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

by Arthur Stone

  Bugle’s assistants knew how to correctly mutilate the digis. There were always heads in the square. Few people liked these displays, however, so people rarely lingered near the head cages. A couple of players pacing and turning would seem completely normal.

  However, they never reached the square. Even as he was activating Omniscience every twenty yards, Cheater did not forget to use his ordinary eyesight. As he passed the ice cream man, he involuntarily squinted at his goods with greedy eyes—and caught the man’s look.

  The merchant’s eyes were not eager, nor greedy. They were attentive. Tense. Dangerous. This was the predatory gaze of a thug, no gentle ice cream man. It was the look of a hunter who had found his prey. Cheater saw it all in one moment. He had no idea how, but he was spotted. It was not pedestrian commoners who had seen him—this was an ambush! Everything was arranged in inconspicuous fashion, the work of true professionals.

  The blonde-haired boy saw that he had been caught. Without breaking his gait, Cheater drew his pistol. Thankfully, he’d loaded and cocked it in advance. Ice Cream Man dove under his cart—but it was too small, and he was too slow. Cheater’s bullet blew his temple apart, staining his white robe red.

  Cheater was already turning, aiming at the window with the player holding the tablet. The man was not staring at naked girls. He had used one hand to throw open both shutters; his other held a threatening item—certainly not part of his body.

  Cheater fired two bullets at him, in sync with the volley from Clown’s machine gun. Clown was taking the chatting pair of young ladies. The man did tell Cheater he would need someone to cover his rear—and that’s exactly what Clown did.

  As Cheater spun towards the terrace, his heart skipped a beat. March, the player he’d been trying so hard to contact for two whole weeks, fell over backwards in his chair. There was nothing left of his friend’s head. Chunks of it were scattered in every direction, as were fragments of the table. Something of serious caliber had flown in to destroy them both. Strangely, the shot had not been audible. Perhaps it had been covered by the sounds from their own weapons.

  Not believing his eyes, a shaking Cheater checked his comrade’s icon to see that it was indeed crossed out. March was dead. Only a priest could revive him, and they had no priest.

  Can a man without a head even be brought back? Cheater doubted there was anything left to resurrect. He could forget about his meeting with March.

  Bullet!

  Bullet!

  Bullet!

  ...

  Before he even read the pulsating lines, Cheater rolled to the side. As his shoulder hit the pavement, he remembered that he had set the bracelet from the tomb to broadcast those four letters, not the default warning. Yet how could that save him here, in these tight city streets? There were no wide open spaces for snipers to take advantage of. At such distances, a bullet traveled so quickly that there would be no warning before it struck him.

  It turned out to be no bullet. A faint crash nearby was followed by a plume of greenish smoke. Cheater realized he must not breathe any of it.

  “Gas!” he shouted to warn Clown.

  Not a word more—he had to hold his breath.

  Clown was smart enough to figure out the hint, right? As he continued to return fire, Cheater’s friend began moving sideways, towards the area where March’s body lay. Both of them moved together. The choice of directions was limited, after all. Behind them sat a house, with its first-floor windows barred and its entrance on the opposite side. To their right, amidst puffs of smoke, players were rushing in from the square. To their left, at least one rifleman. But there seemed to be no one in the eatery itself.

  Grabbing the grenade he had found in the ancient fortress, Cheater hurled it at the enemies approaching from the square, then took a couple of shots. His pistol fell silent. It was not out of ammo, but no targets were visible. The street filled with greenish smoke, as one projectile after another came crashing in. He could make out a few shapeless silhouettes, at best. It was best not to waste his ammunition on such phantasmal targets.

  The automatic rifle stopped firing, but in between the pop sounds of the gas delivery missiles landing, Cheater heard the man reloading. Clown was hidden in the gas, still firing. As long as they kept moving, things would clear up soon. No poison grenades could be tossed into the eatery from above. The source of the chemical attack was, indeed, from above. Whoever planned this had probably been ready for possible sensor abilities and had wanted to avoid any signs of ambush at the eatery itself.

  Dammit, how could I forget about Omniscience?

  Once a fool, always a fool.

  The flash did not make the gas disappear, of course. But it highlighted exactly what he asked it to.

  People.

  Raising his pistol, Cheater shot a pair of players getting close to Clown. They were wearing some advanced model of gas mask. Perhaps the masks not only allowed them to breathe but also to see.

  Cheater had no need of such gadgets. He didn’t even need eyes. Whether he closed or opened his eyes while Flash of Omniscience was active made no real difference. He could see the bastards through solid rock, if he needed to.

  He had something in store for them.

  As he turned to face the square, Cheater was thrown back by a powerful blow. Someone had tackled him with incredible speed and agility.

  Making no attempt to stand, nor to wrest his gun free of the mysterious attacker’s strong arm, Cheater retreated into a controlled fall and released the weapon.

  He was unarmed for a moment. But once he fell, he rolled, drew his sword from its scabbard, and chopped the gas mask—and what lay beneath it—clean in half. Still not rising, he spun on his shoulder blades, sweeping Choppa’s long blade in a circle. Twice more, the blade met and sliced through resistance. A muffled, masked yell came through.

  After all, not everyone was accustomed to remaining silent when they lost both legs.

  Cheater jumped up.

  Bullet!

  Bullet!

  Bullet!

  ...

  Dammit, again?

  This time, he collapsed awkwardly, not having time to roll. Whatever it was, it was clearly not a bullet. It screamed like a truck frantically trying to break on a grade. Clown’s rifle fell silent, and the man collapsed, writhing like something attempting to escape strong bonds.

  Bastards! The two of them had not even managed to cross the road yet.

  Cheater had no idea what had happened to Clown, but he did realize he would not be able to extract his comrade. Something had him trapped. Was it a net? Where had it come from? Had they really shot nets at the pair?

  Clown realized what had happened and stopped holding his breath. “Run, Cheater!” he yelled. “Get out of here!”

  Cheater hesitated, considering whether Smile of Fortune might be of use. Sadly, the next Flash of Omniscience highlighted at least twenty people, coming in from all sides. Some were coming from the eatery, where Cheater had been heading towards.

  His hesitation hurt. Along with another warning message, something flashed, and a weighted net wrapped tightly around Cheater’s body.

  He fell. All that he managed as he went down was to slash at the outstretched arm of one of his attackers. Then, he involuntarily gasped for air as people piled onto him, and the smell of burnt rubber and something painfully spicy filled his nostrils.

  The world turned upside down, and then fell dark. Even the silhouettes illuminated by Flash of Omniscience were barely visible.

  They lost all shape, and then faded to utter blackness.

  Chapter 29

  Life Nine. Deja Vu

  If the System timer was correct, Cheater came to an hour and a half later. Realizing the depths of the hot water he was in, he checked his character window.

  The timer was doing fine. His map, however, was not. It was working about as well as it had on his spec-fueled panic run through the desert. He saw no icon indicating his location. Nor anything showing him th
e surrounding area. However, his meters were nearly full. Basically no penalties. Only the relatively insignificant consequences of an overdose of sedative. No stats were affected by this except Speed and Reaction. Those were temporarily reduced by three levels, nothing more.

  Why then was the map behaving so oddly?

  Everything suggested that Cheater was not standing still. He was being taken somewhere, in a heavy vehicle. Probably a truck, but perhaps an armored personnel carrier. Some models had configurations that allowed prisoners to be held in a standing position, their hands and feet restrained.

  Cheater’s eyes could see, but they were not seeing anything of use currently—since his head was wrapped in something soft and foul-smelling. A rag that no one had ever washed, most likely.

  Cheater had been in a situation like this, before.

  The bad guys had caught him in a hotel room. It had been right in the middle of a stable which had been legendary for its apparent security. Those captors, however, were not as sophisticated as his present captors. They had casually bound his wrists and suspended them with a hook. His legs had been left free, and his head covered with a dust bag that was impossible to see through but which he successfully ditched in a matter of seconds.

  Today’s captors were much more professional. Even if a monster attacked, as had happened with the last truck ride, Smile of Fortune would not help. He was bound securely.

  His Luck didn’t have anything to work with. Winning the lottery required a lottery ticket.

  Cheater had no ticket. There was no sense using his ability.

  But he was patient. He would save it for later.

  At last he checked the chat window. A message waited for him.

  Clown:

  Cheater, when you come to, tell me what’s going on.

  He had come to now. No sense making his comrade wait any longer.

  Cheater:

  I’m doing fine. How are you?

  Clown:

  Never felt better. Taking a kick to the head and then hanging in the position of a crucified martyr on board some truck. Just how I hoped to spend my day.

  Cheater:

  You were right. We shouldn’t have gone in.

  Clown:

  No, we’re good. This might work out for the best. We could find out some interesting things. Did you see the team that tied us up? I didn’t know they made teams like that. Now I know. You’re a good traveling companion for people looking to find out new things.

  Cheater:

  Where are we?

  Clown:

  Well, judging by our surroundings, we’re in a truck built to transport idiots. Cargo: two. You and me. I don’t even know which of us is the main cargo. No, I’m not trying to take over as leader. You’re in charge. I just mean who’s the biggest idiot.

  Cheater:

  I mean our location. Does your map show you anything?

  Clown:

  Nothing. Your map got you blind, too?

  Cheater:

  Yeah.

  Clown:

  Too bad. They’ve figured out some way to jam our character interfaces. Not completely, but in part. That’s probably why we couldn’t get any chat messages through to March.

  Cheater:

  But why did he just sit there? Were they controlling him somehow?

  Clown:

  I don’t know. But I would suppose that shiteaters capable of jamming character interfaces and filling the streets with sleeping gas in seconds might have other interesting tricks up their sleeves. This is a serious team, Cheater. It’s a pity that March’s ability was in cooldown. That’s how they kept him under control. How’s your inventory? Do you have anything that might get us out of here?

  Cheater hesitated. It was a tricky question. Players were not accustomed to spreading such information. He even thought that Clown might be another enemy, trying to worm his way into Cheater’s trust. Perhaps he was sitting next to him, chuckling as he relayed everything from the chat to their captors.

  No, that’s just paranoid. If he were a traitor, he could have ended this a long time ago. When Cheater had entered the Devils’ lair, Clown could have given him up without starting a serious fight that incurred significant losses for the Devils.

  Cheater answered.

  Cheater:

  I have a lot of inventory space. Including something for cases like these. But to use it, I have to reach my chest somehow.

  Clown:

  I thought you had a couple of tanks in there or something.

  Cheater:

  No tanks, but I do have a grenade.

  Clown:

  A grenade? Shit! One grenade won’t be enough.

  Cheater:

  It still might come in handy. Maybe I’ll take one of them with me to respawn. And there’s something else, besides the grenade.

  Clown:

  Just take me with you. Don’t leave me to these beasts. You’ve figured out what they’re planning, right?

  Cheater:

  You think they’ll torture us?

  Clown:

  Why do you think they want us alive? They’re even giving us a free ride. No one gives free rides. There’s obviously something they want from us. And I doubt it’s good, considering their treatment of us so far. Your Wanted posters all said to take you alive. The Devils don’t want you dead, for some reason. And what’s the difference between dead and alive? Well, the dead can’t talk. If they just plan to beat us up, that’s good. I doubt that. Based on that ambush, they have put a lot of time, thought, and money into this.

  Cheater:

  I have an enemy. The worst. He needs me alive. It seems like this bounty was put out by him.

  Clown:

  Romeo?

  Cheater:

  Who else?

  Clown:

  What does he need from me, then? I don’t know him, and I don’t want to. Plus, I don’t know how you feel about this, but I really hate torture. Once I was captured by some mad cultists, and they spent four days killing one piece of me after another. Half of my skin was stripped off of me, and the other half was burned to a crisp. Thin strips of skin, vinegar splashed on it, burning red-hot knives. I was ready to tell them anything. But they didn’t even ask. They just get high on torture. Ever since then, I’ve hated cultists of any kind. And all religions, while we’re at it. So please, if you get an opportunity to blow yourself up, please take me with you. I don’t like dying, of course, but I won’t take revenge on you, I promise.

  Cheater:

  We can always elect to die. If that happens, remember to leave your respawn cluster as quickly as possible. They might really have the means to catch us when we come back.

  Clown:

  Yeah. We’ll have to get out before the jackasses can swarm the cluster. Let’s agree on a meeting place. In case our chat doesn’t work when we respawn. As we’ve seen, chat isn’t reliable in this region.

  Cheater:

  Far to the east, beyond the Cauldron, there’s a merchant in Grachevsk. Watershed told me about him. An NPC with the nickname of Builder. If you get there first, leave him a message for me. I believe he can be trusted.

  Clown:

  I don’t trust digis.

  Cheater:

  You can’t trust anyone on the Continent. Write the note in a way that only I can understand. You’ll come up with something. Hmm, it looks like we’re stopping. Wait, what’s up with the chat?

  The words went through, it seemed, but they were dimmed, as they had been with March. Clown had most likely not seen the final messages.

  What could have happened? They were obviously in close proximity. Most likely in the same vehicle. Cheater was unable to turn his head so that he could see behind him with his Omniscience, but for some reason, he was certain that his comrade was hanging at the other end.

  He had been able to make it out as the truck left the highway, wound through fields, and advanced along the crest of some huge structure. It looked the dam Kitty and he had spent some
time near, towards the end. It was not, of course, the same dam. This wasn’t even the same region, just a similar design. The open road on top did not continue all the way across, but ended at a thick wall. Only a narrow passage pressed on, though it was drivable. He assumed it was blocked off by a gate, but could not tell for sure. There was too much of human origin in this area for him to discern details. Much of the colors were uninterpretable chaos. As if multiple X-ray images from multiple people were overlaid on top of each other, and Cheater were instructed to determine which broken bones belonged to whom.

  The vehicle pressed into the passage with the speed of a snail, and at last stopped at a site where, Omniscience revealed, several other vehicles were parked. The angular outlines of trucks with makeshift armor, the squat frames of pickups, a narrow-nosed armored personnel carrier, and a tractor carrying a huge gas tank.

  It was a whole car park, surrounded by high walls.

  Note: Secret Hint activated. You have arrived in the quest area. Good luck.

  What? Another hint from the System. Unlike the first, this one made no sense to him.

  Well, beyond the fact that Cheater knew he must perform certain actions here which led to the completion of the quest Watershed had given him.

  But what actions? There were no hints to that end. He doubted the quest completion condition was “hang out and do nothing.”

  Yet he had zero freedom of movement. He could do nothing at all. It was a worthless hint, but what good would precise instructions be to him, anyway? This quest was a joke.

  Not that he should have expected more from Watershed, an NPC of unknown origin and with unclear motives, and the System, with its penchant for lack of communication.

  How had he put it? “You’ll handle it. No problem. You don’t need any hints. You have everything you need to complete this quest. Even if you do not want to, still, it will happen.”

  And so on and so forth, more of the same, for whole minutes on end. The digi had spoken confidently, as one who knew all the secrets of the universe. A false prophet. Cheater had been sent to an unknown place to do an unknown thing to unknown people. If only Watershed could take his place now, and see how impossible any action was, when even his fingers were restrained.