A Slave in the Locked Lands

by Arthur Stone

“Sure, I have that stat myself.”

  “Do you now? I’d been under the impression that it was unique.”

  “You have to be the last representative of your race for it to kick in. Hold on a second… Are you planning to roll back the levels earned, and then level up again so as to earn the points for primary stats?”

  “I have already done it. I was at 88, and then I got all the way down to 10.”

  “Wow, you’re a true masochist!”

  “Be that as it may, once I reach level 88, I’ll have 78 extra points, and I’ll be free to dump them wherever I choose.”

  “Waste of time. Real gaming begins at higher levels. That’s where you get real opportunities. Everything that precedes it is tiddlywinks.”

  “I’ll go all the way down to ten again. I can’t go any lower. Then I’ll find a place for quick and easy grinding, with mobs in the 50-60 level range. It takes a dozen or two of those to get to level 15, depending on their toughness. Then I’ll go back to 10, rinse repeat. According to my calculations, the cycle should take three hours maximum. Most of the time will be spent on rolling back the level rather than actually leveling. I can go through about six cycles a day easily—that translates to thirty primary stat points just from the Gift to the Race’s Last Scion. But if I do it properly, I’ll also be able to level some of those stats. There are also rewards for vanquishing mobs, some of which are pretty impressve.”

  “You’re absolutely right, but there’s something you didn’t take into account.”

  “Well, enlighten me, then.”

  “The Gift to the Race’s Last Scion only works if you lose levels once in twenty-four hours. Thus, you’ll get five points for one cycle, but not for the next one.”

  “Five? If what you’re saying is true, there shouldn’t be more than a single point.”

  “Let me clarify. Let’s say you leveled up to 15, and then killed yourself a bunch of times to roll back to 10. Then you go back to 15 and receive 5 points. After that, you roll all the way back to 10 again, but you receive nothing, since it’s the second time you roll the same levels back in the course of a single day. So then you’ll have to roll back from sixteen and higher, and you’ll only receive points for those levels. Get it now?”

  “I do. It really is less profitable in that case. Although you can level up to twenty-five in the course of a single day, and then roll all the way back to ten again. Those fifteen points are not to be scoffed at.”

  “If you ask me, it’s way too tedious and pointless. There are much better ways of spending your time.”

  “All right, I’ll ponder this some more.”

  “Do it. Inasmuch as I understand, you level quickly, so it might be a solution. After a month of masochism, you can get around 450 primary stat points just from the Gift. That’s a hefty bonus already. But how do you raise the stats themselves? I didn’t quite get that—your Intellect and Mental Power are way too high, and you’re unlikely to raise them the regular way.”

  “My Attack and Accuracy are down to a minimum. They aren’t exactly at level zero, for the hero bonus works in their case as well, but it doesn’t affect the value that I need for leveling.”

  “Come again?”

  “You receive XP based on the level of your opponents. If I’m at level 30, I’ll get four times less XP for a mob of the same level than a level 10 character would. However, if I kill it using physical attacks, with my Attack stat no higher than 10, I can expect it to grow considerably.”

  “Now I get it.”

  “So, I intend to add a few dozen points to Attack and Accuracy once we clear the dungeon. As you know, it won’t be a problem for me to redistribute them. And that’s how I raise my stats.”

  “Looks like a great method to me. And I bet a lot of players would follow suit if they could reset their stats.”

  “Let’s get back to the mobs—or did you intend to stay put and chatter all day long?”

  “We need to develop some sort of tactics and strategy. Something tangible.”

  “Use up all your mana, and then grab your pickaxe and start tapping away. You can think on tactics and strategy while you’re at it to keep yourself entertained.”

  Chapter 2

  “Allow me to introduce Cody Mitchell, one of the best analysts in our department.”

  Michael Brown slapped his subordinate on the shoulder in a goodheartedly condescending manner. He had a perfectly welcoming and sincere smile frozen on his lips, but his eyes contrasted with it sharply—they clearly belonged to some cold-blooded monster from deep underwater, a world of darkness and horror.

  It was all Cody could do not to shiver. His nerves were on edge. They could lionize him all they wanted, but he was still an ordinary clerk. One of the many nondescript employees—any corporation had more of those than a stray dog had fleas. He might also be the first from the ranks of those faceless workhorses to speak in front of such a collection of dignitaries. Even though not everybody present was a Second World representative, he knew each one of them, and feared to imagine just how many threads of other people’s lives they held in their manicured hands.

  But Brown had no idea about whatever was going on in his subordinate’s mind, keeping his idiotic plastic smile on as he introduced everyone sitting behind a massive black desk that looked as though it cost its weight in 100-dollar bills.

  “Jacob Lebovich, our Chairman of the Board.”

  This one was chubby, with an incipient double chin, but hardly fat—there was still a fair amount of muscle underneath. And his eyes made him look like a denizen of even deeper waters than Brown. His title may have sounded important, but he was merely a de facto representative of the Old Man. He could even occasionally copy his intonation if he felt the occasion was worth it.

  “Eric Coleman, Vice President’s Homeland Security Advisor.”

  This one looked nothing like Lebovich—tall and lean and gimlet-eyed, with a poorly-concealed smirk on his face. A real éminence grise, that one. His kind were never directly responsible for anything or involved in any serious business, and their names were never found on the front pages of tabloids in any context. Such people normally played supporting roles, making few public appearances, and being of no interest to the press. However, anyone with a modicum of intelligence couldn’t help but suspect their involvement in absolutely everything.

  “Aaron Gray, the founding director of the Second World Corporation’s North American Sector.”

  Another alpha male in prime shape. His idiotic grin à la Brown notwithstanding, he was smarter than a couple of Einsteins and a better orator than Cicero.

  Cody, himself a short man with a bit of a spare tire, and always sweaty despite extensive use of the most expensive antiperspirants on the market, was starting to realize how plankton must feel when confronted by a school of hungry whales. He was as much a part of this society as a sewage pipe cleaner in filthy overalls at a posh dinner party. Even Brown looked out of place here, likely feeling as welcome as a turd in a swimming pool. His gesturing was odd, and he clearly felt out of his league.

  “I’ll keep this brief,” Brown continued. “As you know, we have just finished a very thorough investigation of the recent incidents. Many different versions have been voiced, all of them taken in consideration, but I have to say that only a single person’s efforts have managed to impress me. And now, Cody, please tell us all that you have told me.”

  Cody swallowed nervously, and started to speak rather hesitantly.

  “I work with clans in our department. That entails monitoring the current situation in top guilds—those from our sector, for the most part—and I occasionally deal with smaller clans, too, when needed. The task I was given is not quite within my range of specialization.”

  “You can dispense with the foreword,” said Lebovich dismissively.

  “Sorry!” Cody couldn’t help himself this time and shivered. “When I was told to find the player who had caused all that ruckus, I used my contacts among the game
rs for gathering information, apart from the usual channels. I can’t say I’ve managed to find out much more than anybody else in my department, but this is what we know so far.”

  A wall-mounted monitor lit up behind Cody. Judging by the interface elements, the video was shot inside the game. It showed a character of a rather unpleasant appearance, of an unidentifiable race, surrounded by the usual mob of orcs, dwarves, and ogres.

  Cody started his explanation.

  “This video was found on the game forum, in the popular thread called Noobs Go Wild. Take a look at the first frame: the player in question is right in the foreground, and he is dressed in the standard attire of a newbie with a work account. The clothes look perfectly new. Take a look at these barely noticeable creases: they only last some two or three hours after a character’s creation. As characters integrate into the game world, all these wrinkles disappear. And now, take a look at his behavior.”

  Cody pressed play. The character came alive, and said, in a confused voice and with the kind of coarse intonation associated with the cheapest work accounts:

  “I see. But how does one find food here?”

  “Tee hee hee! Har har har! I’m filming you—I’ll upload the video to the forum later, let the others have a laugh, too.”

  “Say what?” The protagonist (none other but the hapless Rostendrix Poterentax) didn’t seem to understand.

  “Nothing much. I’m just making a short movie about you, noob-face. Everyone will have a laugh.”

  “I’m still wondering about how one might find food here,” Rostendrix continued in the same tone of voice.

  “Even for a noob, you’re just too… Are you messing with me?”

  “I’m not.”

  “Are you sure you’re not a troll?”

  “Nope, a different race—a rare one.” There wasn’t a hint of mockery in the reply, delivered in a perfectly serious voice.

  “I’ll disappoint you about that,” a nearby dwarf butted in. “Noobs are by no means a rarity here. On the contrary, as a matter of fact.”

  “Look, I have already agreed I’m a noob. Please answer my question about food, and I won’t pester you anymore.”

  “What about food?” the dwarf looked confused.

  “You’ll be rolling on the floor in a second,” said the camera operator with a chuckle.

  “Where can I find some food? A meal?”

  “You’re not just a noob, you’re a noob squared. An outstanding specimen of rare noobness. Rarer than a living dinosaur.”

  “I agree with your assessment entirely. Still?”

  “In any tavern, dive, brothel, or bistro. You get the idea. It costs money, though—being a noob, you’re very unlikely to have any. You can leave the city and rummage through the countryside—there’s lots of free game there, as well as fruits and berries of different sorts. But since you have this squiggle over your head, you’re more likely to be prey than predator. Anyway, take a peek in your bag first, and stop bugging people already—this is no noob school, this is serious business.”

  Rostendrix Poterentax turned around and headed left, quickly losing himself in the crowd.

  Cody commented on the video as follows:

  “The video was filmed at the square in front of Arbenne’s employment bureau on the day the problem player’s account was created. Note the angle: whoever filmed this was rather tall—not really surprising, since the player was an ogre, as I found out later. All the rest of the players he had filmed are dressed as regular workers—there are no fresh arrivals like Rostendrix Poterentax among them. Thus, it must be his first appearance in the game world. Or, rather, the first time he left any trace. No earlier information has been found by anyone. For the next thirty days, no one has heard anything of him, which is typical of the majority of regular players. However, our department has managed to find out that he spent nearly all this time at a mine owned by the Sword Power guild. There is nothing remarkable whatsoever about the guild in question—it is like the majority of gaming communities. They have no tangible power of any kind, no famous players, and no achievements. They haven’t even been involved in any scandals. The only character that may be of moderate interest to us is the mine overseer. His name is Greedius Knappy. He is a dwarf by race, and has been blacklisted by a number of minor clans and guilds for trespasses involving varying kinds of violence. It’s a discounted account, and the discount was given by our security service for reasons I know nothing about.”

  Brown butted in:

  “This is of no relevance—everybody present is aware of the details. Carry on, and make it snappy.”

  “Sorry. So, thirty-three days after this video was filmed, a number of messages appeared in the global chats, according to which Rostendrix Poterentax had performed several heroic and legendary feats, and even attracted the attention of the gods. We still have no idea what the latter means. And this is where things get interesting. Top guilds of our sector, as well as some others, start looking for the player. Several heated conflicts break out in the game after his accomplishments. Equilibrium is skewed worldwide, aura perturbances are registered by every regional data center, and the top-tier network is apparently switching into crisis monitoring mode, as evidenced by the instant increase in data exchange rate. We have tried to locate the player, too. We soon found out that the account owner is one Yevgeny Rostovtsev, a Canadian citizen of Russian extraction. It has also been determined that Rostovtsev became incapacitated as a result of an accident and is currently a patient of the St. Francis Hospital in San Francisco, where he is kept in a state of an induced coma. His character was supposed to remain in the game constantly, but we have used every method available in the game, and didn’t manage to so much as detect his presence, let alone locate him.”

  “That much is known to us, too,” said Lebovich gruffly. “No one has seen him yet. Why repeat the same thing over and over? I am addressing you, Brown.”

  “Cody, could you go to the important part? About your yesterday’s find?” asked Brown in an agitated voice.

  “Sure. I got the information from my sources, via a major player of one of the sector’s top guilds, J_P. They are usually known as Jeeps. Apart from everything else, they are quite famous for all the heroes they gathered together under their banners. Obviously, they couldn’t let such a case pass them by, and they worked on it very diligently. The guild’s analysts assumed that one of the achievement bonuses received by Rostendrix was the ability to edit his personal data, which may explain his incredible ability to evade everyone. The gameplay does not provide for anything like that, but given the world’s capacity for evolving independently, this function could indeed have emerged. The mechanics contains no absolute restrictions, and whether or not they’d be effective is doubtful, anyway. Unlike the other guilds—or us—the Jeeps started looking for oddities in players quite unlike Rostendrix Poterentax and not the player himself. They invested a lot of money and effort, engaging allied communities and bribing NPCs. Stationary teleports, city gates, bridges, and ferries were all watched. Players were mined for information on all levels. Every report was checked, no matter how far-fetched. And they did find him.”

  All three executives pricked up their ears at once. Aaron Gray lost his artificial smile and started to resemble a hungry wolf ready to pounce.

  Cody, having forgotten that he was nervous as a virgin on his first visit to a brothel just a few minutes ago, carried on.

  “There are no recordings, but there are some screenshots. You can see the mysterious Rostendrix Poterentax right here.”

  Coleman shook his head.

  “Doesn’t look like him.”

  “Exactly. Name: John Archer44. Race: Light Elf, possibly a hybrid). Noticed when he was entering Peghur on foot. No attempts to find out where he was or what he did before bore any fruit. The name and the appearance are just too generic. If you behave normally, anyone who meets you will forget all about you in a minute or two. He looked just like an ordinary low-level
player, without any visible oddities. Unfortunately for him, there was an NPC mage among the gate guards. As we all know, NPCs often have strange combinations of advanced stats, secondary as well as auxiliary, unlike regular players. This one had Perception and Essence of Things almost at 50, with pretty decent Reason and Arcane Knowledge levels. Apart from that, the NPC in question was a mage, which also implies high Intellect and Mental Power, and they all give a substantial bonus. Basically, he managed to establish that a visually nondescript player was in fact a legendary hero. The mage was bribed by the Jeeps, so he gave the information to his employers for a fee.”

  “Are NPCs allowed to do that?” Coleman asked.

  “You lack the awareness of how the game actually works—everything that isn’t directly forbidden by the game’s mechanism is allowed. Also, the prohibition has to be unconditional and cannot conflict with any other proscriptions. Even though it may be difficult to conduct such transactions with NPCs, aside from mercenary guilds that are intended to be hired for money, nothing is impossible. The Jeeps’ search party noticed the suspicious character entering the Mages’ Guild. He was ordered to accept the request to join the party. John Archer44 declined the offer and disappeared inside the Guild’s building. The Jeeps immediately took control of all the exits and teleported some mages in whose skills could block the opening of portals anywhere in the vicinity. Even though it’s impossible to open one indoors, they decided to stay on the safe side. The guild fighters also covered all the city guards. Given an order, they were prepared to destroy them or take them under control. The city was essentially overrun. The Jeeps would have suffered colossal losses in terms of reputation and otherwise, but they were prepared to do it just to capture Rostendrix in hopes that their prize would be valuable enough for all their expenses to be justified. The Imperial Tournament was due to take place very soon, and the unique hero could have joined a competing guild, thus giving the latter an advantage. After all, who knew what kind of prizes this “dark horse” had scored? Everybody had assumed that the Jeeps would win from the very start, and failing to do so would deal an enormous blow to their image, which explains their actions. The guild’s leadership pulled out all the stops, leaving him no way of escaping. And yet escape he did.”