing here is making me tense.”

  Tripp opened the door, revealing the tunnel which led to room three itself. Jon crouched, steadied his bow, and then nocked the psychic arrow. As he squinted and drew back the string, the door slammed shut.

  The suddenness of it made Trip jump. At first, he thought he must have counted wrong, but he’d only got to 10 in his head.

  Warren eyed him. “I thought you said 21 seconds?”

  “If there’s one thing I’m certain of,” said Trip, “it’s that nothing in here is certain. It’s Boxe again. I don’t get it, why all the attention from him?”

  “Like the kid at school who gets suspended for bringing homemade cherry bombs to class, he’s clever and he’s dangerously bored. You’re his entertainment. Maybe it’s a little like a chess match for him,” said Jon.

  “At least chess has rules. Although, I only learned that my brother Rory used to make fake rules by the time I was ten, and I’d already embarrassed myself in chess club by thinking I could turn a pawn into an Ultra Queen. I found out the hard way that there’s no such thing as an Ultra Queen. We need a way to get Boxe to play fair.”

  That was the problem. To a certain extent, he understood Jon’s logic about Boxe. A part of him even liked it; the idea of a challenge made adrenaline wash through him.

  But a challenge implied difficulties that were understood and could be overcome. If Boxe kept changing things whenever he wanted, it was like trying to walk up a steep hill only to have it turn into a mountain when you were close to the top.

  He needed to get Boxe to play by the rules. Or some rules, because he didn’t think ‘the’ rules existed for a man versus machine chess match set in a labyrinth.

  If you wanted someone to do something that they didn’t want to do, you needed leverage. Physical force was leverage. Blackmail or threats were leverages. The leverage you used depended on two things; what did the other person want, or what were they scared of?

  So, what did Boxe desire, or what kept him up at night?

  Nothing was coming yet. Tripp was going to have to think about that question, as well as answering whether AI’s like Boxe actually needed sleep. Maybe Boxe stayed up all night, anyway.

  He snapped back to the present, looking at the door to room three. “Let’s try it again.”

  He opened it and started counting. One, two, three…

  The door slammed in his face. Tripp could feel Warren looking at him, but he didn’t want to admit that he had no idea what was going on.

  “Once more,” he said.

  He opened the door once more, this time counting fifteen seconds until it shut.

  “He’s randomizing the time the doors stay open for,” said Tripp. “It makes things difficult, but not much because I don’t plan to go in until I’m ready, anyway.”

  “What about the time limit, like in room two? We haven’t had a time limit yet.”

  “I guess that-”

  Tripp stopped talking. I guess that the time limit only starts when we enter the room, is what he wanted to say, but Boxe had a nasty habit of reacting to things he spoke out loud.

  “Huh?” said Warren. “Are you having a stroke?”

  Tripp widened his eyes at Warren and then shook his head. From the look on his face, Warren seemed to understand that Tripp was telling him to leave it.

  “Jon, you’re just going to have to be ready to fire arrows when the door opens. try to aim for an even spread throughout the room, okay? I need some to go all the way across it, some left, some right, some to drop in the middle. Can you do that?”

  “I’ll try,” said Jon. “We can make more arrows if not.”

  “Nope, I used all her ashes,” said Tripp.

  “Her ashes? What are you talking about?”

  “I told you; I made psychic arrows. I explained about how Aubrey melted.”

  “You didn’t tell us you’d used her ashes to make arrows. Ugh,” said Jon.

  “I didn’t have you down as being squeamish.”

  “You’d be surprised,” said Warren. “I remember when he had to have a vaccination at school, and he fainted when he saw the needle. He had to go to the hospital and have stitches on his chin. Remember, Jon?”

  Jon didn’t look amused. “Yeah, I vaguely recall. It was sometime after you finally stopped wetting the bed, right? Let’s stop screwing around and see how the arrows work.”

  Tripp was interested in that, too. Although successfully creating a crafting card meant that the arrows did something, he wasn’t quite sure how their psychic effects would manifest. He was itching to find out.

  “Ready?” he said.

  Jon nodded.

  Tripp opened the door and then heard the snap of a string as Jon let the arrow fly. It sailed through the tunnel and zipped over room three before hitting the wall on the far said.

  A pulse of blue light spread from the arrow, covering a five by five feet area around it. As Tripp watched it spread and then disperse, he felt a twinge of nerves. The arrow was shot, and now it was time to see how the effects would manifest.

  He saw nothing. No markings on his map, no notifications or anything like that.

  “Err…Jon?” said Warren.

  The archer dropped his bow to his side. His eyes rolled back, showing completely white, and his lips trembled. This lasted just a few seconds before he was back to normal.

  “Wow. That was a rush,” he said.

  Warren kneeled beside him, so excited that Tripp could feel the energy coming from him. “Did you see something?”

  Jon nodded. “Part of the room where my arrow hit.”

  Tripp understood now. Although he’d made the arrow, he’d given it to Jon, and it was Jon who had fired it, so only he would get the psychic effects.

  “What did you see?”

  “Stone walls, a bunch of tiles on the ground. It looks like it’ll only show me the area where the light spreads.”

  “You better start firing more arrows. Think you can aim them to cover the room?”

  “I’ll try. I leveled up my archery a few times on the plains yesterday, so it’s getting easier. I’m one level away from Cobalt, though, and that’s when I’ll get the critical shot or the dead-eye skill.”

  Tripp had to contain himself as Jon nocked arrow after arrow and fired them with great care. He adjusted the arc of the arrows by how hard he pulled the bowstring and how much tension he let build. Some arrows flew further into the room than he wanted, hitting parts he’d already seen, while others dropped short. One particularly bad shot saw an arrow smacked into the tunnel walls.

  When all the psychic arrows were gone from his quiver, Jon unequipped his bow.

  “I’m going to share my map with you,” he said.

  A map of the labyrinth appeared in front of Tripp, zoomed in on room three. While Tripp’s map of the room was blank, most of Jon’s was colored save for areas of black where the arrows hadn’t reached. Looking at it was like to decipher a madman’s treasure map.

  Most of the room was covered by the red and blue squares Tripp had already glimpsed. Near the middle were four runes evenly spaced apart from each other. On each rune were intricate markings of lines and spirals. As well as being so small on the map that they hurt his eyes to read, the markings were completely indecipherable.

  In addition to the squares and the runes, there was a symbol of a bear trap on the near-left corner of the room, and a bomb icon toward the middle.

  “Traps,” he said. “See? A trap there, and a bomb there. That’s only what the arrows picked up. With better artificery, my arrows would have uncovered everything. We’ll need somethin
g to detect traps while we’re in there.”

  “Ahem,” said Clive.

  They all turned to the red orb, and then it hit Tripp.

  “Oh, yeah. Clive is a telekinetic pickpocket. Does that mean you have other rogue skills?”

  “No,” said Clive.

  “Oh.”

  “But I’m a journeyman anti-illusionist. If a trap is hidden by an illusion rather than hidden physically, I’m your man. Or orb.”

  Was Tripp imaging it, or was Clive perking up? Either way, he felt a glimmer of appreciation now. “What’s the difference between them?”

  “You might have a pressure plate dug into the ground; that’s a physical trap. Or, a trap might be in plain sight, except that magic disguises it to look like the rest of the room. That’s an illusion.”

  Would Boxe really replace Bee who, personality aside, was rather useless, with an orb who could actually help Tripp? It didn’t seem to make sense.

  “Guys, I don’t think we can trust anything that Clive says,” said Tripp.

  “Excuse me?”

  “No offense, Clive, but it’s timely that we’re about to face a room where there are traps, and you’re claiming you can uncover them.”

  “It’s called trying to help.”

  “If anyone but Boxe had sent you to me, I would have agreed, but this is stupider than a serial killer giving his victim a gun so they can fight back. It makes no sense.”

  Clive muttered to himself and swooped out of room two and into room one, away from them.

  “He seems more highly strung than Bee,” said Warren.

  “He’s one of the old model DFs. They don’t assign those to players anymore, so he’s been twiddling his thumbs for years.”

  “They don’t power them down?”

  “He says not, but I don’t believe a word he says. I think he’s just an extension of Boxe, and I don’t trust him enough to rely on him detecting traps.”

  “You’ll be like our grandpa soon, Tripp,” said Warren. “Covering your windows in foil and talking about how the communists are closing in.”

  “I’d rather be paranoid than caught out. As Jon said, this is a chess match. We need to be ready for every move that Boxe makes. At least we know what’s in there now. If we can decipher the runes, we’ll have a better idea of what to do.”

  CHAPTER 61

  They had to translate the runes, and Tripp believed that everything they needed to do that would be in Godden’s Reach. The reason he felt so certain was his earlier realization; this was a game to Boxe. A game within a game.

  The AI was entertaining himself with Tripp, and as much as he made things difficult, he also gave him what he needed to play. The psychic ashes had been Boxe’s doing. He hadn’t just melted Aubrey for no reason. He was giving Tripp a piece he needed to carry on with the chess match.

  That led him to another realization, one that he hoped would give him leverage against Boxe. First, he needed to beat room three.

  His plan for this led them to Mountmend library. Tripp had always supported his local libraries, but that was just so he could borrow fantasy books. In Soulboxe he’d used the library to learn how to make frorarg essence and mix poisons. That was much more interesting.

  “We’ll take the language section,” said Jon. “Let’s meet back up at this table.”

  Tripp eyed the rows upon rows of books. Most would only have a page or two of content since it wasn’t feasible for the devs to have written hundreds of full-length books just to stock up the library of a small part of Soulboxe.

  “Good. I’ll take the ‘R’s and see if there’s anything on runes. As soon as we translate the markings, we’ll have a better idea of what to do.”

  “There’s also the writing that was on the wall,” said Jon.

  “Huh?”

  “Sorry; it didn’t show on my map, but I saw it in my vision. There were markings on the far wall, and they were different from the rune scriptures. I’ll try to find out what they mean.”

  They separated, Tripp and Clive going one way, the brothers the other. He was glad for a little peace. Not only was Clive much quieter and more contemplative than Bee, but the library itself had a meditative effect on him. With its soft lamp glows and the smell of musty books and aura of quiet, it was a place where calm thoughts reigned.

  Tripp looked at all the books, spine after spine. “Ritualism…rogue skills…rowing with style…”

  By the time he’d looked at fifty books and was almost ready to give up and just learn how to row with style, he found what he needed. It was a black book with white writing on the spine. The cover showed a silver rune with a series of etchings and shapes drawn on it.

  “Runecraft and symbology,” read Clive, hovering over Tripp’s shoulder. “Very interesting.”

  “Is that sarcastic?”

  “No, why would it be?”

  “It’s the way you speak, Clive. Your voice lends itself to cynicism. Plus, Bee hated this kind of thing.”

  “I’d like to help. Bring the book over here.”

  They went to a table where a young dwarf was studying a book about embroidery. Seeing him reminded Tripp of something; didn’t Konrad’s son, Milo, work here? He hadn’t seen him. For that matter, he hadn’t seen Konrad either and he had Konrad tokens from room two burning a hole in his inventory bag. He’d need to go and see him later.

  Tripp settled into a chair. “This is going to take a while,” he said. “I need to match up the rune markings with what Jon recorded on my map and try to translate them.”

  It was when he flicked through the book that he realized what a gargantuan task it was. There were thousands of different markings, and lots of them looked similar. Frustratingly similar.

  As Tripp went to turn a page, it turned on its own. Then again and again, until the pages were whizzing by. He flinched at it; despite everything he’d seen in Soulboxe, a self-reading book was still a shock.

  Clive chuckled, and the realization hit Tripp.

  “You’re using your telekinesis, aren’t you?”

  “It’s useful for more than stealing gold from a moron’s purse. And of course, your puny orc brain is much slower at processing things than mine.”

  Tripp could see why the older-model DFs were changed now. They went against two things: the dev’s focus on earning everything in Soulboxe, and certain players’ dislike of pay-to-win in games. If someone bought a DF Soulboxe package, then under the old DF models they had a significant advantage.

  Tripp found himself liking Clive more and more, and that made a darker feeling stir; unease at thinking Clive was much better to have around than Bee.

  He leaned back and crossed his legs. “Okay, Clive. Let’s see what you can do.”

  The book pages turned back and forth so quickly they made a clicking sound like the hum of a fan. He got a pencil and paper and let Clive use his telekinesis to write his translations as he deciphered them.

  By the time Jon and Warren approached, Clive was finished. Jon leaned over the table. “You’ve been busy,” he said.

  “Thanks,” said Clive.

  The brothers stared at the orb, whose red face seemed to glow brighter. Doing something, being useful, seemed to have brought out a cheerier side in him.

  Tripp motioned them to sit down. When they were gathered around the table, he tapped the paper.

  “Each rune has a riddle on it, according to the translation. Bee told me that runes have spells in them and that speaking the ‘open’ word unlocks the rune and releases the spell.”

  Warren took just a brief glance and then looked at his brother. When he noticed Tripp staring at him, he said, “I’m mildly dyslexic. I could read this with enough time, but you look kinda impatient, Tripp, so maybe it’s easier for Jon to do it.”

  Jon smiled at his brother and then read the first riddle. “What has wings but is locked on land, what has fire inside, but does not burn?”

  Tripp sucked in his cheeks. “It’s an animal with wings,�
� he said.

  “Not necessarily,” said Jon. “Buildings can have wings. You know, like a country manor might have an east wing or a west wing. The fire inside could be a hearth.”

  Warren clicked his fingers. “Nope, it’s a frorarg. Easy.”

  Tripp nodded. “Yep; they have wings, but they can hardly hover a foot or so. They have fire in their bellies, but it doesn’t burn them up.”

  “Next!” said Warren.

  Jon cleared his throat. He looked perturbed. Was it because Warren had solved the riddle so easily?

  “Okay, next one; I float above the ground, and when I’m angry shocks abound. What am I?” said Tripp.

  “Floating? Shocks? Like, thunder, or something? Does it mean a cloud?” said Jon.

  Warren lifted his feet up onto the table and leaned back with his hands behind his head. He chewed the pencil like it was a cigar. “A sleel,” he said. “They fly, and they do shock damage. Easy.”

  If Jon screwed up his face any tighter, the effect would have been irreversible. It was funny to see sibling rivalry play out when it wasn’t your own; Tripp and Rory used to bicker all the time, and nobody had the ability to bring out his anger like his older brother.

  But seeing two other brothers bicker was just plain amusing. The best thing about it was that Warren knew what effect he was having on Jon.

  Jon looked at the third rune riddle, and he screwed up his forehead in thought.

  “Gonna clue us in?” said Tripp.

  “I might sound hot, but I’m cold inside. A thousand of me can become one.”

  “Huh?” said Tripp.

  Jon shrugged, while Clive squinted with his red eyes.

  All of them except for Jon looked at Warren now, since he seemed to have a flair for solving riddles. Jon stared at the paper like he was trying to set it alight with thoughts.

  “I think it’ll be a creature or an animal,” said Tripp. “We’ve had sleels and frorargs so far, so we have a theme.”

  Jon’s lips moved silently as he read the riddle again. He gripped the edge of the table tighter and tighter. When Warren’s eyes widened and he leaned forward, Jon looked like he might tear the table in two.