by Dmitry Bilik
All said and done, it was only fair that today it was my own foot shod in the Boot of Solophon that was going to administer justice. But first, I needed to wait for just the right moment.
In the end, I’d only spent a couple of hours at Jack’s waiting for him to prepare a homeopathic potion similar in taste and smell to the Elixir of Power. I whiled away the time playing with Fluorites by casting Light for them. Although I hadn’t managed to raise Illusions any further, I’d discovered a very interesting thing.
At some point, I’d cast Electric Arc, aiming it at a bare wall. Just fooling around, you know. Still, the tiny flying creatures took it very seriously and attacked me for real, forcing Jack to interfere. He cast a flash of light in the direction of his makeshift “forest”, distracting the little folk and thus saving me. He then told me in no uncertain terms what he thought about my intellectual facilities. According to him, “it was common knowledge” that the Fluorites loved light but hated electric storms “and everything reminiscent of them”. I said nothing — but I did make a mental note.
On a more positive side, Jumping Jack had bought 30 eggs from me, at 20 grams dust each. I’d have sold him more but his demand was rather limited. Also, it turned out that he did have some Devil’s Sulfur. Unfortunately, my joy was short lived because he charged me 300 grams dust for every gram of it. Besides, he only had like 20% of the amount I needed. So I gave this idea a miss for a while. Two grams of sulfur weren’t going to solve the problem but would definitely leave me broke. Pointless.
A few hours later, however, I finally received the potion decanted into a nice fat vial — one of the biggest Jack had — and all but ran back to Virhort.
It was almost midday when I arrived at the local Community. I decided against visiting Tartr for fear of bumping into Hunter, even though I thought he’d already lost his patience and ported back. Which was more than you could say about me.
I lurked in the shadow of a nearby hut, watching Pull’s house from the other side of the square. My stomach was rumbling a sad tune, threatening to uncover my hapless surveillance attempt. My body was giving a stench so psychedelic it was literally mind-boggling. On top of all that, I couldn’t keep my eyes open short of propping them up with my fingers.
To add insult to injury, I had to stay in this position for a good hour and a half because Pull’s goons were busy doing anything other than what they were supposed to. They were sitting around drinking and stuffing their faces, completely ignoring the fact that they were supposed to wreak extortion upon the local business folk.
Still, after a while the local gods (may I never cross their paths!) must have heard me. The front door creaked, letting out two of the goons. I recognized Rock as one of them. Good. I wasn’t in a hurry to find out his main development branch — not right now, anyway.
I staggered toward Pull’s mansion on rubbery legs. I wouldn’t call my plan too audacious. Crazy was more like it. Which was why I thought it might just work. The problem was, I had no idea how fast Pull’s bodyguards might be able to react. Pull’s own reaction times were a mystery to me too. According to Jack, he was all but a pocket-size Chuck Norris and one of the strongest creatures around here. So if things didn’t go according to plan, I’d be the first to find out.
The front door opened. “Hi, I’ll just pop round to see Pull,” I dangled the vial filled with thick orange liquid in front of the bodyguard’s face. “It’s about the elixir.”
He promptly reached out to get it from me but I slid the vial back into the inventory. He could forget it.
This time I didn’t have to wait at all. They flagged me through without any further ado. Either they’d already got used to seeing me or they had special orders in my regard. Like, “if anyone comes from Cesspit saying they have the Elixir of Power, bring them in out of turn”.
The setup was just as I’d expected it to be: Pull himself, two bodyguards sitting at the table and another one behind my back. It was way past lunchtime so they were all busy playing cards. I managed to get a glimpse of them: a strange pack with pictures of dragons, knights and serpents. I could tell that it had more than four suits. Still, I had other things to concentrate on.
“So you’ve got it, is that what you’re saying?” Pull devoured me with his eyes, curious and mistrustful at the same time.
I understood him well. Some half-blood Korl — a stranger with no fame or reputation required for the task — had apparently managed to succeed in what Arts herself had refused to entertain. Confidence was key. I produced the vial in a few smooth, unhurried movements and worked the stopper out.
Gradually, the (fake) elixir’s tangy aroma began spreading over the room.
“Give it to me!”
“Not so fast. First I need to see my friends.”
“Trulo, bring them here, quick,” Pull said without taking his eyes from the fat vial. “In the meantime, let’s see if it’s the right thing. Whatcha staring at, Korl? Taste it. Just a taste!”
I knew he’d say that. I could drink all of it if needed, considering it was just some fragrant water. Still, Pull had a point: I should go easy on it so that the governor got the most of it.
I took a tiny swig, demonstratively swilled the liquid in my mouth, then swallowed it.
Pull wasn’t in a hurry. He watched me calmly, apparently trying to monitor any changes in my stats. Predictably, there weren’t any.
In the end, he lost his patience. “Erg, give me the elixir.”
The goon behind my back had apparently been waiting for this order. He grabbed me by the shoulder with one hand, using the other to snatch the vial from my sweating fingers.
One moment, guys. I still had the most important thing to do.
[ ∞ ]
“Erg, give me the elixir.”
By then, I'd already donned the white mask of Savior’s Avatar and was looking at the only available ability: Transformation of Liquids. It had its own progress bar, just like Resurrection did, meaning that I could transform the artificially-colored water in the vial into any known liquid of my choice.
I set it at 10 seconds. Anything shorter would be pointless because Pull might smell a rat. Anything longer that that wasn’t an option either, because as I’d already worked out, the governor’s patience was shorter than his remaining life span.
The trickiest thing now was to activate the ability. I focused, trying to refresh the school chemistry course in my memory. A “colorless, odorless, syrupy liquid”… thick and oily… I wasn’t sure if entering its formula might help, but I remembered it anyway: H2SO4. In theory, that should work.
Trulo snatched the elixir from me, simultaneously shoving me aside. He stepped toward the governor and handed the coveted vial to him. All this might have taken a couple of seconds, not more.
With bated breath I watched him, unable to take my eyes off his wary face. He sniffed the elixir, gave me another suspicious look, then took a sip.
And another. And again.
Finally, he set the empty vial on the table and wrinkled his forehead. “How long does it take to work?”
“Four more seconds,” I croaked, trying to suppress the tremor in my voice.
I’d just killed a man. This was a premeditated murder, not self-defense. Not slaying your opponent in an honest fight but a devious, cunning assassination.
But had I even had a choice? I tried to argue with myself. I didn’t stand a chance against Pull in an honest fight. And there was simply no other way to rescue my friends.
Pull’s eyes bulged. “What the…”
He ripped his shirt to shreds and began scratching at his skin, all the while staring at me. His nails left bloodied trails on his chest. He started gasping for air as his respiratory system began to pack up. Blood gushed from his nose; the strongest man in Virhort slumped to the ground, vacating his “throne”. For a while he kept convulsing on the floor; then it was all over.
You’ve killed a Player who was neutral to you.
-100 ka
rma points. Current level: 980. You gravitate to the Light Side.
You have been stripped of the Hero of Light characteristic
Your fame has increased to 5.
Change of development branch available: Brute. You have 24 hours to decide between your current development branch and the new one.
You’ve gained the Charisma ability.
You’ve gained the Talking With Lower Animals spell.
Your reputation has changed to Cutthroat.
You’ve helped a Player who is neutral to you.
+20 karma points. Current level: +1000. You gravitate to the Light Side.
New characteristic available: Hero of Light
You’ve helped a Player who is neutral to you....
In a blink of an eye, I received enough messages to drive anyone off their rocker. To put it short, by killing Pull, I’d helped thirty-seven other Players who were neutral to me. They must have been some of the Community members who’d had an ax to grind with their local kinglet. All in all, my Karma stopped at 1720 pt. Not bad for one day.
But the good news ended here. I was still in the room, surrounded by the deceased governor’s goons who were already coming back to their senses.
I ducked to one side, pressed my back against the wall and drew the knife. I had two more time rewinds left: one per each bodyguard. Plus Trulo should be back soon. The odds didn’t look good, considering that the men were bound to have their own aces up their sleeves.
That’s when I realized something very simple. My situation may have been dire but I wasn’t afraid anymore. I became a coiled spring which could uncurl any moment, giving my adversary an almighty whack. My breathing was calm and level as I looked at my enemies, waiting for them to strike in order to make my own move. Me, who used to cross the street at the sight of a feral dog, now openly looked fear in the eye.
My adversaries must have sensed this change of auras — because what they did next surprised me a lot.
“I charge thirty grams dust a week. Ker’s fee is twenty-five,” one of the goons said, staring at the empty spot where their boss had just lain. All that Pull had left behind was some dust, a small sheathed sword and whatever shabby clothes he’d been wearing.
“Meaning?” I asked without lowering the knife.
“That’s what it costs to hire us,” the warrior explained. “Aren’t you gonna become the new governor?”
“Ah-ha, I see,” I drawled unhurriedly as I feverishly rummaged through the avalanche of recent messages.
Found it!
You’ve killed the Governor of the Community of Virhort. The right of brute force which governs the Eastern and Southern provinces of Purgator allows you to either usurp power or hold an election in order to vote in a new ruler.
Usurpation: -200 pt. Karma. Recommended Fame level: 8. A lower level of Fame might result in popular discontent and mass protests.
Election: +200 pt. Karma
I needed their town like a hole in the head. Not at a detriment to my own Karma, anyway, seeing as I was on my way to join the sainthood club. It’s true that most attempts to hand power down directly into the masses’ unwashed hands rarely ended well, but these were none of my problems.
I wasn’t in a hurry to reply. I had no idea how the ex-city guards might take the news of the arrival of democracy at a place traditionally controlled by them. I had a funny feeling it wasn’t going to please them. So I tried to play for time.
“What about the others?” I cast a meaningful glance at the door that Trulo had only just exited. “You think they’ll agree?”
“Sure they will. They weren’t born yesterday.”
“Makes me wonder though. You sure you won’t double-cross me at the first opportunity?”
“Beg your pardon! We can swear you an oath, if you wish. We’ve been with Pull for three Terran years, ever since we left Cesspit.”
“Terran years?”
“Sure,” the goon visibly relaxed, apparently thinking things were off to a good start. “These Purgs, they have 686 days in a calendar year — or is it 687? But normally, when you say “a year” you mean your own year in your native world. So, is it a deal? We can guarantee your absolute safety.”
“It didn’t work very well for Pull, though,” I said, listening in: I thought I’d heard footsteps.
He shrugged. “Nobody asked him to drink your stuff. He should have waited. Had someone attacked him with a weapon…” he slammed his fist against the palm of his hand, showing what would have happened to such a reckless idiot.
His game was already perfectly clear to me. He was trying to showcase their services in order to sell them at the highest possible price. But time was flying, rapidly approaching the moment that I’d started all this conundrum for in the first place.
The door opened noiselessly. They pushed Litius in. His hands were tied. Trulo followed, dragging Arts along. She was a sorry sight: her arms and wrists were covered in bruises from all the bonds; they’d even tied her hands together to make sure she couldn’t move them at all. And what’s with the gag? Were they really so afraid of her?
Trulo stared dimly at us, at Pull’s empty “throne”, at his fellow goons, then turned his stunned gaze back to me. You could tell his head wasn’t his strongest body part. We all waited, wary of disturbing the fragile equilibrium.
“Did he… you know…” Trulo pointed at the throne.
The one who’d been negotiating with me nodded.
Trulo focused his gaze on me, studying me hesitantly like some sort of museum exhibit. He was probably trying to work out how it had happened that his boss was dead while I was still alive. He appeared lost.
This was an important strategic moment I could use to my advantage.
“Untie the prisoners, please,” I said matter-of-factly, the kind of voice we use with bakers or bus drivers.
Which probably explains the effect it had on him. Trulo started as if I’d just yelled at him, and looked pleadingly at his friends who averted their eyes. It just couldn’t get any better.
“Untie the prisoners,” I raised my voice slightly.
Trulo gave in. He turned to Arts and hurried to disentangle her from her bonds. I was a bit worried she might attack him the moment her hands were free: disrupting the delicate balance wasn’t a very healthy idea at the moment. Still, she was wiser than that. As soon as she was free, she eased herself away from Trulo, pulled the gag out of her mouth, kneaded her jaw and started untying Litius.
That done, she pulled her staff and sword out of her bag. Why hadn’t they taken them from her, I wondered, only to realize straight away that they couldn’t. Only dead Players could drop loot. The only other way of getting their stuff was if they gave it to you willingly — or under torture, I suppose.
I also noticed that despite her weapons, Arts knew better than to assume a combat stance. She simply stepped closer to me. The girl was a born tactics whiz.
“We’re leaving,” I said to the one who’d been trying to negotiate with me.
“What about the deal?”
“We’ll discuss it later. First, my friends need to recover a little.”
You could have heard a pin drop in the long silence that followed. We stood motionless for a good fifteen seconds, each of which dramatically shrank our chances of getting out without bloodshed. So I just headed for the door.
As I walked, I had a small epiphany about something that should have dawned on me at least a decade ago. Confidence plays a huge role in one’s success. Had I started to falter and mince words, things might have taken a turn against me. Sometimes action is the best decision. Actions are simple: they’re either right or wrong, no middle ground there. Still, sometimes it’s much better to do something and see the result straight away than to stay indefinitely in the dark.
I was lucky. The goon stepped out of my way and lowered his eyes like a shy bride-to-be, letting me through. Litius was the next to squeeze his furry bulk through the narrow doorway, followed by Arts.
>
“No running,” I said under my breath the moment we stepped outside. “Don’t look back.”
You’ve taken the next step toward acquiring the Leadership ability.
The time it took us to cross the square in front of the governor’s mansion seemed the longest in my life. Things like sitting in the dentist’s chair or being stuck in a traffic jam on our perennially closed city bridge felt like a split second compared to this. I could sense three pairs of eyes follow our progress, their hatred and malice palpable.