The Azure Dragon

by Vladimir Vasilenko

  The ship was waiting for us. There was another small group that consisted of about ten fighters. As we got closer, I recognized Mike Barracuda and Jones in this crowd of old friends. They haven't changed much in the time we hadn't seen each other, they just seemed to have become even more muscular and wider in shoulders.

  Genghis gestured for me to come closer. I sped up and caught up with him, glancing sideways.

  Strange thing, in Artar, everyone makes their avatars look younger, prettier, more spectacular. He also radically changed his appearance, but I wouldn't say that he became more attractive. He was roughly the same age, with a Mongoloid face, black bushy eyebrows, and a predatory nose with flaring nostrils that looked as if he smelled something nasty or was simply enraged.

  His height and complexion were also different from the one he had in the real world, but surely it was just due to the game features. The appearance of an avatar changed as the player’s characteristics developed, and Strength is always noticeable characteristic. If it is developed much faster than Agility, one could turn into a huge mountain of muscle. High Vitality enhances this effect. But Genghis seemed to be in a mercenary class, a balanced hybrid of Agility and Strength developed in proportion. He was surely a head taller here than in real life.

  But appearance wasn't one of his priorities. He changed his face not for the sake of aesthetics—he wanted to conceal his identity.

  "Stay alert," he remarked, addressing me. "If Jones decides to screw us, immediately run to the menhir."

  "The Eye of Dahamesh has protection against a drop, in case of death," I shrugged my shoulders. "It is unlikely they will try to seize it by force."

  "The protection is not absolute. So we will not take this risk."

  "As you say. But Jones seems like an honest guy."

  "He is. But we have an old score to settle, and that's why we should keep an eye out on him."

  "Have you managed to get under the Corsair’s skin?"

  "We used to have a base here on the White Shore, but the Corsairs quickly began the subjugation of the region. So we had to retreat further west, all the way to the Uobo Peninsula."

  "Right," Viper, who was walking slightly behind and to the right of me, assented. "But even before that, we had a lot of skirmishes with these guys. They will remember us for a long time!"

  He was right—they met us, half-heartedly to put it mildly. Jones only softened a little when he recognized me.

  "Bay Devil! That's that monk-philosopher! Mongoose?"

  "Yes," I nodded.

  "Do you know each other?" Genghis squinted, and his voice flashed a surprise.

  "Yes, we've met once," I muttered.

  "You should have joined our guild," sighed the leader of the Corsairs. "Now you see what kind of nits you have to deal with."

  "Easy, Jones. We didn't come here to fight."

  "Yeah, yeah. The deal comes first. Who would have thought that I would ever agree to trade with the Hounds?"

  "Never say 'never' about anything. Do you have the goods?"

  Jones scoffed.

  "Do you?"

  Genghis turned to me.

  "Mongoose, show him."

  I reluctantly got into my inventory and took out the Eye of Dahamesh. It was a dubious pleasure to hold it in my hands because it was still slippery and wet to the touch and smelled like a piece of raw meat.

  This was a rare trophy, so acquiring it automatically made it "attach" to the player—that is, become a personal item. Therefore, it didn’t show in the inventory after the player’s death. More precisely, it could, but with a probability of only 10%. The "attachment" could be undone, but only once—when I decided to transfer the item to another player. This is done so that the eye could be sold or gifted.

  If it wasn’t for these properties of the eye, I wouldn’t have been there. Since I had to pass it to another player, my presence was important.

  Apparently, this deal wasn't a sale but an exchange. After seeing my trophy, Jones pulled out a small copper-bound chest.

  "Give it to me," said Genghis, extending his hand.

  We moved a bit away from the troops for the transfer. I handed the eye to Jones, and Jones handed the chest to Genghis almost simultaneously. With a grin on his face, the head of the Corsairs weighed the trophy in his palm, while Genghis opened the lid of the chest and nodded with satisfaction.

  "Well, that's it?"

  Hiding the acquired treasures, the leaders shook their hands. It was clear from the expression on Jones’s face that he struggled with the handshake. His eyes blazed. It looked like the Hounds have done a lot of damage in Artar. I wondered what you'd have to do to a person in the game to earn such pure, undisguised hatred?

  Genghis met Jones's gaze quietly. He looked sleepy with the heavy, half-closed eyelids, but that was surely a false impression.

  "That seals the deal," finally said the head of the Corsairs, still holding Genghis’s hand. "I'm keeping my word, but now that the exchange is over, I have one more thing to do."

  "That wasn't the deal."

  "Oh, don't worry, it won't take long."

  "Sorry, I have no time."

  "Well, you'll have to stay a little longer. I insist."

  Jones's words were accompanied by a sinister grin. Suddenly, on the edge of the broken ship, silhouettes of fighters began to pop out one after another—there were over two-dozen archers and mages. Coupled with the detachment that stood right in front of us, the corsairs instantly became at least three times superior to us in numbers.

  "Ambush?" Karim buzzed from under his mask. "Well, I see you've grown up, Dave. The corsairs are finally starting to live up to their name. Good for you! Your code of honor is nothing but trouble."

  "You don't understand, wizard," Jones shook his head, and silver rings woven into his beard gently clinked against each other. "We don't sneak up on people, that’s really more up your alley. You should be called Jackals, not Hounds."

  "We're wasting time," angrily interrupted him Genghis. "What do you want?"

  "A fight!"

  Genghis raised his eyebrow questioningly.

  "With you, of course," finally releasing his hand, muttered Jones. "That's what I've been wishing for since the first time we met. Like rats, you killed me and my boys from behind our backs, but I'd like for once to cross swords with you in a fair fight."

  "You'll lose."

  "Maybe. But that's my condition. We're fighting one on one. If you win, my people will let you go to the nearest Shadowbird tower. If I win, your whole squad will die after you're killed."

  "If you want to embarrass yourself in front of your people, so be it."

  Jones only laughed.

  "Even if I lose, my guys won't respect me any less. It's not always about winning. It's that I have the courage to challenge you. I'm not afraid of you, Hound."

  "What a fool," replied Genghis indifferently.

  He turned to the rest of our crew and gave a sign to step away. The corsairs also retreated, forming a wide semicircle. In the center of this improvised arena, on the white as salt sand, there were only two people left.

  Jones unsheathed his sword—it was broad and heavy, made of dark steel, with a hemispherical guard protecting the palm. The Qi chart told me that he had some kind of a hybrid class, at the junction of Agility and Intelligence, with a little bit of Strength. It looked like he was a sorcerer, like our Kata. He didn't have a shield and could cast spells with his free hand.

  The sum of their characteristics was about equal, except that the corsair had higher Intelligence and lower Strength. I wouldn't make any hasty assumptions about the outcome of the battle, though. Stats and gear are, no doubt, important in Artar, but they're not the only deciding factor.

  Genghis looked bored watching Jones swayed his sword from side to side in the air. Wincing, he looked at the sun and then at the fighters, who lined up in the ring and intensely watched the preparations for the fight. Finally, he took out a spear from behind his bac
k and stuck it in the sand. Then he dropped his shield right next to it. Next, one by one, he removed his other gear and armor from the slots until he was left standing in a gray quilted arming doublet. He only kept a dagger for the weapon, holding it with a reverse grip, hiding the blade behind his thigh from the enemy. I could only see the massive pommel of the handle in the form of a flattened metal ball.

  "You're joking, right?" Jones frowned. "There was no word about fighting without armor!"

  Genghis shrugged and threw his head back, squinting at the sun.

  "It's hot," he complained.

  It really was hot. It’s good that sweating wasn't a thing in Artar; otherwise, the fighters here would have been soaked a long time ago, even just standing still. Right now, I was happy that monks could not wear metal.

  "You can drop the act now, Hound. You think I'm not gonna attack an unarmored person?" Jones cried out, brandishing his cleaver.

  "I think your mother conceived you with a stinky donkey. Fight. I'm bored."

  "Alright, you're gonna have fun, asshole!"

  Having thrown some bright flashing spell at Genghis, the corsair rushed to attack. He stood still, relaxed, not taking any fighting stands, but the blow somehow fell through the air.

  Genghis seemed to be moving in a relaxed manner, but he was elusive, as if a puddle of mercury slipping through the fingers. Once again, he came under direct attack but easily dodged it with a simple turn of the body, appearing behind the opponent's back. With a short swing of the hand, he pierced his curved blade somewhere in the corsair’s side, between his armor plates.

  Jones's howling rang through the entire coast. Blood splattered on the sand and was immediately absorbed in it, turning into dirty spots.

  The corsair desperately waved his sword, outlining almost a full circle, but Genghis had already broken the distance, and the corsair's blade just cut through the air in vain.

  "R-R-RA-AAA-RGH!" The fighter roared either from pain or rage and lunged forward.

  Genghis tossed a fountain of sand into the air with his boot. A handful hit his enemy in the face, diverting Jones’s attention for a moment. That's when the Hound sharply reduced the distance between them and drove his dagger under the corsair’s ribs again.

  The corsair tried to push him away, but Genghis dodged the blow, diving under Jones’s arm to make his way behind his back. The next blow was to the leg. From there, the Mongol cut the tendons on the back of Jones’s knee. Not a strong but precise blow to the right wrist knocked the pirate’s cleaver out of his hand, and it flopped into the sand.

  In a moment, Jones was awkwardly kneeling, tilting his head up. Genghis was behind him, firmly holding him by pulling his hair back. The blade of the dagger was pressed against the defenseless neck.

  Jones growled with impotent rage. But I must give him credit—there was no fear in his eyes.

  "Okay, you've won!" He spit out those words as if they were poisonous and hurt his lips. "Now get the hell off my land!"

  Genghis looked around the fighters, who froze in suspense. Then he slowly slit the blade against the corsair’s throat. The movement was almost too slow, much slower than necessary. Jones grunted, drowning in his own blood, trying desperately to break out of the stranglehold.

  I involuntarily looked away. If someone would cut someone’s throat like this in the real world, the person would suffer for a long time. Same in Artar. Jones had probably gotten a few hundred points of Vitality, and death must have been hard. His people were having an awful time watching this and not being able to do anything. I noticed Mike Barracuda's face turn gray with rage, and only the Hounds stood frozen, like statues, quietly watching the unfolding action. The winner didn’t show any emotion, not even sadistic pleasure. He acted efficiently and deliberately like a butcher.

  Jones finally quieted down, and Genghis casually shoved him back, dropping his face in the sand. He lingered for a while, putting his armor back on. He picked up his spear and shield and only then gestured to the rest to start moving.

  The corsairs, leaning over the body of their fallen leader, watched us leave. It was amazing how the Hounds' armor didn't start to melt from these looks—they were flaming with hatred. But hatred wasn't the only feeling. It was partially fear, too. After all, no one even twitched when we set off. I doubt it was only because of Jones's order.

  "You like showing off?" I grunted, glancing askance at Genghis.

  "You think it was beautiful?"

  "No. It was ugly."

  "Good answer. Ugly and scary. They should be afraid of us. Reputation means a lot. Sometimes much more than the real balance of power."

  "There will be time when they will flinch from one mention of our names," echoed Karim. "For they will know: if the Steel Hounds were set against them, there is no salvation."

  I kept silent. Strangely, I liked to be part of Terekhov's squad, and his crazy and brutal team became a role model for me. We got pretty famous all around the Eastern coast. But it was different now. We didn't seek to inspire horror, we weren’t some type of vampires. And in this battle with the Corsairs, I felt a lot more respect for Jones, even though he lost.

  Maybe he's right. It's not about winning, it's about finding the courage to challenge.

  "Can I at least ask what you traded the Eye of Dahamesh for?" I asked a little later when the Shadowbird tower loomed in the distance.

  "You can't," Genghis snapped.

  Well, who would have thought?

  "Where are we going? Back to the Grey Peak, to the mines?"

  Our squad and a dozen Genghis's soldiers spent the beginning of the session in the caves of DrakenBolt. There was a lot of activity. Terekhov’s and Doc's development plans finally began to be implemented, but we were not so happy with the fact that Genghis got his paws on them.

  Both exits to the surface have already been equipped with secret doors, complex locks and traps from casual guests. Extraction of the gold ore was also in full swing. Even I was a little involved before Karim showed up and said that I'd be needed for another case. That's when we came here, to the White Shore.

  "I would, perhaps, torture your gang in these dungeons a few more days," chuckled Genghis. "but there are more important things. And I really need backup. We'll fly southwest to Uobo. Your buddies will be there, too."

  "Do you have a camp there or something? Right in the jungle?"

  "We had a camp there," he specified. "By the way, it's quite convenient. There are very few players in that region for now. We can hide an entire city in that area. Besides, it's very rich with loot. Experience from mobs. Valuable resources."

  "But something went wrong?"

  "Exactly. We seemed to have had a good foothold. There was a full-fledged camp with the protected perimeter, with warehouses, barracks, and our own menhir. But one day, it was all destroyed. Completely wiped out. We barely found any traces."

  "Who did that?"

  For the first time ever, Genghis turned and looked at me during a conversation.

  "That's what we need to find out."

  Chapter 4. Uobo

  The only one on the entire peninsula, Uobo Shadowbird tower was located on the northeastern border of the jungle, on a small rocky ridge, which was a natural border of the region. Here was a tiny island of civilization, consisting of just an inn and a neighboring Xilay camp. The inn was called "At the Split Rock". The landmark, which gave the name to the establishment, could be seen on the coast far from the east. You could see in in all its glory when flying on a Shadowbird.

  In the real world, this rock would be a unique natural phenomenon, but in Artar, everything is attributed to the arbitrariness of virtual designers. A huge block of grayish-white granite seemed to have been split into two parts by a powerful blow. The halves tilted to the sides, like a cracked pistachio shell.

  Upon landing, Genghis took us straight to the south without stopping at the inn. We joined the main squad in a quarter mile from the tower. Terekhov, Bers, and the rest were
there too. It was an impressive crowd of about forty people if not more.

  The guys met me without enthusiasm. Only Doc smiled, patted me on the shoulder, and asked how I was doing. Kata looked at me without anger, but in a sneaky way, peeking. Terekhov, on the other hand, pretended that I was not there. He didn't even say hello. Neither did Bers.

  I get it. He must have told them. And now they're mad at me. What the hell?! As if we don't have enough problems with Genghis, now we're gonna squabble with each other?

  That's what Terekhov said yesterday—Genghis just wants to create tension all around us and within our own squad. Well, let him think he did.

  We went deep into the jungle. We didn't have to walk for long; in just half an hour, we reached the rocky bald spots in the thickets. There were no large trees here, so we could even see the sky above our heads. Grass and small shrubs stubbornly grew through any crack between the stones, but they didn’t have a chance against the blows of axes and sabers when Genghis’s soldiers began to clear the area of vegetation.

  The commander called Terekhov. We also slowly came up to them to hear what he would say.

  "We'll set up a new camp here. The place is worse than the old one. It's too close to the tavern, which makes it easy to spot, but I hope it's safer here."

  "What do you want us to do?"

  "My guys will build a stockade now, set traps around and the menhir. You don't have much to do here yet, so I’ll see you tomorrow. You can spend the rest of the session exploring. Canvass the area. Go to the old camp, try to find out something. I need to know how we can better protect ourselves from the locals."

  "Got it. We do the dirtiest and most dangerous work."

  "Even if you're right, what makes you think you can question my orders?"

  Terekhov met Genghis's eyes. Obviously on the verge of snapping, he barely restrained himself.

  "How do we find the old camp? Will you give us a guide?"