There was no sign of the Montosaurus either. It occurred to me that there must be a reason the beast-god was hiding, but the workers weren’t about to complain about it.
Aunt Stephanie and a couple of sharp girls from Cali Bottom had reopened the restored Pig and Whistle. Patrick, Flaygray and Nega were idling away their hours there too, resting before work in the desert began. As soon as I made a path through to the place of power, the guardians would have to move there until the temple was built.
Ripta and Anf needed no rest, at least not the kind the satyr and succubus preferred, so they were assigned to the miners to guard them just in case, and to help move resources to the clan storehouse. From there, the ore went to the miners’ guild based on our contract. Crawler and Bomber were handling that.
While I was in Darant, the guys had gone to Glendale and brought the kobold tribe back from its outskirts. They ran away in all directions when they saw me, and it took some time to calm them down. I had to rely on the shaman Ryg’har’s help, who saw the mark of the Sleeping Gods on me. The kobold s immediately fell to their knees and began to murmur prayers. Maybe I was just imagining it, but I felt Behemoth stir somewhere within me, feeding on the weak streams of faith.
I asked the kobold chief Grog’hyr to help the miners, and he gladly agreed. Kobold s were born diggers, after all. The clan would pay them in board, food and clothing for the ore they mined, since the kobold s didn’t use money.
Trixie was childishly showing off his new outfit in the tavern and was immediately the center of the workers’ attention. His sincere and open admissions of the time spent in the district of forbidden pleasures caused a real furor, and even Flaygray listened with interest, dropping a sarcastic comment here and there.
Once finished with his tales, Trixie set about making the fort a greener place. He and Aunt Steph cleared the tavern’s back yard so they could grow vegetables there and planned to plant some fruit trees. Trixie would put the defensive plants wherever Gyula told him. The Flesh-Eating Tree Protector would come when our gardener leveled up his skill at least to expert level. Otherwise there was a risk of losing the seed.
By then, Infect had already reached the fort and was strumming an epic six-string guitar. He bought the instrument at a bargain price in the Darant Music Hall, the class building for bards.
Infect played a few chords and sang us something rousing, although it had no effect on us since we were in different factions. In the future, though, his skill would come in handy: this specific song ‘inspires bravery in the hearts of allies’ and gave a five percent boost to all stats. The effect should get stronger the more he leveled up, too. Infect got himself some attacking skills on the guitar as well, which reduced enemies’ healing and defenses, slowed their attack speed… Overall, it was a promising support class.
Infect reverentially accepted the Arena Master’s Horn from me — his first ever legendary. Trying it out, he summoned two meaty ogre gladiators at level thirty-one. Since Infect was in the Commonwealth, an enemy of the Destroying Plague, the ogres attacked us, but the bard managed to call them off. They’d definitely come in handy for bosses.
Later we locked ourselves in the headquarters and started going through the loot. The first thing I did was lay out all the unused epic ‘dummies.’ There were over fifty of them left. I left it to Crawler to painstakingly figure out how to divide them up.
He did a quick inspection to find out who had what and which slots needed a boost, then gave out the set items so that each player at least had a set bonus from half a set. The bonuses from Crag and Bomber’s warrior class sets, Infect’s bard set and Crawler’s mage set differed from mine, but they had something in common — a ten percent chance to reflect damage.
Crawler also ended up getting twelve magic tomes. He had to decide which branches of magic to level up along with his fire magic. The rest he’d leave in the clan storehouse — they wouldn’t bring in much money, but they might come in handy to a newbie.
The non-slot artifacts Isis’ Blessing and Ebis’ Inspiration remained unidentified, along with the Elemental Concentration ring and the Thunderbearer trident. I kept them and the divine Righteous Shield. The Balancer was already equipped.
In general, according to Crawler, artifact identification in Dis was like a lottery. Not every artifact was worth more than the identification cost. The usefulness of some of them wasn’t always obvious either.
For several years, the owner of an artifact that broke up stormclouds couldn’t sell it at the price he wanted. In any weather, even the very worst, Clear Sky drove away the clouds for an hour. Who needed that? But in Dis, as it turned out, everything had meaning. Somewhere in the Zeranda Mountains, a raid instance was discovered with a megaboss — the Vampire Patriarch. Not a single clan in the Empire could defeat him — the weather was always gloomy, and the boss regenerated faster than he could be killed. That was when someone remembered Clear Sky. At the end of a furious bidding war, the Travelers bought the artifact for five million gold. They successfully used it in battle with the boss, completely depriving him of his regeneration under the burning rays of the southern sun and got the first kill.
Entirely useless artifacts could also be found. What was the point of a flute that made flowers sing? Or magic powder that made everyone around burst into dance, except for enemies? In the end, we decided to put off identifying the ring and trident.
The remaining loot from the treasury was different kinds of legendaries. Almost none of them matched our levels, so two or three of the worst ones would go up for sale to raise money for the base in Cali Bottom, and the rest would go into the storehouse. Better to have than have not, as Uncle Nick used to say.
I also kept hold of the Portal Key to Holdest and the Diamond Worm Cocoon. I had plans for the worm, and as for the portal… It wasn’t that I didn’t trust the others, but its potential value could drive anyone crazy. In our psychology and sociology lessons, Mr. Wetmore explained to us that everyone had their price. It wasn’t necessarily measured in money, but nonetheless, it was there. Would I have betrayed Ed Rodriguez for the chance to save my parents’ marriage? I didn’t know. I really didn’t know.
Next, we went to the rat cave near Glendale to farm guts. We had to do that in two stages; first kill infected rats, then the raised zombie ones. Just as I expected, the raised rats were neutral to us, but that didn’t stop our genocide. A double portion of guts and a green crown dropped from the king, a huge man-sized rat. The operation took less than an hour.
When we got back to the fort, I cooked some Roast Undead Rat Chitterlings and gave them out to the boys, saving a few for myself.
Evening was approaching and we could finally leave the island with a clear conscience. I sent Infect to regenerate, while Crag, Bomber, and Crawler, now all undead, prepared to farm a level thirty instance to which they’d already laid a path.
As for me, I was heading to Darant to jump from there to the frontier.
“Good luck, Scyth,” Crag said. “Try not to stand out. Sometimes you leap before you look. Think practically. Believe me, I know that better than anyone.”
The former ganker looked nothing like the dumbass I knew from the sandbox. I didn’t know what it was — if it was that he started living independently too soon, or our relationship to him, but he seemed… normal. A little self-centered, but calm, reliable and independent. Of course, he thanked me for the gifts, but he didn’t bother haggling for every set piece like Infect did. Our undead guitarist bard argued desperately on the basis that he’d changed his class for the clan and come out of the sandbox later than the rest, so he needed to be better equipped. This trait in Malik annoyed everyone. Even his best friend Bomber broke down and cuffed him on the back of the head. We all cheered his reeducation attempt.
I left the fort to the sound of Patrick and Flaygray’s wistful wailing. Those two were thick as thieves and drunk as skunks. They were sitting and hugging each other, swigging ale and filling the air with a song th
at reminded me of nails on a chalkboard. Even Shazz’s Bone Hounds were moved. They gathered at the maximum allowed distance and, raising their heads to the darkening sky, snapped their jaws at Geala.
Chapter 18. To the Frontier!
CLANK, CLANK, CLANK went the metal claws of my mechostrich on the pavement. I was getting used to the movement in the saddle, but still feared to let go of the mount’s neck. I’d fallen enough in my time at riding school.
You’ll get the hang of it! my tutor had said on parting. That meant that the higher my skill level, the more comfortable the game mechanics would make it when riding the mechostrich. Thankfully, the progress bar was growing as I watched it, filling up by a percentage point every minute.
Upgraded riding skill: +1. Current level: 2.
You hold yourself better in the saddle. Movement speed while riding increased by 2%.
The notification came when I reached the Military District, having decided on Crawler’s advice to take the To the Frontier! faction quest there, which was available to everyone. The forts on the edge of the inhabited lands required not only fighters, but workers too. Volunteers were given a discount on portals there, and on Commonwealth griffins and airships too. Nonetheless, the plan might lead to nothing; I was undead after all, even if I did have a human disguise.
The closest place to the place of power was Fort Vermillion, which I could get to through a portal. It was a small town founded three years ago on the edge of the Lakharian Desert. That was where I was headed.
In the Lake District the day before, I’d taken on the guise of Murphy, an elvish archer at level sixty-six. To be honest, I’d already forgotten that I was Murphy the elf. My friends had been calling me Alex or Scyth all day in the fort, so I didn’t react at all when I heard the shout.
“Murphy! Hey, buddy!”
A heavy plate glove descended on my shoulder and I turned around. Zoran, Human, level 68 Paladin, the profile said. Looked like I’d got myself into trouble with my disguise, but I had nothing to lose by playing my role to the end.
“Zoran?”
It looked like the paladin was really pleased to see me. “Hah, you recognize me?” He hugged me and slapped me on the back. I heard the dull thud of metal on metal. “Damn, wow, what a meeting! How’d you end up here?”
While I was thinking of ways to wriggle out of the situation and checking my Depths Teleportation cooldown, the paladin kept talking. It became clear that we’d met over a year ago in a random group and completed some instance together. Zoran had gained forty levels since then. Gradually it was revealed that we weren’t friends. At least, the player I’d taken for Imitation wasn’t in the paladin’s friends list. That was why he was so happy to see me. It seemed this Murphy was a nice guy. Zoran remembered him for passing over some loot.
“You’ll have to forgive me. To tell you the truth, I don’t remember you too well.”
The paladin answered that he only recognized me because his childhood friend has the same name, Murphy. We chatted for another couple of minutes, then I made excuses and started getting ready to leave. Zoran put a hand on my shoulder and asked:
“Listen, friend, what’re your plans?”
“The frontier.”
“So, you’re going after honor? I’ve been planning to farm some too.” The paladin stopped in thought for a moment. “How about we go together?”
Honor Points could be swapped for reputation with the Commonwealth or the races that belonged to it. They could also be spent on exclusive class gear sets. Unable to find a good reason to refuse the company, I reluctantly accepted.
“Alright. But first I need to pick up a quest.”
Talking constantly, Zoran followed me to the quartermaster, who gave me the first in a long chain of quests. I had no plans to complete it, but the quest had no time limits or penalties, and I could always discard it.
Then we headed to the alchemist’s store to buy a stack each of the best heat resistance potions. Another two thousand gold spent. I consoled myself with the thought that I didn’t need the potions — I could sell them at the auction house to get my money back.
The paladin turned out to be an enthusiastic player — not hardcore, but still thirsty for progress. So, when I said I’d jump through a portal, he hesitated, but agreed to follow me.
“Lots of work in real life,” he said. “Seems a shame to waste days of game time on an airship. Can have fun on them, sure, but can’t level up.”
We spoke while we stood in the queue for tickets. Actually, Zoran spoke for the most part. I asked what his job was that he could so easily spend so much money on a portal.
“Heard of the First Martian Company? Ha-ha, I guess not. It’s a startup, I founded it. Don’t mind the showy name, I just took it while it was still available. The company isn’t earning money yet, but I have an investor already. I invented something, patented it and I get royalties for its use. Snowstorm bought it too, and they’ve already started using it to add something to their new capsules.”
“What did you invent?”
“Heard of the neurointerface? I’m sure you remember that ten years ago, immersion capsules only imitated immersion. Like in 5D films. The intra-gel changed the temperature so that the player felt warmth or cold. It got thicker and harder to imitate pressure on parts of the body. Still works that way now, but most of the interaction with your senses goes straight through your brain now. Why actually roast someone’s ass if you can just send a signal to the brain...?”
“So, you invented that?” I was finding it hard to believe that the inventor of such a breakthrough technology, no doubt a very rich man, was wandering Dis in blue gear.
“No, of course not!” Zoran laughed. “I’m an ordinary neuronet architect, but a few of my theoretical projects could grow into something more. Just imagine your interface in Dis working the same way in real life! You look at a person and see their name, and your reputation with them. You can also look at your real body’s stats, set goals and see them as a quest log[6]… And that’s just the start! What do you think?”
“Sounds cool. I guess you’re in the top citizenship category?” Questions like these weren’t considered polite, but if Zoran wasn’t lying, then he was a big deal in real life.
“Um…” Zoran faltered. “You’re right about the category, but I didn’t really get that myself. My family played a role in that. Doesn’t matter what you do in our family, you get worldwide fame. My grandma Joanna was the best tennis player in the world in her time, and when she gave up sport, she achieved greatness in science. My great aunt on my father’s side, Kira, is a Nobel laureate and founder of… Eh, never mind… I don’t usually just tell people all this stuff…”
Zoran blushed, apparently deciding that he’d said too much and that it sounded like bragging. Was this all happening because of my high charisma, despite my undead racial penalty? But how was that possible? He was a player, not an NPC!
The paladin overcame his embarrassment and began to ask questions of his own. I really had to struggle to come up with a real life for Murphy. I didn’t even know how old he was, or whether Zoran knew anything about him. Fortunately, it was soon our turn to buy tickets.
Even with a discount, the ticket to Vermillion cost me nearly six thousand gold — more expensive than a first-class flight to the Moon. Incredibly, the queues to the portal mages, of which I’d counted more than twenty, were even longer. The transport guild clearly wasn’t going hungry.
I stepped into the portal first. As soon as I stepped out of it in the dusty and terribly stuffy guest hall at Vermillion, a local city councilor by the name of Westwood spoke to me.
“Welcome to Vermillion, city of the brave and stubborn!”
Zoran fell out of the portal behind me, and Westwood’s attention switched to him. He repeated his greeting and got to the point.
“I see this is your first time at the frontier, Murphy and Zoran. Fair warning, it’s hot here. Hot in all senses of the word. In the heart of t
he city, our mage softens the burning rays of the sun, but outside its bounds you’ll have a hard time. I strongly recommend that you get some sunscreen made of jantak weed. When you finish with that, come back and I’ll find you a couple of quests for the benefit of the Commonwealth!”
A quest window popped up in front of us:
Jantak Weed
Only cream made of an infusion of jantak weed picked by your own hand will allow you to withstand the extreme heat of the Lakharian Desert. Collect three bundles and take them to the local apothecary Hector Dagworth so he can make you some sunscreen.
Rewards: sunscreen made of jantak weed.
I accepted the quest and saw a blinking warning:
Attention! In the current location, your imitated body should be subject to Burning Heat I (-50% health, mana and vigor regeneration; -5% health every hour).
Imitate negative effect?
The Destroying Plague Page 29