The Way of the Shaman [06] Shaman's Revenge

by Vasily Mahanenko

  Third—I’d need to deal with the clan. It wasn’t of any use to me anymore, since I wouldn’t be able to manage it. The responsibility of leading a gaming organization, even one that had only ten members, placed a burden on me that I simply did not want. When I’d return to the game, I would say farewell to everyone who was left and officially shut down the clan…Though, no, I’d remain in it on my own. It wouldn’t do to lose the projections.

  Fourth—my two major assets: Altameda and the Giant squidolphin. These two would surely become immense drains on my finances and would only pull me down to the bottom. Considering that Leite—who had practiced and profited with my budget—was no longer in the clan, it would remain up to me to solve the question of money. Otherwise, I’d have to do something I really didn’t want to do—sell Altameda to another clan. I couldn’t see any other way out.

  By the way, how much money do I have left? As I was confirming my exit from the game, the number of 140 million flashed before my eyes. Eighteen months ago, I’d never even fantasize about such a sum, but now…I’d spent a hundred to obtain my release. Some other part of the remainder would go to paying my players’ salaries until I kicked them out. So in any case, I should have about thirty remaining. But I won’t rely on it. Thirty million…Maybe I should withdraw them, buy myself an excellent house and live peacefully without ever giving Barliona another thought? I could study something, find a job and live comfortably without any Anastarias, Ehkillers, or Phoenixes. What’s wrong with just sending them all to hell?

  Well for one, the fact that old Greed Toad and Hoarding Hamster won’t leave me alone until the end of my days. Even if I could handle each one individually, I’m powerless when it’s two against one. I want what’s mine and I want to punish those who took it away from me. It’d be nice to exterminate the Phoenix clan while I was at it. And this gives rise to two further questions:

  The first is how can a game clan be destroyed at all?

  The second is how I can protect myself from the wrath of Anastaria and Hellfire in real life? Somehow I don’t imagine they’ll welcome my attempts to hurt their clan and, if they don’t reach an agreement with me in the game (and it’ll be mighty difficult to reach any agreement with me in-game), then they might try to find me in real life.

  Should I file a complaint with the law enforcement agencies? I wonder what I’d say in it: “I’m about to kill the leading players of Malabar and am therefore afraid for my life?” At a 75% probability, they’d send me to a mental clinic for tilting at windmills. So that wasn’t an option. I need to consider everything as carefully as I can. And therefore, I better return to my initial question: What’s the best way to hurt a gaming clan?

  Send them all to respawn? Hmm…That’s a pretty severe punishment considering the level discrepancy between us. Well—what—was I going to hire mercenaries to hunt and kill the leaders of Phoenix over and over again? You couldn’t think of a bigger load of nonsense. So that option was out of the question but could come into play under the right circumstances.

  The only soft spot that could hurt the clan, it seems to me, were their finances. I had to do something to the finances of Phoenix, to hamper their funds and then…Although, how could I do this anyway? Gold is considered inalienable property, so hacking into the Phoenix accounts was a shortcut back to the mines. And to steal their Legendary items, I’d need to find people to do it. The only way I could hurt their clan was to eradicate it—it’s not like I could besiege their castles…

  “What happened, Daniel?” the doctor asked with a note of worry when I hopped up in place and almost hit my head against the car’s ceiling. She brought an analyzer up to my eyes which confirmed that my level of reality perception was still at 100% and that I was still at Dependence Level Green.

  “It’s nothing. Just some thoughts,” I assured her, turning back to the window. I don’t need to siege any castles. I have Altameda!

  At the moment, I was aware of the fact that the full extent of Anastaria’s property was confined to a single vessel on the seas that cost ten million gold. Considering the ease with which she parted with such a vast amount of money, it’d be stupid to activate the squidolphin and have to pay taxes—the payoff wouldn’t justify the expense. Until the players in the south of the continent earned a positive reputation with the pirates, until they begin to receive ships of their own, an enormous amount of time would pass and it’s not certain that any members of Phoenix would even be among them. So a seaborne revenge was unrealistic, but…I have Altameda!

  The special thing about my castle is that it can move from location to location. This procedure was free once every three months and cost about ten million otherwise. If I manage to assemble a mob of players that will quash any resistance after Altameda teleports on top of the Phoenix castle, and then send in the loot hunters who will pick the enemy castle apart piece by piece as we did to Glarnis…As I understand it, Phoenix has about seven castles, the strongest of which was Level 29, and the weakest Level 18. It takes a pretty substantial investment to level up a castle that high, so if I manage to reduce all of them to level one…Well, that’s a more promising revenge than hunting down those bastards one by one.

  Now my desire to get my Shaman back became even greater, since Anastaria had carelessly given me her entire map, which had the Phoenix possessions marked on it. My Shaman had access to the exact coordinates of every castle and therefore had a realistic path to revenge. The next step was finding the people who would work with me.

  As well as the issue with my castle…

  According to the Emperor’s requirement, the owner had to spend three months in his castle. I was dutifully doing just this for an entire month, until I left the game, so now I had another legal question for the game lawyer—can I legally lose the castle due to lapsing in my residency requirement, considering that the rehab period is also required? Logically speaking, Altameda should remain mine in either case, but I will need to make sure. I can’t afford any mistakes when it comes to this issue.

  Further—I need to deprive Phoenix of their quests. Without scenarios, there’s no loot, while the members’ salaries still have to be paid. It’s unfortunate that I can’t accomplish this on my own—the Corporation always needs some leading clan that it can lean on. This means I’ll have to work with Etamzilat and Undigit. I’m sure that improving the financial position of their clan is one of the priorities anyway.

  What else can I do within the game? It’s impossible to destroy a character permanently or harm him for that matter…Hang on! The Cursed Artificer! There’s a chance that the Cursed Chess Set is the brainchild of the Corporation and I was forced to create it without a chance to repeat the feat, but it’s worth trying. If I manage to bind an avatar to some item with certain very specific requirements, that’ll be another nail in Phoenix’s coffin.

  And as a consequence of this last point, I must meet with Kreel and find out where and how he dug up Rogzar’s Crystal. If I recall correctly, this item’s description went something like this: “…-75% to movement speed; -50% to all stats; -90% to regeneration of Hit Points, Mana and Energy; -90% to Experience gained. May not be sold, dropped, stolen or destroyed…” Well, this beauty is simply begging to find its way into the personal inventories of Anastaria, Barsina, Leite and various other members of the flaming chicken clan. I need to exploit any avenues available to me.

  “We’re here,” the doctor’s voice jerked me from my pleasant musings of revenge, returning me to reality. The main bullet points were in place. What remained was to verify, develop and eliminate the ones that were impossible as well as to brainstorm additional ones. After all, revenge, is a dish best served cold.

  It would be a stretch to call the facility that I was delivered to a rehabilitation center. I had imagined a monumental edifice barricaded behind barbed wire—after all its purpose was to contain prisoners, so the windows would have to be barred in order to keep the patients from jumping out, and yet the reality turned out to b
e very different. A mossy forest, neat and tidy, a manicured lawn, small cottages, people in white cloaks sitting and lounging around the grass, the pleasant chirp of birds—I was looking at a picture of some kind of idyll. All that was missing were robots that would flit from patient to patient delivering food and taking care of any bodily needs, so that no one had to bother about anything. When I came closer, I saw that several people were playing tennis on the tennis courts located behind the buildings. Others were swimming in a pool and some others were working in small workshops, doing carpentry and ceramics. In one of the far off houses I saw a blacksmith, ferociously hammering a piece of iron, and yet I could hear no sounds coming from him—a force field surrounding the building kept the clamor from leaking into the forest. A similar field surrounded the athletic areas, ensuring that the people relaxing on the grass could do so in perfect tranquility.

  “This is where you will stay for the next five days,” Lucia said with a smile. “Please follow me. We need to register your arrival, implant a monitoring device and determine where you will be sleeping. We will also explain to you the assortment of prophylactic treatments that the analytic programs have prescribed to you—but I won’t burden you with tedious information. Please, relax, recuperate and do your utmost to become a productive member of society…”

  By the end of my second day in the rehab center, I was howling from boredom. I couldn’t think of even a few hours over the past year during which I wasn’t doing something—with the exception of the time I’d spent sleeping. There was always some kind of activity going on—a Dungeon, leveling-up my Jewelcrafting skill, or some quests I had to do. And therefore my time in Barliona had rushed past me as if the world was on fast forward. Here on the other hand…

  I was lazing on the grass, sleeping, undergoing various procedures, lazing on the grass again, sleeping again, again the grass…Several times I tried to occupy myself by playing a sport, but tennis and soccer were never my favorite, so these activities didn’t bring me any pleasure either. I took another nap and lazed around the grass some more, underwent some more procedures and went back to the lawn…The mere thought that I’d have to continue to do this for another three days caused my face to contort. I needed some kind of activity…

  “It’s occupied!” barked the blacksmith without turning to look at me. “There’s only one forge here and I’m not about to leave it. If you have a problem, take it up with the orderlies!”

  “I don’t need the forge,” I replied, frowning from the heat. After talking with the doctor and explaining my problem, I received some useful advice: to try and create something in this world as I used to do back in Barliona. So the next morning I went to the forge, since all the materials I needed were there…and encountered this grouchy blacksmith intent on defending his habitat.

  “Then scram! Bunch of weirdos wandering around here…”

  Digging around the shelves for a Jeweler’s toolkit—which turned out to be a faithful double of the one that I’d had to work with back in Barliona, if you didn’t take into account its weight—I darted out of the smithy into the fresh forest air: The force field contained not only the noise but the heat as well. It seemed that the smith was an avid masochist who’d decided to take out all the years he’d spent in Barliona on a hunk of iron. I doubt someone who’d spent less than a year in the mines would settle on this form of rehabilitation.

  Sitting down beneath the first elm I came across, I opened my Jeweler’s toolkit and felt a sharp pang of nostalgia—despite the fact that I’d crafted literally a couple days ago when I created the last of the Chess Pieces, it had really been a long time since I’d worked with the tools. I can’t even remember when now…

  My hands, which had until then never actually held the mandrel, smelting pot and other tools of the trade, picked up the spindle of copper wire and in several deft and well-rehearsed movements wrapped the first ring without even having to resort to the mandrel. Regarding the fruit of my labor dumbly, I shook my head and placed the ring aside—the outcome was some kind of cheap trinket, without even a single special characteristic. I’d probably be best off working in Design Mode…

  The familiar darkness enveloped me on all sides, and the wire in my hands appeared before me. And so! Ordinary rings aren’t much fun, so I’ll try to braid the wire, encrusting it with this stone: The image of a transparent gem which came included in the toolkit appeared beside the ring. If the ring won’t have any characteristics after this, then I don’t even know—I’ll have to go see the head Master to ask him what I’m doing wrong. But first, let’s make a pretty braid. Or had I learned all those skills for nothing?

  “Patient has entered Dependence Level Black!” As soon as I finished my ring and saw that the result pleased me, strange sounds began to reach me through the darkness, constantly repeating again and again: “Patient has entered Dependence Level Black! Patient has entered Dependence Level Black!”

  The noise was so irritating that I opened my eyes and blinked as per usual from the light emanating from my hands—I had managed to craft another masterpiece and now there’d be a litany of notifications announcing that I had leveled up. A few steps in front of me stood a brave little company of characters: The dwarf I’d met earlier, who’d kicked me out of his smithy; two trolls who were trying to hit me with their darts; an enormous orc pensively scratching his head; and a smallish gnome occupied with pushing buttons on his arm. An ordinary assortment of bystanders, who had gathered no doubt to examine my new masterpiece.

  “Shargak larange!” said the gnome, addressing me, I think. Shaking my head to indicate that I didn’t understand his language, I was about to explain in Malabarian, Kartossian and some other languages of Barliona that I had picked up along the way that I didn’t understand him—when, suddenly, I saw her among the trees—the Siren. The two-meter-tall beast wasn’t even trying to hide and was pointing her trident right at me, smirking and reveling in her impunity—the onlookers weren’t any trouble for her, only a true Dragon was capable of defeating Anastaria.

  Eh…What Anastaria?

  Another wave of emotion swept over my body raising goose-bumps as it went—the very same Anastaria who…

  “Patient has entered Dependence Level Green!” buzzed the analyzer and silence descended upon the forest. I was so filled with my hate for the Sirens and that one particular Siren, that I couldn’t calm the trembling of my hands and dropped the ring I had made to the ground. I was shaking through and through. My head was filled with a roar, and yet I was slowly beginning to perceive reality the way it was again. Without any gnomes, orcs or Sirens….Grrr! It wouldn’t be enough to kill that slithering hag.

  “If you can hear me, nod your head,” said the short man I had taken for the gnome.

  “I’m not a bobble head to nod at your command,” I retorted, trying to come to my senses. “Have I been this way for a long time?”

  “About five minutes,” the smith said. “Your analyzer began to squeak so loud that we had to throw a dome over you to keep the doctors from showing up.”

  Only now did I notice that we were inside a force field dome that blocked all sound.

  “Thank you,” I managed, understanding that if the doctors had seen me this way, I’d have to stay here far longer than five days. They’d send me to the clinic and run tests on me for the next two months.

  “If you want to get out of here, don’t do anything for the rest of the time you’re here. Just sleep,” the smith added. “We don’t squeal on our own kind. Everyone suffers an attack every once in a while, but if the doctors see you, they’ll send you to the Level Yellow center. Trust me—it’s worse there. See you around!” The force field vanished and the gang of onlookers went off on their business as if nothing had happened. Big deal—someone entered Dependence Level Black and stopped perceiving this plane of reality. An everyday occurrence around these parts, I guess.

  Picking up the ring I’d made and not bothering to examine the quality of my work, I stuck i
t in my pocket and began thinking. I’m starting to like all this less and less—twice now I had crossed the limit at which I perceived this reality and I still had no idea why this was happening. If it weren’t for those last thirty minutes of Barliona which had lodged this hate deep inside of me, I’m not sure that I’d be able to return to a normal condition without lengthy treatment. The only explanation I could think of was that Barliona had become my mind’s preferred reality and I was trying to force this world into its mold.

  By the way, this gives rise to an inconvenient question—what would happen to me if it weren’t for my hate of Anastaria? Let’s imagine that I bought my release on my own, selling my castle, the Chess Set and the Eye of the Dark Widow—would the time I’d spent in the game allow me to return to reality, or would I turn into some kind of vegetable that desired only the pleasure of living in its own virtual vegetable patch? I don’t think I much like the answer to this question—no, I’d revel in my ability to fly as a Dragon and never even think about any stupid Sirens. Another wave of intense hatred swept across my body, squeezing my chest like a steel vice. Why look at that! So does this mean that I also have to be grateful to that beast for giving me the chance to remain human? As if!

  I spent the remaining four days of my rehabilitation playing the perfect patient—no sudden movements, words, changes in emotion or conflicts with those around me. I was all daisies, roses, butterflies and all that other claptrap that let the doctors know that I was adapting perfectly well to my new reality. I didn’t suffer any further attacks of fantasy, but I also did not allow the fiery hatred I felt for Anastaria to die out, constantly recalling my last thirty minutes in Barliona. My revenge fantasies also took a back seat, since I understood that the only thing I could think of at the moment was childish nonsense. Even the plan of using my castle to attack those of Phoenix was a nonstarter—who could guarantee for instance that Altameda would remain at Level 24? No one. I doubt the devs would simply hand an ordinary player the means to single-handedly ruin the game’s leading clans. More than likely, Altameda would be destroyed as it crushed its first Phoenix castle. After all, there’d be a player guiding it—not an angel. Sure, Urusai was permitted to attack Glarnis in this manner. But I doubt I’d be allowed to replicate that feat.