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

by Arthur Stone

  Killynilly, Self-loading AS50 Rifle. Ammunition: NATO 12.7х99. Condition: working. Negligible wear. Additional devices: Nightforce BEAST 5-25x56 F1 optical sight. Special properties: special bot weapon. Two successful modification installations guaranteed. Modification list: Stone of Great Liberty, Greater Crystal of Durability, Piercing Needle, Emanation of Speed.

  Modification Properties:

  This item’s virtual weight is reduced by 84%. This weight reduction only affects carry weight and cache limit calculations. The attack power of the weapon is not reduced.

  This weapon’s materials are significantly strengthened. They are harder to damage, and the barrel can withstand ammunition with significantly increased power.

  Rounds fired from Sievemaker ignore up to 37 millimeters of any barriers, including physical ones, protecting the target.

  +143% projectile speed (default trajectory calculations of this weapon and its ammunition remain as though speed is unmodified).

  This item is bound. Current owner: Cheater. This item’s owner has named it: Killynilly.

  He could obscure the rifle’s details, as he did with the pistol; however, he had to carry it with him. If he let it out of his hands, the deception would gradually reveal itself, even to players with near-zero Perception. A person walking around town with such a powerful artillery gun would attract significant attention, even if the local authorities were lax about carry laws. It would be surreal to come across a “novice” toting such a weapon. Even the most barebones model cost several hundred spores. Demand was great, supply minimal. Any newb with one ran the risk of being ambushed the second they left a stable. Plenty would be willing to suffer a Humanity penalty for such a weapon. Cheater had to keep it concealed or otherwise sell it. After some hesitation, Cheater decided to hide the rifle entirely. When it was at the ready, his attempts to conceal its stats were far too obvious. The gun was simply too large and too recognizable. An experienced observer would clock the gun’s outlines and smell a rat. On a Continent boasting some residents with the ability to see straight through concrete, Cheater knew to be cautious when choosing to hide things.

  He was sad to part with his weapon. He had managed to refill his ammo supply by buying off the NPCs; now, he could hold up against a serious wave of enemies, if necessary. However difficult for Cheater, this was the right decision. The weapon wouldn’t actually disappear. It was bound. It would appear automatically in nearby caches wherever Cheater roamed. If only this applied to his modifiers! The crystals could not be bound, though he’d been naive enough to try. They wouldn’t attract too much attention in his backpack, though. A newb always carried around a sack of trash, right? Few players were curious sensors. Those that were didn’t waste their mana on novices, unless inspired by serious incongruity. This reasoning forced Cheater to abandon his sword, too. It was far too large to hide from snooping eyes. The blade’s very appearance was a dead giveaway. In this way, Cheater’s promising new Stealth ability failed to truly address his problems.

  Cheater’s axe was thankfully more modest, its shape standard enough not to provoke suspicion. It had its quirks, of course, but they easily scanned like some local blacksmith’s idiosyncratic hallmarks. No one had to know the weapon once belonged to a wonky-legged alien. Inspect mode would immediately reveal the truth, along with Cheater’s non-newb status.

  Axe of a Valiant Shgrazqu Warrior. Found in a tomb in the black lands. Enhancements: none. Rare weapon of the Former. Guaranteed to accept 2 modifications, with a 75% chance of a 3rd. Active modifications: 4. Modification list: Center of Strength, Center of Dexterity, Center of Reaction, Greater Crystal of Durability.

  Modification Properties:

  Strength +19

  Dexterity +18

  Reaction +20

  Luck +19

  This weapon’s materials are strengthened. They are more difficult to damage and hold their edge longer. Even powerful blows on hard surfaces do only minor damage.

  Visible properties: none. Hidden properties: none. This item’s former owner can no longer reclaim it. Current owner: none. You can bind this weapon to yourself and become its owner. After binding, you can give the weapon a name, which will be displayed to all players.

  Such a weapon could easily fetch at least 25,000. Unsurprisingly, its mods were excellent. Cheater had to carefully shield its stats, for the axe’s baroque shape would likely attract inspection. Cheater’s bracer, bracelet and necklace luckily could not be seen under his jacket. The heat was oppressive, but Cheater had to resist shedding layers to keep his treasures under wraps. Applying his new Hidden property to these goods wouldn’t help; no matter how weak the visible properties of these items, their simple rarity would immediately stand out.

  Cheater proceeded to work on his ersatz character description. The Hidden property let Cheater look like a level 17 player—no weakling, but hardly a veteran. He seemed like a beginner learning the ropes, or perhaps a long-time player with terrible luck. Both were a dime a dozen on the Continent, so neither archetype would attract much attention. Cheater had changed his appearance somewhat while staying at Watershed’s camp, too: he now sported a very short haircut, close-cropped on the sides and dyed a deep chestnut. The NPCs had owned no other dye, but it did the trick. He’d apply some finishing touches later. The final step was to address his nickname. His first hero ability allowed him to add, remove, or replace a single letter, so Cheater subbed in an “s” to replace his “a”. “Chester” was the best he could do, and it certainly worked for him. Now, a not-too-observant player would see before him a run-of-the-mill, perfectly milquetoast level 17 player named Chester. His shenanigans would hardly withstand a closer look—Cheater’s player ID was still the same, unfortunately—but nothing on Cheater could withstand a thorough investigation, anyway.

  Regretfully gazing at the bush in which he’d deposited his poor rifle and sword, Cheater got to his feet and strode towards the newcomer trapped on the roof. Pitiful ghouls roamed about the base of the building. It was only at the very last moment that they noticed fresh meat approaching, which they welcomed with much agitated grumbling. The player also failed to see “Chester” arriving until this moment; he was far too busy rushing about the roof in myopic terror. The single raffler climbing the wall must have sent him over the edge. There was no way for a weak infected to climb up a bricked-up window. However, the bewildered novice had clearly convinced himself that gruesome death was imminent.

  Cheater stopped fifteen yards from the nearest ghoul. He couldn’t get closer, or the whole herd would mob him; then he’d be forced to fend them off with his stellar battle skills, betraying his status to the newb. If he guessed that his savior was much too mighty for level 17, Chester’s charade would come to an end. Drawing his pistol, Cheater shot at a spot on the concrete wall two feet from one of the ghouls. He missed the monster, of course, but successfully diverted a portion of the undead throng. Together they rushed, headlong towards their new, accessible meal. Now, it was time to Cheater to try something new: he’d have to “play fight” for an audience of one.

  For starters, Cheater overused his ammunition. He spent a whole magazine on killing two of them, but prudently crippled several more. While fully strategic, this would appear to outsiders like poor aim. Retreating a number of yards, he reloaded and repeated the performance. Allowing himself to be dramatically knocked down, he surreptitiously cut his cheekbone on the corner of his axe blade. He then cut down the runner he’d blame for this “battle wound.” Cheaters’ acting was broad and mediocre, but he hoped his spectator was too delirious with fear to be a critic. After dispatching the final monster, Cheater staggered up to the building, feigning utter physical and mental exhaustion. Smearing blood across his face, Cheater called out desperately to the trapped boy. “Get down quick,” he panted, “before more show up!”

  “I can’t!” the boy replied, bordering on hysterical.

  “What? Why not?”

  “I can’t come down!”
>
  “How’d you get up there?”

  “I don’t know!”

  “What? How? Did a helicopter drop you up there or something?”

  “I don’t remember. I just ran, very fast. Help me, please!”

  The poor boy’s nerves were shot. What had he done, run straight up the wall? Judging by the crazed look in his eyes, it wasn’t out of the realm of possibilty. Cheater couldn’t exactly call the fire department. He would just have to figure out a way to bring the young man down.

  Chapter 24

  Life Nine. A Merry Town

  The rescued boy’s name was Sparrow. After five minutes of chatting with him, Cheater concluded that only some unknown property of the boy’s nickname could had winged him up to the roof. Either that, or he’d managed to climb one of the poplars growing alongside the building. That seemed too dangerous, though. It was frail, a risk for even a high-level player. Sparrow himself appeared to have no recollection of his ascent. Fear had dissected his memory. He had been running away from the ghouls, then, suddenly… he was up on the roof. There he was, with no stairs, no ladders and no way to get down without broken bones. To get Sparrow down, Cheater had needed to find a rope. The search was quick, as Sparrow somehow remembered one dangling from a few nearby cars. It had not been long enough, so Birdboy had needed to “fly” down the last ten feet. For an old hand, this was like hopping down a single step; on the other hand, this little fellow seriously twisted his ankle on the drop and now hobbled along at a pathetic pace to match his pathetic face.

  Cheater soon discovered that Sparrow’s pain did nothing to reduce his talkativeness. He chattered away as though he’d not seen another player in years. His topics were mostly garbage, but Cheater still listened closely for any telling details. He knew all too well that trash could prove treasure. Sparrow had no idea what his name was in his previous life, which made sense; however, he had many guesses, ones he insisted on sharing as soon as the two of them met. Interspersed with his list of names, he spoke of all the moments he had been able to recall once reaching level 10. Sparrow had learned more from these revelations than Cheater had ever learned about himself, but the boy still didn’t glean anything that revolutionary.

  Sparrow also boasted of his immense and enviable experience, gathered over the course of a whopping month and a half on the continent. Hep proudly shared that he fought his way to level 19 without any help, a fact he went on to repeat ad nauseam. He turned every one of Cheater’s remarks or questions into an opportunity to return to the subject, all the while shooting him looks of dizzying condescension. Sparrow regarded Cheater the way the Dalai Lama might look down upon a monastery sewer cleaner, from the peak of one of the tallest Himalayas. Cheater’s deception was obviously working. Seeing “level 17”, the insecure boy was clearly proud to have “Chester” beat. Cheater, of course, made no effort to point out that the dazzlingly epic Sparrow—with his whole 19 levels!—had just been rescued by a lowly amateur like him. In general, Cheater tried to talk less and grimace more, milking his role as he clutched his bandaged face. His self-inflicted axe-wound was practically a papercut, yet it bled profusely. Waterfalls of bright red stained his clothes. It looked utterly gruesome. Cheater was thrilled.

  After half an hour of listening to Sparrow’s prattle, Cheater had concocted a believable alibi for himself. Much like this newb, “Chester” was headed for the Cauldron’s central stable. There, safe farming clusters could be found, as well as groups of similar players to party up with. After pumping a little, he gleaned, one could move further east, where rural clusters rebooted in abundance. Local stable leadership paid players to clean out these territories, meaning that you’d earn a little additional income as you gained experience. Cheater was glad he had rescued Sparrow. If any uncomfortable questions were to come his way, he could supply plausible answers, marbling in facts no visiting veteran or NPC might know. Sparrow’s low level was also a windfall for Cheater, as it let him test his new Hidden text ability while learning more about local life.

  Sparrow planned to spend the night in a large village six miles away. The village was called Circus for a reason. The chatterbox informed him that he thought the local control teams had purged the area of infecteds. This was why he walked directly towards the village in a straight line. Of course, a trio of undead awaited him. He spent all of his ammunition on them, much of which was lost in his attempts to reload on the run. In fact, Sparrow missed the ammo so much that he begged Cheater to help him find the long-gone, valueless bullets. Cheater downright itched to drop the charade. At one point, Cheater was close to just handing the poor boy a couple dozen mods to shut him up. Then he could go buy a million rounds of his beloved .22 ammo! He could shoot them as noisily as he pleased, until the whole region heard how much of a silly little newb he was! Cheater calmed himself down from these vindictive fantasies. Ah, well—Sparrow would remain an ignorant, petty novice.

  * * *

  The Cauldron did seem scrubbed of all major threats. Cheater remembered that they had now made it far from the border. He had not seen many stables in his time. Of all the perimeters he’d seen, however, this town’s looked the flimsiest. It might as well have been guarded by a dizzy drunkard in a cattle shed. Along the road, Cheater witnessed an incident revealing more of the Devils’ nature. As the two walked along the open road, they feared no opposition. They were no longer alone—three more inexperienced players had joined them. Sparrow was thrilled to gain fresh ears to fill with his blabber, ignoring his severe leg pain in the name of catching up with these new friends. The road they traveled was a popular one. Vehicles passed, but the players didn’t heed them, instead pointing their attention to Sparrow’s steady stream of word-vomit. In one case, however, they made an exception.

  The vehicle in question was a standard converted truck, retrofit into a homemade armored personnel carrier. There was no tower, only an open machine-gun nest holding an overweight man. Entirely stripped to the waist, the man sloppily gnawed on an apple. All of the newbs—the magnificent Sparrow included—moved quickly off the road at the sight of the truck, forming an awkward single-file line. As the vehicle passed, they raised their right hands towards the road. These salutes were aggressively creepy, simultaneously evoking Ancient Rome and Nazi Germany. Feeling sick in the pit of his stomach, Cheater had no choice but to follow suit. He had to do anything to blend in.

  As the truck passed, the machine gunner lobbed his unfinished apple at Sparrow, hitting him square in the forehead. The boy swayed, flinching from surprise; however, he refused to lower his head or hand. Only after the homemade APC was twenty yards past did Sparrow hiss in fury. “Bastards!”

  “I know!” a fellow traveler concurred. “I can’t wait until these freaks get cut down. It’ll happen sooner or later.”

  “It better be sooner, rather than later,” Sparrow glowered.

  “Everyone thinks that. They’re not the long-lasting type.”

  Cheater noticed an emblem branded onto the car: a triangular black head with short horns. While full of questions for the others, he kept mum. These must have been the Devils, the group who’d relegated Watershed and his kin to the Hole. He learned something else, too: the group had power here that the Spiders had never dreamed of. The Spider bikers may have come in larger numbers, but the serfs never honored them like this. Cheater was beginning to understand Watershed’s concerns. Bugle was dead serious about his rotten intentions. The NPCs were right to fear this land, and there was no way they could go east. Cheater would bet that the hanging of digis had become a celebrated tradition in this area. No wonder March’s search party avoided these parts.

  * * *

  There was a formal checkpoint at the village entrance, “formal” used loosely. No one made any records, nor asked any questions. The black-uniformed guards outright ignored the incoming newbs. After passing through the gate, however, Cheater came face-to-face with himself. No, not in a mirror, nor in his mind’s eye—but on a Wanted poster. The post
er bore his nickname, his ID and an ugly, vaguely-sketched portrait that didn’t really look all too much like him, anyway. Despite his modified nickname and the wonky picture, Cheater felt creeping dread. It was one thing when mercenaries were after you; once the authorities got involved in your manhunt, you were likely toast. Still, Cheater had done nothing wrong.

  Their trio of traveling buddies split off, but Sparrow continued to follow Cheater. “Where ya off to?”

  “Uh…girls,” Cheater lied. “You said they were good and cheap here.”

  “So let’s go together!” Sparrow beamed.

  Cheater twitched at Sparrow’s perky demeanor. “No thanks, pal, I can handle them on my own.”

  “Oh, come on, Chester! They might give us a discount—you know, like a buy-one-get-one-type-thing?”

  “Sorry, kid. I’d rather be alone.”

  “Ah, yeah—I get it,” Sparrow relented. “Well, write me when you’re available. Maybe we can find something to do! I know some people here. I’ll talk to them—put in a good word for you. Maybe they’ll let you join the team! Sound good?”

  Cheater nodded, a little touched by the twerp’s kindness. “Thanks, Sparrow. I’d like that. Call me if you need anything.”

  Once finally free of Sparrow, Cheater found a decent hotel, which was not a simple task in an area of such debauchery. After renting the cheapest available room, he hopped over to the closest shop to buy a new set of clothing. He could wash the old set, of course, but it was customary for players to simply buy new clothes when their old sets were sullied with blood. It was widely believed that developed ghouls could smell the blood, even if after bottles on bottles of detergent. After this, Cheater went to an ordinary dining hall, where he could eat and drink for a few spores amongst low-level players. There was less of a risk of running into a brash guard looking for trouble in such places, and Cheater didn’t need unnecessary attention. Plus, he could listen in on conversations on a wealth of newbish topics, ones not typical of experienced players. While he spent his entire evening eavesdropping, he heard no one mention a morose, beer-guzzling man like March. He did still make some discoveries, though—one of which would prove useful.