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

by Arthur Stone

  Off in the distance, Cheater spotted a ghoul charging him across the airfield. Its gait betrayed its identity as a trampler, which was…bad news. He’d have to modify his plans and use the closest location. Even though this spot was ready, it was the least comfortable and least preferable option. However, Cheater was not about to let a trampler join the teeming crowd breathing down his neck.

  The location in question was a plane: a huge, European-made airliner. It could move hundreds of passengers to another continent in a matter of hours—well, once upon a time. It had likely been waiting to be boarded, but now it was eternally delayed, in limbo at least until the next reboot. Its final passenger was Cheater. During his preparations, he had tossed a rope over the fuselage and secured it tightly. Now, he had to push with all of his might, letting his Stamina drop at a fearsome pace. He had to break away a bit, lest they bite his rear as he climbed. Runners and young rafflers were substantial opponents, but they had no chance of catching a player of his level. His climb was accompanied by a chorus of frustrated growls. Taking a knee, Cheater looked down to see about fifty ghouls crowding the plane, another couple dozen stragglers rushing in to join. The developed trampler was the clear leader of the pack. Cheater decided to leave him for dessert.

  Striding to the nose, Cheater opened fire, taking down one raffler after the next. Their levels were 20 or lower, utterly inferior to his character in every way. The mods on his bow made it earn 2.5x the experience, a significant portion of which was distributable, even universal. He had to keep his Proficiency in mind, too: it grew by 1 each time his total bonus stats grew by 10. His Proficiency was at 37 by now, giving him a total 74% experience increase for each kill. In addition, if Cheater used more than just Accuracy in combat, the experience could drop an honestly-earned point into every other stat involved in his deeds. The System could never give him zero nor a fraction of a point, so the resulting 1 often multiplied into something substantial.

  For this reason, Cheater could comfortably run with crowds behind him, decimating their numbers with assorted weapons and even beating them to death with his bare hands. Best case scenarios resulted in ordinary runners dropping 3 or even 4 points. A raffler could give him up to 7. Small change, of course, but the airport was stuffed with at least 500 low level infecteds. Worst case scenario, that was 1000 experience points. Likely, it meant 2000 or more—not bad at all. Even at his high level, that was nothing to sneeze at, especially when a significant portion could be distributed at will to whatever he wished.

  Cheater had slain a village-ful of ghouls the day before, 300 at least; the day before that, he took on a town half its size, but populated with tramplers fortified by the local livestock supply. Watershed’s arrows easily took them out. Even ordinary arrows could do the trick when his Accuracy didn’t fail him, but Cheater found himself fearlessly coming to blows with a few of them hand-to-hand. In the end, he found himself oddly disappointed. With Choppa aloft, he felt barely a flicker of excitement.

  These were monsters capable of tearing his head off with a single sweep of the paw! Why wasn’t his heart pounding? He found himself mowing them down as if they were sad little target-practice pumpkins propped up on a fence. His adrenaline level flatlined. No thrill, no risk, no danger—just tedium. He might as well have picked up a job at a butchery. Though cold comfort, he was happy to at least glean experience. In his past five days living at the NPCs’ camp, Cheater made sure not to intrude into their affairs. They were aloof, yes, but always willing to help him out. They drove him from one rich cluster to the next, allowing him to glut himself on experience. For this, he was grateful.

  After shooting yet another runner, Cheater spied a cunning raffler climbing the engine. Not so fast! With its agility, it would be on the wing in seconds, then onto the fuselage. Good. Everything according to plan. He was in the clear, as long as he remembered to send an arrow towards every beast clever enough to gain purchase on the plane. He’d have to wound them in their sides or lower so as prevent their climbing or running. The System would give him a couple of extra points when he killed instead of maiming, based on the variety of weapons he employed. Cheater fell into a groove, shooting before meeting any leftover blows with Choppa. He was growing utterly bored of this softball bloodbath; weaklings like these could only seriously hurt a character of his level if they came in large enough numbers. As long as his hands weren’t tied and his abilities weren’t in cooldown, the beasts would never get the chance to deal damage.

  All of a sudden, the plane shuddered hard. Cheater’s heart leapt to his throat. Was this it? The final flight of the airliner? No—something had slammed into its tail. Well, someone. At that moment, a hefty paw seized the rudder and pulled itself up, gaining leverage in a shaving of a second. It was no trampler—those ghouls still kept most of their skin, as coarse and thick as it was. Some wisps of hair even still remained on the crowns of their heads. This beast’s gait gave it away, its movements similar to that of an infected with mutilated extremities. Before him crawled…a biter.

  These biters ran from level 35 to 45. This one easily hovered around 45. A hail of bullets from a row of rifles couldn’t pierce this beast’s powerful armor plating. Soon, the thing would be come a manmincer, the penultimate stop on its journey to elite. The sight of this biter was a surprise— Watershed and Drowner had assured him that their group had everything under control in the nearby clusters. Infecteds were rarely allowed to reach the rank of trampler; it would take a perfect storm for one to reach a higher level. As luck would have it, Cheater had to be the greeting party for this nasty eye of the storm. Lady Luck clearly loved to send him little treats like this.

  A couple of weeks ago, Cheater would have instantly suffered a heart attack in the face of one of these nightmares. The idea of greeting a biter with even a shred of positivity would make no sense. Now, however? Cheater felt vague, lazy curiosity. It hardly occurred to him to feel the absence of his large-caliber rifle, which sat waiting for him at his preferred battle zone. He was not about to go fetch it. He’d make do with his bow, sword and pistol. Cheater regarded the ghoul with bemusement as it lowered its head to charge. As the half-ton beast launched itself towards the plane’s nose, Cheater felt the plane shudder with every pounding step. As it sprinted towards Cheater, the biter viciously tossed an ascending raffler off the wing to tumble down to the concrete. The biter didn’t play well with others, clearly—it wanted no competitors, no scavengers, no opportunists. It had picked its prey, and it wasn’t sharing.

  Cheater could try releasing an arrow into a gap between its armor plates, but he didn’t want to rely on Accuracy. He had another recently-acquired ability to flex: Explosive Shot. It could be used with nearly any weapon that expended consumable ammunition. He generously poured a hundred mana into the arrow. The ability’s minimum was a dozen, a scrawny amount for a charging biter. As he drew his string, Cheater wondered if he had poured enough. Should he have given it more? Too late now. The monster would not wait for the ability’s cooldown. Cheater exhaled sharply and shot, paying no mind to his aim. The distance was minimal, after all, and the target was charging straight at him. Why focus on leading or adjusting for the wind, when the beast was steps away?

  Cheater had tested this ability on low-level ghouls and since deduced that it was best not to spend more than 30 mana on them. Overcharged arrows led to an uncontained explosion on impact when reaching the head, making it a chore to locate the blast-scattered spores after the kill. He shouldn’t have been concerning himself with the little ones’ loot—it was an abject waste of time—but he couldn’t help it. He’d truly become a loot goblin. As expected, Cheater hit the biter right in the skull. A biter’s skull was practically a cast-iron cauldron, resistant to even high-caliber rifles. The skull’s armor plates could stop bullets or cause them to ricochet. Only armor-piercing rounds were worth a shot—otherwise, you’d more likely enrage the biter further.

  Cheater already had his next arrow primed when he realiz
ed: one hundred was far too much. He should have only used fifty, or aimed at the monster’s body instead of its head. With Cheater’s arrow lodged in its eye socket, the biter collapsed on its face. Of its entire cranium, only its face remained, like a flimsy mask sewn atop its neck. Everything else was blown out backwards, covering the fuselage in a slimy slick of reddish-brown gore. At this, Cheater winced. It was about time he learned his own strength. Even a modest charge would have sufficed, given his ammo penetrated deeply enough. He now had all the proof he needed: Explosive Shot could deal showstopping amounts of damage. His little ability test-drive was now dribbling all over the plane. Eyeballing the remaining infecteds and tallying up his arrows, Cheater heaved a beleaguered sigh and drew Choppa. Ugh—time to bring this boring hunt to an end.

  * * *

  Cheater found Drowner exactly where he left him. The NPC padded through an abandoned country house, engaged in his favorite pastime: enjoying a nice, soothing cup of tea. For this purpose, he carried a folding gas burner in his backpack, along with a fuel can and a little pot. From Drowner’s comfortable chair opposite a wide window, he could see a significant portion of the airport. He’d had to have watched infecteds chasing down players now and again from this perfect ringside seat.

  Cheater let out a slow breath as he settled into a dusty chair. “Enjoying your soap opera, Grandma?”

  “Not really,” Drowner murmured, a faraway look in his eyes. “The programming never changes. Reruns and remakes, all day long. I had to make sure they didn’t tear you to pieces.”

  “How would you stop them from your armchair, Drowner?”

  “There are several methods at our disposal...” his guide replied, in typically vague fashion.

  “What—you have a team of heavy machine-gunners standing by or something? Got a button on your chair that you can press?”

  “There are methods,” Drowner maintained, evasively. “That’s our business. Don’t worry about it. You wanted to farm, and farm you shall. How were today’s results?”

  “Not bad. Honestly, I don’t see the point of staying here another day. The airport is nearly empty by now, with probably fewer than 500 left, rafflers and below. That’s including the town. It’s time for a new spot.”

  Drowner shook his head firmly. “No new spot.”

  This took Cheater aback. “Is something wrong?”

  “No, everything’s fine. It’s time to head back to camp. Let me finish this tea, and then we’ll set out. Want some?”

  “What’s at camp?”

  “Nothing in particular. Watershed wants to tell you something.”

  “Couldn’t he send a chat message?”

  “What he has to say is best shared in person,” Drowner corrected. “ We don’t argue with Watershed’s decisions. He knows best.”

  Cheater let out an uncomfortable laugh. “What are you, a hivemind?”

  “Basically,” Drowner replied, without missing a beat. “Watershed is powerful. His ability is unique and well developed, with mighty properties. His ability makes him a prophet. He’s gifted with foresight, so he can orchestrate events to benefit us all in the end. We could have taken a saw through the leg of that chair yesterday, for example. You’d have slammed your head against the brick as the chair collapsed…that is, if we knew for sure you would sit there. See, Watershed knows. You, Cheater, are a sawed-off leg. I don’t know why Watershed has taken such an interest in you, but he has his reasons. You have a role to play—and whatever it is, it’s important. I’ve never seen him treat a player like he treats you, and I’ve been with him for a year and a half, now. That’s good news.”

  At this, Cheater indulged in a small smile, which Drowner encouraged. “With your help, our situation will improve! Watershed hasn’t shared anything concrete, but he has dropped some hints. That’s very much like him, as I’m sure you’ve noticed; he hates saying things outright, as clear articulation might influence fate. People should keep the faith and submit without questioning, or their outcome might be affected. Watershed speaks. We listen and obey, without complaint, without delay. Watershed requested I return you to camp immediately, so that’s what I’ll do! Farm time’s over—let’s give these infecteds a break.”

  “So what will happen back at camp?” Cheater protested pushily.

  “Don’t you get it?” Drowner snapped. “I don’t know! Whatever Watershed says will happen, will happen.”

  Cheater loathed mystery as much as Watershed adored it. He couldn’t stand having no information to go on, and couldn’t bear the blind obedience Drowner so revered. As Drowner handed him a steaming mug of tea, Cheater watched its steam rise as he pondered his fate. He then took a moment to check his character stats, if only to admire his gains. He knew he likely hadn’t gained all that much in the past few days, but it was something. His gains weren’t thanks to ghoulicide as much as to his use of his Fifth Mine purchases, which he managed to take over several safe consumption intervals.

  Total distributable experience points: 21362

  Equipment Bonuses

  1. Protective Bracelet of a Valiant Shgrazqu Archer.

  2. Necklace of a Shgrazqu Hunter Wizard.

  Strength +38

  Dexterity +38

  Speed +38

  Willpower +31

  Stealth +20

  Accuracy +5

  Luck +37

  Spirit of Styx Regeneration +32.2 per hour

  A very high chance of escaping detection by means of Continental abilities. Has no effect at 8 meters or less (enhanced from 17 by duplication). The greater the distance of the seeker, the better the chances of escaping detection.

  Hidden properties: if a damage-dealing projectile is released in the direction of this bracelet’s owner (whether from a weapon or manually thrown), the owner experiences an extremely disturbing sensation for the duration of the projectile’s journey.

  Base Stats

  1.46x Strength: 41

  1.49x Dexterity: 36

  1.29x Speed: 41

  1.49x Endurance: 36

  1.30x Willpower: 93

  Level 49 (247/5). 7881 distributable points.

  Bonus Stats

  1.40x Perception: 77

  1.47x Stealth: 35

  1.65x Reaction: 46

  2.95x Accuracy: 44 (+30 bonus levels which do not count towards overall Bonus Level)

  2.24x Luck: 73

  1.17 Ward of Styx: 64 (Spirit of Styx regeneration: 12.8 per hour x 1.17).

  1.15x Talent Rank: 37

  Bonus Level 53 (376/7). 8480 distributable points.

  Experience: 37 (+74% base stat level experience)

  Meters

  Health: 202

  Stamina: 212

  Spore Balance: 227

  Hunger: 206

  Thirst: 200

  Spirit of Styx: 629

  Pleasure: 388

  Distributable Meter Points: 0

  Player Status

  Radiation: 0

  Humanity: 17077

  Injuries: N/A

  Diseases: N/A

  Bound items: bow, rifle, pistol, axe, necklace, bracelet

  By raising three stats up one level, he’d reach an overall level of 50. With all of his distributable points, he could do that at any time. Until recently, Cheater had been certain that no one in the entire Continent could ever reach such a number. Without relying on hints from veteran players, he’d still managed to unlock the game’s secrets through his own personal experience, experimentation and sleuth-work. He had no doubt that March and Romeo were far beyond level 40, though they’d likely taken longer to reach such levels. Cheater was often too busy to recognize it, but he truly was advancing quickly. Alcoholism, whoring, gambling and other vices had no part in his life. Nothing could derail him. Luck was a factor in his development, of course, if a fickle one—but he’d truly grown in tenacity as a player. He had a goal, and it captivated him.

  Cheater’s distributable experience points were so numerous now that he could bo
ost his Willpower to 120, the next breakthrough level. At every 30 levels, something special transpired. His abilities would receive powerful upgrades—but his distributable point reserves would be gone. March and Tat had always taunted Cheater for being a compulsive hoarder, but he was a saver through and through. He was always too responsible for them, too cautious. Cheater knew the next breakthrough level for Willpower after 120 was 150, which would require 40,500 progress points to reach. If he intended to acquire those points from mobs, he would have to use Exploding Shot, which would convert some of the experience gained into Willpower points. Considering the chances of success he’d seen using this tactic, he’d have to kill about 300,000 runners, rafflers, and tramplers.

  Three. Hundred. Thousand. Even if he killed one infected every minute—with no breaks for eating or sleeping—the task would take 208 days. Cheater knew that proper nutrition and sleep hygiene were not to be sacrificed. Even with the NPCs’ help, Cheater had destroyed about 300 ghouls per day on average. At that pace, this Willpower goal would take him 3 years—no holidays, weekends or System interruptions. System interruptions were a given. Plus, the plan assumed that Cheater had a chauffeur shuttling him from killing ground to killing ground, supplying him with all of his needs. Realistically, three years was cutting it close. So was four, so was five. Ten years might do the trick—or taking on a couple of Unnamed Ones. To be honest, the latter sounded far more likely. If he took on those massive horrors, 150 Willpower might just be attainable. The abilities available at that level could strike terror in a god’s heart. Cheater shivered just thinking about it.