Respawn: Blade of the Ancients (Respawn LitRPG series Book 5)

by Arthur Stone

  Blood was the body’s hydraulic fluid; without it, all of its systems began to destabilize, inevitably reducing their strength. Blood loss was not the only complication she had to worry about. When was the last time I ate? A piece of chocolate bar, munched while on the run, was certainly less than sustaining…but it was all she had had. That meal was the day before yesterday’s, and yesterday marked her final gulp of lifejuice. Since then, sucking on spores had been her only option, despite the danger of swallowing the poisonous stuff. While life-giving, this last resort wouldn’t last her for long. It was a relief that her thirst meter was in no danger, at least. Water was plentiful in this mountainous, taiga-forested area, with streams flowing through every valley.

  The pursuers tailing her faced no such problems. Hellbell, their leader, was a veritable freak of nature both physically and morally. He detested his nickname, demanding others call him by his office: “Sheriff.” Sheriff of where? He’d invented this office for himself out of whole cloth, of course. Kitty knew plenty of his biography’s sordid details, such as his battles for Romeo against the Valkyries. In his attempts to settle down, Hellbell did his best to bury this part of his life. He’d also managed to curry favor with the half-crazy princess of this area, who went by “Prophetess”—yet another dodgy self-appointment, Kitty was sure, though she’d never been close enough to tell. Prophetess, Hellbell and their cohort bragged that they were the borderlands’ forces of order, an order maintained by the chains and blades of their cultists. They were a cult, no doubt about that, replete with an Inquisition of their own. The locals either submitted or were forced out; the place wasn’t the friendliest spot for tourists, either. There was no point in visiting anyway, for these impoverished lands bore nothing of value—and were therefore easy to dominate in the name of “order.”

  These local squabbles didn’t concern Kitty…or they wouldn’t have, had she stayed away from the dratted village. How could she have known how much it had deteriorated? The people had become animals. People generally didn’t love a red-nicked stranger, sure. However, “hate” was too tame a word for what they expressed towards Kitty. They gnashed their teeth in pure rage at her very existence! Plus, Hellbell warned Kitty of what would happen to any visitor aware of his past life. Kitty should have known better. She should have controlled her actions, avoided conflict and kept her head down around the people here in general. Above all, she shouldn’t have killed those two idiots, but they’d decided their assistant sheriff stars gave them the right to whack anyone with a nick of the wrong color.

  All of the villages were connected in these wooded mountains, one great network in the taiga. Even the most neutral stable was obliged to pay the Prophetess’s tax and provide assistance to her organization. In exchange, the village received protection…which meant, for the most part, that its patron organization would not ransack it. This was truly worth the money. Since any player could contact any other within range, it was a quick and easy affair to organize a pogrom or—in Kitty’s case—a pursuit. Her enemies traveled light and wanted for nothing, thanks to the terrified villages wrapped around their organization’s little finger. Each village kept them supplied with food and lifejuice, even reinforcements! At first, only five chased Kitty; they’d ballooned to eleven since last she’d checked, and could still be growing.

  Kitty could not take advantage of the villages herself, her one desperate attempt frightening her from trying again. She’d survived mainly because there were few roads through the mountains, which meant few ways to overtake and surround your prey from different directions. Furthermore, the roads were completely unpaved. Thankfully, she was at least somewhat familiar with the area. By Continental standards, it had been a lifetime since she’d wandered here as a muddle-minded novice; however, her memory had since improved, locking in even minor details.

  They hadn’t captured her yet, but she had to shake her tail before she ran out of steam. They’d nearly caught Kitty that one time already, and that was before she started limping. Very few lives were left to her, and the next bullet could nail her in the head. Rumor had it that the organization could nab its enemies immediately upon respawn, which wasn’t out of the realm of possibility; it was completely doable, provided one kept track of the nearest clusters’ reboot times and those the System designated as respawn zones. This assumed one had enough skilled people for the job…and these cultists had plenty at their disposal.

  As the path ascended once more, Kitty vaguely recalled a long descent following the next rise. Unless she increased her pace, they would be able to take an easy shot at her from the top. There was nowhere to hide on the way down, unless she found a boulder to crouch behind or a crevice to wedge into. They would like that: it would let them take her alive. Recalling revolting tales of the cult’s Inquisition, Kitty shuddered. No—she refused to be caught alive by these sadists. Once she reached the crest, her memory proved correct: a long descent lay before her, steep at first but gradually level. More than a quarter mile of path was visible from here. She saw some places to hide from a shot, but they’d hardly help her escape from capture. Her legs simply had to come through for her, even the bullet-bloodied one oozing beneath a meager bandage. She would run, risk of falling be damned.

  Suddenly, a whistle screamed, followed by the crack of a rifle shot. Without so much as a glance behind her, Kitty jumped from her ledge to a waiting boulder. Its flat top was covered with an unbroken layer of rough lichen. The weather was dry, so it was unlikely to be wet and slippery. Once landing, she let out a sharp cry as a flash of pain coursed from her leg up her spine. Although she suffered, at least she was protected from the shooter. If someone could aim at her, it meant they’d already reached the last bend in the trail—about two hundred and fifty yards away. She was a dolt for wasting time, wondering why her pursuers had lagged behind; they had since made up their lost ground and were now closing in. She could never outrun the well-fed, muscle-bound men pursuing her. They considered the whole affair light entertainment! When you were a moral monster, nothing could be sweeter than catching defenseless prey.

  Looking ahead, Kitty realized that she was done for. Before her was the hardest section of the trail, one difficult for even a healthier woman than she. She’d make it less than halfway when her tail reached the top and opened fire. What could she do, then? Hurl herself head-first off the cliff? Kitty broke out into a desperate run, gaining as much speed as she could—not towards the abyss, of course, but the path. She couldn’t hope to clear enough ground in time to take shelter behind the next crest.

  A lonely larch stood growing in the middle of the trail, no hint of soil to feed it as it struggled through the stones. The raging winds whipping through had not dislodged it, instead tilting it. The farther it leaned, the more pressure its roots exerted against the rocks. One good storm, and the tree would fall. Kitty congratulated her memory once more as she arrived at the tree. A boulder and a ledge lining the path narrowed the way; to pass through, she had to duck into the slim gap between the stone and the tree trunk. Her compact physique made this a cinch, but her large pursuers would have to push hard to make it through. After this gap, the trail widened and grew smoother, even traversable one-way by car. This stretch of “freeway” was only fifty yards or so, but there she could run at top speed without risking breaking her legs on boulders’ mossy fissures.

  Kitty didn’t even think about running. She gently took a dozen steps forward, saving her strength, then crouched over her wounded leg to cut open its bandage. Smiling at her hiding spot, she knew she was protected from the eyes of her pursuers. They certainly wouldn’t notice her until the first of their number made it through the gap. She was willing to bet that man would be the Sheriff. He’d been in the lead the last time Kitty checked, and he did love his rifles—despite his penchant for missing his targets. When it came to real field operations, Hellbell sucked. He hated leaving his comfortable home and gave the public no proof of any formidable fighting skills. This silly Sheri
ff had been on foot now for several days in a row, so naturally he wanted to end Kitty swiftly to crawl back to his posh place of privilege and power. As an inexperienced hunter, Hellbell couldn’t know that cornered game was known to viciously snap. Kitty’s experience strongly suggested that arrogant opponents were liable to choke under pressure, a theory she’d now put to the test. Clearing her mind, she focused on the system timer as it counted down. Glancing at it had become a nervous habit of hers; now, in a couple of minutes, everything would be over.

  * * *

  Kitty was wrong. Her pursuers took five whole minutes to show up, so her desperate undertaking seemed all for naught. She should have run—she’d have easily cleared the distance in time. Something had delayed the Sheriff and his posse; they might have pushed too hard on their previous climb and stalled on the tough final stretch. Now, at last, she heard them: footsteps on the rocks, the clanging of metal and an odd little cough. Funny—what player gets the common cold? Next, she heard the sound of someone loudly scraping against a lichen-covered rock. It’s time. A hiking boot appeared from behind the trunk of the tree, hastily seeking traction between its interwoven roots.

  Biter whistled through the air, lighting it up with bluish flame. The blade sparked gloriously against the reddish bark of the solitary larch. It slowed down not a smidgen as it swept, slicing through the trunk with no resistance…and through Sherriff’s legs. The angle was perfect! The treacherous, time-worn ground had annoyed Kitty at first, but now she was thankful this stable hadn’t changed much since her last visit. It wasn’t resets that pushed the tree towards the edge, but the gradual weathering of the elements. Losing its support, the tree collapsed onto the huddled chain of figures stretched out along the path. On one side of them sat a sheer cliff up; on the other side, a cliff down. Entrapping them with its trunk and branches, the larch dove into the abyss, sweeping off those who’d survived its first blow.

  Leaping from her hiding place, Kitty watched it all intently. The last pursuer in the chain managed to jump back, dodging the very top of the falling tree. Stumbling on a rock, he collapsed on his tailbone; while that must have hurt, it beat dying. Kitty then swung hard, sending Biter directly into this “lucky” man’s chest. While the man’s bulletproof vest prevented the blade from entering, the blow was powerful enough to stun him for a second or two. Wasting no time, Kitty bent over a screaming Sheriff. Not only had he lost both legs above the knee—his right arm had been crushed by the base of the larch. Kitty was in luck: the man’s machine gun was undamaged. It lay on the ground, attached by a complex system of belts and carabiners. Severing several belts with her knife, she took a knee and raised the weapon to unleash a volley at the rear guard. Just then shaking off the blow from Biter, the “lucky” man went down instantly. Next, Kitty fired a few more bursts into the other bodies still on the trail, both moving and still. Hellbell had brought plenty of ammo, and Kitty used it all.

  Finally, she snatched up Sheriff’s pistol. Woozy, he could offer no intelligible objection. Strolling down the path of bodies, she placed a bullet into each one’s head, one by one. Counting the corpses, she found seven, not eleven. How many had fallen into the abyss? One woman, screaming below, somehow had the good fortune to survive the plunge. Perhaps her fall had been cushioned by some branches along the way. “Good fortune” was generous, of course—her screams certainly weren’t joyful, and Kitty could see the gore from on high. She also remembered that infecteds migrated through this ravine; if none were nearby, the screams would attract them soon enough. Returning her attentions to Sheriff, she pressed the heated barrel of the pistol just below his swollen eye.

  “Is there anyone coming the other way? An ambush?” Kitty barked roughly. “Answer me!”

  “Ambush? Go to hell, you bitch! I have no idea where you’ve taken us. Now bandage me up. I'm dying here!”

  “You have bandages?”

  “Yeah!” Sheriff quickly replied, growing hopeful.

  “Amazing,” Kitty smirked. “I need bandages.”

  “You... what?” Sheriff’s face drained of color. “Wait! Look, let’s talk! We can talk about this!”

  “I’m always willing to talk,” Kitty cooed sardonically. “Be sure to write! There’s probably a post office near your respawn.”

  With that, she briskly got to her feet—and shot him. After the gunshot’s echo faded, all that remained was the screaming from below. Its timbre had changed; it wasn’t just pained, but fearful. Kitty’s sensitive hearing picked up a second tone—frustrated growling, like that of a beast unable to reach its prey. Kitty bent over the edge again. The woman had indeed fallen into a tree, crashing through the branches of an old pine to dangle over the ravine floor. The upper branches were broken; one of the larger lower branches had torn off her pant leg. The tree and its rider were suspended twenty feet off the ground, under which paced a puzzled infected. It’ll get her eventually. If the smaller infected didn’t manage, a larger one would show up. One jump, and it was all over.

  Kitty would still be here. She would bandage her leg by the edge of the cliff, picking off any monsters that showed up. The experience she gained wouldn’t hurt. She’d also loot the players’ bodies for ammo, though she’d have to leave most of their weapons. Seizing Sheriff’s backpack, she tore the flask from his belt and took a swig of its ambrosia. It made her grimace hard—idiots always used too much alcohol for the stuff. Looking around, Kitty couldn’t help but smirk. She’d eliminated her hunters and improved her financial situation in one fell swoop! There was no need to seek another village, now, as her gains would last her a long time. It was time to get going, nonetheless. Kitty didn’t care where she went, as long as it was closer to the border. She didn’t even care which border, specifically—after all, she had no idea which direction she should go.

  Oh, come on! The idiots had made her miss the system timer’s signal. It had gone off in the midst of battle. She quickly passed party leadership back to Cheater. She hated being late, even by mere seconds; even the slightest lack of punctuality would cause him to worry. Cheater’s levels had been growing by leaps and bounds, but she couldn’t swear the same about his intelligence. She’d needed to shoot two players just to get her hands on a Morse code table. Her nick was deep red, after all—so red that everything she did made it redder. Even her recent kills hurt her Humanity, despite the fact that they were in clear self-defense. Her Humanity shouldn’t have taken the slightest hit. Idiot System! Idiot Sheriff! Idiot Cheater! They’re all idiots!

  What the hell was she doing, getting attached to Cheater? He was obviously a few stars short of a constellation. All previous attempts to systematically transfer leadership had failed. Cheater had tried nothing of the sort. His replies were chaotic, totally without pattern. Kitty had chosen to cease the Morse code attempts. Cheater had answered once, actually, but his message had been entirely off-topic and was sent using a seriously expensive method. Sadly, she had been unable to reply; even if she did collect enough money to respond, she would need to seek out a specialist in a big stable, and her red nick was unlikely to be welcomed in most. All she could do, then, was transfer leadership—over and over and over.

  Perched on the cliff’s edge, Kitty eagerly tore into the piece of ham Sheriff so kindly provided. His backpack didn’t contain much food, but what it did have was top-notch, as her pursuers had been provided the best provisions. No dubious stew in rusted cans here! Kitty did love delicious food. Squinting down into the ravine, Kitty saw that some infecteds had arrived, but there were too few for her to begin shooting. Oh, well. I’m in no hurry. Skimming through her system messages, she frowned at the Humanity penalties glaring at her. She would never get out of the red. One stupid act of aggression after another would force her to defend herself—and get docked.

  She then opened the party log to check on how Cheater was doing. She could peek at the loot he collected with his mysterious partymates, noticing his good days and lucky streaks; sometimes, he obtained stupendou
sly valuable items in unexpectedly large quantities. Sometimes he died, and sometimes his companions followed him to the grave; then, of course, their icons ultimately flickered back to life. Endless events streamed through the log. Cheater was clearly not idle. Oh, good thing I looked! Something new had appeared. As Kitty scrolled to the end of the party log, she nearly choked on her ham.

  “How the...? Who the hell are you, Rocky? You must really be a cheater...”

  Chapter 13

  Life Nine. Desert Treasures

  Cheater didn’t manage to finish by dawn. Instead, he slept the day away, seduced by dreams of fields of colorful treasure. The next night, he made his way to the treasure field by a different route to avoid trampling a noticeable path. He then covered the field systematically—yard by meticulous yard, inch by painstaking inch. For the most part, he left the lesser and average mods, touching them only for Perception boosts. The weakest mods gave him +1 Perception; the average offered +3. The greater gave him +2 distributable base stat points, +5 Perception, and +2 Luck. Finally, the superior granted +10 Perception, +5 Luck and +3 distributable bonus stat points. Given the extraordinary number of trophies and his ease moving among them, these totals were excellent.

  He didn’t have to store the loot in a backpack to lock in the points; the discovery action triggered when a modification left its nodium home to graze the battery wires. Cheater spent most of his time hastily razing one rock after another, placing only the biggest and best mods in his backpack. As he could use the wires several dozen times per minute, he cleared around six thousand mods that night. Cutting himself off before dawn, Cheater returned to his fortress with backpacks, inventories, pockets and plastic bags brimming with loot.