by Arthur Stone
“Well?” the healer beamed with joy. “Unlucky, I said! I was right, wasn’t I? That’s not even a buff. Who the hell knows what it is! You’re not a very lucky man, I see. Pump your Luck and you won’t get so much garbage from the System.”
Cheater agreed with the bearded man’s assessment. Everything about the ability was trash, especially its ridiculous name. Cheater knew about buff characters, of course: players who collected abilities that temporarily strengthened themselves and their squad. These were things like stat boosts, even multiplier boosts. But the specialization was so rare that Cheater had never met a buffer. Even if there were buffers on the team, they could renew their buffs when needed. That was their job. Cheater knew full well that he had on his hands what they called a “dud.” It happened often to players, but this was his first time. What a shame.
“Well, I’m glad I brightened your day, at least,” Cheater sighed dejectedly, turning to leave.
“So am I,” the healer admitted. “Especially since you paid a whole 40 spores for that shit! I usually only take 20.”
“I wouldn’t make lifejuice from those spores, if I were you,” Cheater warned grimly as he opened the door.
“Why not?”
“Hygiene reasons. I pulled them from the ass of a dead NPC. Smelled kind of like you, come to think of it.”
With that, he turned on his heel and left. Slamming the door to the sounds of the healer’s curses, Cheater tried to console himself. He had ability-swap crystals, one of each kind. He could try to change out his ability for a more useful one. Doing so was a gamble, but a favorable one. Of course, it was not a cheap expenditure, yet he had become accustomed to profligate spending of late. He wouldn’t mind the cost. Secondly, there was a useful bonus property to this Helping Hand ability: Cheater could be his very own silent flash grenade. That could give him the edge in some situations. In the wilderness, for example, he could have attempted to blind the grays. As dark as the night was, that flash could have immobilized them. That was, at least, one indisputable use.
His desire to use one of the crystals grew stronger—he had to change this ability out, and soon. The crystals had a cooldown, too, in case he didn’t like the first replacement. A few steps from his hotel, he froze, head swimming with thoughts unrelated to crystals. How had he been so blind? This ability had at least one more potential use. He would need to experiment to be sure, as the ambiguous description was not best left to free interpretation.
Suddenly, a cloaked figure appeared from around the hotel’s corner, their face concealed. Cheater instinctively placed his hand on the hilt of his sword as the person approached. The stranger stopped a couple of steps away. Her voice was muffled.
“Are you the one who was asking around?”
“What do you mean?” Cheater responded, scanning with Omniscience to highlight any other nearby enemies.
“The one looking for a bow?” the stranger replied. “A special bow?”
“And what if I am?”
“There’s a bow for you... but it’s not here—not in the village—and it cannot be delivered. You can go meet its owner yourself, or not. Your choice. Remember, though, that there is no other bow here like it, perhaps not in this whole region. If interested, find Drowner, in Lettucehead. He knows where to take you to resolve the matter of your bow.”
“Lettucehead?”
“It’s an eatery in the first alley to the left of the main gate. Drowner eats there every night. He’s there right now. If you speak with him, he can lead you through the swamp to the place you need to go.”
“Why can’t the bow be brought to the village?” Cheater responded, naturally suspicious.
“The people here don’t care for the Patron. If he shows his face, they’ll kill him. You also had best leave this place.”
“Why?” Cheater tensed.
“They’re looking for you. I suppose you know that already. Soon, the locals will hear of this, and they will hand you over immediately. They don’t like players here, but they do like money. That’s all I have to say—you may decide for yourself.”
“How do you know they’re looking for me?” Cheater called out as the Stranger turned to leave.
Without turning back, she responded mysteriously. “The Patron I speak of knows much about you... and can be of great help. He may even help the girl you seek, right from here. That is what he told me to convey to you.”
Cheater gaped at the retreating figure, stuttering final words as she disappeared.
“Uh... one more question. About the swamp? Could you, uh, send me with a guide named something other than... ‘Drowner’?”
Chapter 19
Life Nine. The Black Swamp
Cheater stepped back, steeled himself—then plunged into the resin-thick black liquid. He started to scream as he sank, legs unable to feel solid ground. Then, he mercifully found footing. This experience was unpleasant, but at least he wasn’t going to drown, despite the bad omen that was his guide. The NPC a couple of steps ahead of him turned to stab at him with his spear, not to kill but to guide. Cheater grabbed at its end with his hands to steady himself. The surface was slippery with mud, yet somehow he found the edge of the path with his left foot and dragged his whole body up.
Cheater wheezed and panted. “I feel like this is the blind leading the blind here... or the drowner leading the drowning, I guess.”
The adage baffled Drowner. “Where is that from, ‘blind leading the blind’?”
Cheater shrugged. “Hell if I know. I don’t remember much at all from before.”
“It’s just that so many of you say that. It’s strange.”
“Huh. They say that a lot, do they? No offense, but maybe that reflects on your guidance. Are we getting close?”
“We’ll get there when we get there,” Drowner patronized.
Cheater had no choice but to hurry after him; there was no way he could ever escape this labyrinth on his own. The trails were craftily hidden under a layer of swamp muck. No matter how carefully you probed and tested, eventually you’d wind up stuck. Usually, following Drowner helped you avoid this fate. Without him, you’d soon be flailing, tiring, and ultimately swallowing mud.
Cheater had heard of the dead swamps before. Kitty had been a walking billboard for one when they first met: she’d been covered in the mire from head to toe. In combination with her poufy camouflage suit, the slim girl looked like a dwarf hippo. Mix in her bad mood and repetitive gagging, and she seemed like a girthy, embittered, wizened crone. He hadn’t needed much to take him down back then—just a blow to the head and plastic straps binding him to the sawmill. His nerves had already been in trouble at that time. Nothing in life made sense, his memory was gone, and his intellect had been reduced to a minimum. Hard times…but interesting times. And simpler times, in a way. No great conundrums uttered by soulless swamp sages, like the one he followed now to his mysterious fate.
Officially, he was on this delightful journey in the name of a bow. What bow could be worth this mosquito-ridden trek? Why did he despise his old bow so much already? He had cleared its mods out and replaced them with new ones, repetitively doing so until he obtained numbers as close to max as possible.
Bow of Depletion, from the Black Castle. Condition: working. Negligible wear. Rare weapon of the Former. Guaranteed to accept 3 modifications, with a 75% chance of a 4th. Active modifications: 5. Modification list: Rune of Total Liberty, Rune of Completion, Mark of Generosity, Piercing Needle, Emanation of Speed.
Modification Properties:
15–40% of experience gained from opponents defeated by the Bow of Depletion is converted to distributable stat experience points.
25–55% of experience gained from opponents defeated by the Bow of Depletion is converted to distributable bonus stat points.
+71–224% experience gained from opponents defeated by the Bow of Depletion.
Arrows fired from the Bow of Depletion ignore up to 12 millimeters of any barriers, including physical ones, protecting
the target.
+144% arrow speed (default trajectory calculations of this weapon and its ammunition remain as though speed is unmodified).
This item is bound. Current owner: Cheater. The owner Cheater can change this item’s name.
Even people who cared little for bows would cut their best friend’s throat for one like this. Players called it “broken.” Even the weakest of ghouls would drop 3 experience points when slain by it, rather than the usual 1. Those points wouldn’t even go to Accuracy or some other stat, but would instead be distributable. Not entirely distributable, to be fair, but within broad categories. Progress points were always limited somehow. Experience had to be earned by sweat and blood—by completing acts of ever-increasing difficulty and complexity.
Cheater would have improved his faithful weapon even more if he’d had the opportunity. He’d set a limit on the mods he would use on his items, a stressful choice that his intuition nonetheless trusted. Logic helped convince him: if these people wanted to kill him, they wouldn’t go through all this trouble. Why drag him through swamplands for half the night and morning when they could have just killed him right at the gate, even in his bed? With his caches set up and his items bound, plus his new map, he wouldn’t even mind losing a life…except that he was keen on discovering the identity of his mysterious new “fan.” Perhaps the bow was a fabrication, but his intuition told him these people might offer other opportunities.
If his intuition failed him here, however, he’d lose a lot of the trust in himself he’d been building as of late. He might not mind losing a life for good reason, but he hated to throw one away just because he was following his “inner voice.” No bow in the world was truly worth this journey and risk. This Patron, whoever he was, knew too much about Cheater, including knowing exactly how to tempt him into meeting. The hint about helping Kitty had sealed the deal: it was an offer he couldn’t refuse. If they spoke the truth, perhaps he would no longer need to suffer his recurring nightmares of discovering Kitty’s icon black and struck through. Perhaps he’d finally shake the insidious voice telling him he’d never see the girl of his dreams again.
“Tired of the mud?” Drowner called back to Cheater.
“I’m starting to like it, actually,” Cheater snarked. “Any places it gets deeper? I’d like to dunk my head.”
“Don’t worry, there’s a non-swamp cluster coming up soon. After some black, all of it dry, we’ll arrive.”
“There’s no other way?”
“There is. Vehicles can’t take it, but it’s quite easy to traverse on foot. No mud.”
“So why didn’t we go that way!?”
“Not a convenient way from Fifth Mine. Plus, we don’t know you, meaning we don’t trust you. We have to put you through the wet clusters first. That way, if you’re not really interested, you’ll turn back early on. If you’re interested, you’ll persevere. It’s a way to see if you’re a spy, or someone who’s been bought.”
“Let me guess: you hang spies up by the balls, too,” Cheater grumbled.
“That’s right. Even if there are no trees around. We always find a way. So if you’re a spy, or if you are concerned that they’ll think you’re a spy for some reason or another, turn around now. Otherwise, a world of pain awaits.”
Cheater couldn’t turn back without drowning. He’d never remember the way. “To tell you the truth, I don’t really care. So what’s your secret? How is it you never fall from the path into the mud? How do you see the way?”
“There are no ‘paths’ here.”
“What? Then what are we walking on?”
“There is no way to walk across this land, nor take a boat across. That’s how black swamps work. The mud will suck down a whole boat within minutes. I have an ability. It lets me forge a path, even through liquid. As long as you keep up with me, you can walk the same path. But if you fall behind, or stray… down you go! So keep up—or try to go back to the stable, if you’d like.”
Drowner chuckled, but Cheater didn’t see what was funny.
* * *
The camp was on a triangle stable cluster. The three surrounding clusters were black, one of them black swamp. Those who had constructed it were clearly versed in the art of disguise. The materials used for tents and other infrastructure were selected to camouflage against the terrain. Nets hung to disguise their angles, eliminating sharp corners that might betray human hands. People who went to such lengths to hide in the barren black were clearly not ordinary. Were they moles? Were they criminals? What was their great offense? If they were moles, Cheater was in real trouble, especially given his bright green nickname. He was in for a duel, one without the honorable rules of his face-off with the grays. He would know soon.
Drowner stopped in front of a large tent and pointed. “Remove your dirty clothes and put on some clean ones. You’ll find some that fit. Then, proceed to that green flag over there. They’ll give you some food. I advise you to eat it. Lantern cooks grub so good I’d marry her, despite her face.”
Cheater’s hands and feet weren’t tied. That was good. He could put some fresh clothes on, try the local cooking…and finally meet this mysterious Patron.
* * *
Only one person sat across from Cheater. His nickname? “Watershed.” He was a digi, of course—an NPC. Some players denied that NPCs were human, inspiring widespread discrimination against them in this world. As he’d learned the day before, the bias cut both ways. Watershed’s eyes burned through Cheater. He spoke sharply and curtly—pronouncing every word with distinct clarity—but with languid gaps between them.
“Hello, Cheater. I hope you’re not angry about your journey through the muck. There is no easy way to reach this place. I have no love for the inhabitants of Fifth Mine. It’s a rotten place, with rotten people. Everything is... complicated. How are you? Do I trouble you, being who I am?”
“What do you mean?” Cheater knit his brow.
“A ‘dumbass digi,’ or however you refer to people like me.”
Cheater was taken aback. “‘Digis,’ ‘NPCs’… some might add the word ‘dumbass,’ but not everyone is as prejudiced. It’s like your attitude towards players: it varies from person to person. I’ve gotten along fine with digis like you, personally.”
“Digis like me? What sets ‘us’ apart from the others?”
“I can’t put my finger on it. There’s something about you that makes you very much like players, a different set of information from most. A digi once told me that the System has a limit on its player count, and that newcomers exceeding that count become like you. I don’t know if that’s true—I’m just repeating it.”
Watershed shook his head. “The System is its own master in everything. If it needs to raise its limit, it does. That idea is foolish, but I understand what’s behind it. So tell me… why are you here?”
Cheater grinned. “You know why.” He lowered his voice conspiratorially. “I hear the best bow in the region is located here.”
“Ah, yes, the bow. The ‘best bow.’” Watershed shook his head. “You’re a terrible liar. No bow is worth a day’s hike through hell’s mire.”
“The man who told me about you said some other interesting things, I’ll admit.”
“He won your heart because he knew too much?”
“What if I said I had a feeling? My intuition told me to follow him and Drowner.”
“There’s no way through the swamp without Drowner.”
“I know. I don’t mean that. I mean before the swamp.”
“Is there something special about this ‘intuition’ of yours?” the NPC chuckled.
“Not really, but I spent the whole day at Fifth Mine looking for something and couldn’t find it. I don’t mean the bow—I mean something else. Perhaps I can find it here.”
“What were you searching for?”
“Serious players or NPCs with connections throughout this region. There was no one at Fifth Mine like that. The village was like a raft in the ocean: out of
touch, trying only to survive. Its location on the map should have given that away. Along one side, there was dangerous borderland, an area not even the caravans have traveled. It’s closed to traffic for all purposes. The other three sides are labyrinths of dead clusters. Vehicles struggled to make their way through, and people suffer there if they have to cover long distances. It’s an island filled with savages who dislike players for their differences. The last thing they need is a connection to ‘the outside.’ They’re lucky that their island contains no undead megalopolises or other attractive clusters. For this reason, they’ve learned to survive in isolation. I don’t need that—I need connections to the outside world.”
“How did you manage to discover all this on your first day?”
“The markets are a window into the soul of a place,” Cheater replied.
“See what’s on the shelves, and you can see who the local merchants deal with. I visited every decent shop, and every single one had the same selection: no interesting goods, only the simplest items. I flashed some good money, trying to tease out their greed so that they’d reveal any hidden, top-shelf wares. Nothing. No one tried to steal from me, despite appearing like a profligate spender. I even provoked them a little. I did whatever I could. No reaction. Therefore, I can sense the island lives under strict rules which cannot be violated—meaning no black market of any kind. An island of totalitarianism in a sea of black. Perhaps if I’d stayed longer, I’d have encountered someone with connections… but they might not have liked me.
Take Sevens, for example,” Cheater continued, expression growing dark. “She’s a player—yet the NPCs there tolerate her, for some unfathomable reason. They absolutely hate players. I don’t like mysteries. They don’t sit well with me. I was itching to go, so the option of following Drowner through the swamp appeared at just the right time. You knew how to capture my attention, too. You know things others don’t. I don’t know how, but it’s quite impressive. Perhaps we can assist one another. I don’t mind you using the bow as bait, even if it doesn’t exist—you had to lure me here somehow, of course—but if you cannot help me with Kitty, I’ll be very disappointed.”