He started to the furthest door, without doubting for a second that his order would be fulfilled immediately. The troop followed.
“Weeeelll, lad…,” Grizdan drawled and extended a sheet of paper to me as the group was moving further away. “I see you don’t consider the rules to be written for you? Here: that’s the description of your quest. Sign here and here.”
“What do you mean, ‘weeeell’?” I was not even making a move to accept the document that was extended to me. “What rules did I break, and who was this?”
“Where do they even find twits like you?” Grizdan sighed. “You’ve had the rare honor of personally hearing Milord Iven, the Head of the Battle Wing of the Paladins of Earth, the right hand of Gerhard van Brast,” Grizdan’s vice filled with reverence as he listed the titles of the high-born Paladin. Apparently Iven was really a worthy Paladin, as there was no obsequiousness or flattery in Grizdan’s voice. The gatekeeper really did respect and honor the Head of the Battle Wing.
“So what was I supposed to do?” I asked, losing all my joy. I would really hate to have the encounter with Iven prove to be a bad strike of fate.
“What do you mean? Do I need to remind you of class rule number five?” Grizdan was indignant.
“I don’t even know number one, let alone number five!”
“Liar! They would not have let you out of the Citadel without teaching you the rules of the class,” Grizdan started, but faltered, seeing the expression on my face. “That’s impossible! Archibald would have never framed you like this!”
“May I be blown to smithereens on this spot if anyone provided the Paladins’ rules to me in the Citadel,” I barked angrily, considering this to be another strike against the catorian. The Game accepted this improvised oath and showered me with white light.
“Oh, what is this world coming to?” Grizdan was taken aback.”That’s so against the order.”
“Please enlighten me, an explorer unfamiliar even with the basic rules of behavior: what was the reason why Archibald did not train you?” I heard Iven’s voice behind me. The “golden” one reappeared in the hall as quickly as he had departed previously. “Figaro Here, Figaro There”, no less.
“I think the mages were the reason. Archibald was busy with the investigation initiated by the Viceroy. I even had to be seen off by the Judge from the Citadel.” I felt disgusted having to justify Archibald, but it made no sense to lie in order to make the catorian look bad. When the time comes, I will pay back to him for everything, including the gaps in my training and my family.
“Grizdan: issue the young Paladin a book on the rules of the class. It’s not right to loose an untrained one on the world,” Iven fell silent, looking at me intently. It gave me the impression that he was taking all my qualitative measurements and deciding whether I was worthy of the name of Paladin. With a capital P. Whether I was clean in mind and body. I wiped my palms on my sides quietly, just in case.
“There is a book mentioned in Archibald’s report,” Iven stretched out his hand. “I want to take a look at it.”
My breath caught at this demand. My thoughts rushed to my head. The pause was lengthening, and the chief fighter was starting to show traces of displeasure. I could not stall any longer, and decided to take the risk. The gift of the Chancellor of the Academy plopped into the golden one’s hand. The Paladin turned it around in his hands.
“The book has not yet been activated. Why?”
I really loathed this interrogation, and so confined myself to brief explanations:
“No time. First there were the mages, then the trial, then I was quickly transported to the Sanctuary. I had no chance to work with the book nor with my pet.”
“The pet is of no interest to me.” Iven returned the book and ordered the nearest Paladin: “Ask Yaropolk about his training with Archibald and completion of the Academy. I will see your report tomorrow. Grizdan, did you issue the quest?”
“Yes, I just have to give him the paperwork.”
“Take that.” As soon as the document was in my hand the Game reminded me of itself:
Quest received: “Stolen Pendant”. Travel to the estate of Lady Lecleur and find out from her the circumstances under which the “Pendant of Joy” was stolen
“A week should be enough for you to finish the quest. After that I’ll be waiting for you here. Go!”
“Yaropolk, tell me how you became a player.” The player that Iven had selected decided not to drag things out, and started his questioning immediately. I frowned, not expecting such an outcome to that conversation, but regained my normal disposition quickly. Despite his high station, I did not like Iven as a player: it does not look good to so openly and brazenly crush everyone around. So then, following the principle “every action has a reaction”, I rolled my eyes up poetically and started off on a tangent:
“It all started in the high and far-off times when I was still an NPC. It was a drizzly Tuesday. We were thundering down a country road, clinging to the side of our hard mean steel machine, swallowing the dust and looking forward to just one thing: seeing our beloved ones. Surely you must know: every soldier must have his beloved, the one in whose name he would do fair deeds and who will soften his coarse manner. Even Cervantes wrote in his Don Quixote: cherchez la femme! How’s your French? You want me to translate that?”
The player who was questioning me first honestly tried to absorb this river of nonsense that I was pouring onto him; he tried to find traces of reason in these floodwaters, but as his converging eyes indicated that he was not going to hold up for very long. I chuckled inwardly: no one had promised him a rose garden.
“Listen, from where did you drag up that hydra? And what are you going to do with it in the Sanctuary?” As soon as I heard “enough!” I attacked the Paladin with my own questions. I had been wrong about Viltar. His patience was enviable. For two hours he stoically listened to my ravings; at the end he put in snide comments instead of questions. In other words, we found common ground. And I needed to take advantage of that.
“The hydra is from Altair,” Viltar still could not believe that his torture was over. He checked his notes again, stuck them into the inventory and added: “Just cannon fodder for the Games.”
“Ah, the Games,” I pretended that I was well informed about the event. “Will Milord Iven take part?”
“Of course!” Viltar perked up once we started talking about his boss. “Next year he’ll surely get the gold! He caught this hydra himself‒ we didn’t even help him! In the arena he’ll kill it with his bare hands! Since the berserkers won’t be there, he’ll have no competition.”
“What about them?”
“They were banned from participating. They gobble up shrooms with vodka before the tournaments‒ turn into total animals. That’s not good sportsmanship. Of course, they don’t all do it, but it’s too much bother to sort them out. So the whole class was punished outright. It’s kind of a weird story; I don’t really know what happened there.”
The Games… Gold medal… 2016 … The Book of Knowledge tentatively, as if not quite certain of its conclusion, presented a suggestion: 2016 Olympic Games.
“Yeah, it would be cool to see the Games. How much is the portal to Brazil?” I asked, based on this guess, and was right:
“One tenth of a granis. Plus accommodation. If you want to go, make your reservations now. The prices will skyrocket later.”
“Thank you! Really, it hadn't occurred to me… And what happened to brothers Dungard and Rivier? Is chimera’s breath something dangerous?”
“Oh, it’s nothing much,” Viltar grimaced. “A chimera binds the player to his world for a period of time; it’s impossible to take him out of there either by teleport or respawn. There’s no Paladins’ base on Altair, so the brothers will have a tough time. Milord Iven said that we could just forget about them for a month, and then we’d go pull them out. It’s a pity, Dungard was a cool guy.”
“Why ‘was’ If you are going to bring them
back?”
“Milord does not forgive mistakes. They were affected by the breath; that means next time they could let you down in something more serious. Battle knights are only allowed one mistake. The second one will not be pardoned.”
“You have a tough setup, but that’s the only way to train true fighters.” I was playing to butter Viltar up, but it produced no visible reaction. “And where…”
“I have to go,” the Paladin cut me off. “I need to prepare the report. Good luck in the Game!”
That was it for questions. Viltar went outside, and the Paladins’ headquarters was once again empty. Grizdan was dozing with his head on his hands. The elderly Paladin couldn’t care less about breaching his work discipline. Apparently the job of gatekeeper was so attractive that the only one who had agreed to do it was this one-legged one-eyed old fellow. I settled on a bench and decided to follow Iven’s advice and work on the Chancellor’s present.
Explorers’ Book is not activated. Do you want to perform primary anchoring?
Once I opened the cover, the system showered me with messages. I looked through them and cursed elaborately at the librarian and all his relatives. There was no other way to express it: as it turned out, over the last two days I had lost at least eight levels of the artifact. All because the blasted librarian had never bothered to tell me about his “favorite” source of knowledge.
The Explorers’ Book proved to be a treasure. The first thing it did was request an anchor to the character; that made it an inherent part of my artifact and increased all the available properties by 10% of the basic level. While that had no effect on “Weapon” “Defense” and “Context Search”, the “Neuronal Network” jumped to 16. Simple math told me that each 10 levels of the properties would bring me an additional unit. What I learnt next, and one of the things that caused me to react so much, made me delve deeply into the character settings. Explorers were given a great bonus: a doubling of artifact experience points. To achieve it, once a month you could select a “preferred” method for obtaining information: books, scrolls, music, exploring the surrounding world… there were lots of options. All I could do was sigh, deploring my lost opportunities, and scold myself for tardiness: no one had kept me from studying the book in the Citadel.
“What are you doing lazing around here?! This is not a hotel!” Grizdan’s irritable voice yanked me out from my dreamland. Tired and pleased with my work with the book I had fallen asleep sitting in the armchair.
“Good morning to you, too!” I stretched with gusto. The armor had worked like a soft bed, so I was spared feeling battered. On the contrary, I was bubbling with desire to commit great deeds and feats.
“Milord gave you a week, one night has already passed, and you are not a step closer to completing your assignment.” The gatekeeper was not at all as enthusiastic about the new day as I was. “Get out at once!”
I did not feel like arguing, so I left the headquarters quickly. I had had a very interesting thought at night, and I spent a couple of hours to find the teacher I needed.
“Greetings, apprentice Yaropolk.” A short guy with a moustache welcomed me. I thought at first that I was seeing a gnome, but the snake-like face could not really belong to an inhabitant of the kingdom under the mountain. I stared at the player to the point of being rude. The master, not abashed in the least, inquired: “So how long are you planning to stare at me without saying a word? Normally I don’t charge granises for looking, but I could make an exception for you.”
“Please forgive me‒ I have never seen people of your race. I hope that’s not too forward a question, but who are you?” As I had found out, honesty tends to overwhelm your opponent in ninety nine percent of cases. This master was no exception from the rule:
“I am a kobold.” He was flattered by my interest. “Our race is not numerous but it is tightly knit. What can I do for you?”
“Is it possible to write incantations down on scrolls only, or on any object?”
“Depends on the object.” The master was thinking. “Most important things are the area – it should be large enough for the spell and… well, have the surface affinity for writing on it. As you understand, it would take something special to write, for example, on a water surface. Even though some are skillful enough for that. Tell me in more detail though.”
I described my idea to the teacher. He only laughed:
“Those who come from technogenic worlds are so predictable! Every one of you arrives at this idea sooner or later, but you forget about the specifics of the Game. The laws of physics on Earth and, for example, on Saldan, which is my home world, are completely different. What burns here is used as a coolant there. There are tons of similar examples. The method you came up with would be fine on Earth only; in any other world it won’t work. That has been tested thousands of times.”
“Even in Dungeons?” I asked in dismay.
“Well, that depends.” The master fell to thinking. “If the Dungeon is in this world, it should work. If it’s in a different one, it won’t. Which one are you thinking about?”
“Alveona. Level 2.”
“Wait a minute, I’ll take a look now.” The kobold reached into the desk and pulled out a huge reference book. My hands literally started itching from my desire to borrow this treasure from him for a couple of hours. Given that I had chosen books as my “preferred” way of leveling up, this would have given me something like ten levels.
“Actually, you know, the first and second levels of Alveona are located on Earth. Classic Dungeon for new players, nothing special. One monster and a huge crowd of its companions. Your method might work.”
“The one problem I have is time,” I sighed. “I just completed the Academy; there during training we were placed into extratemporal pockets. Is there something like that in the Game?”
“It’s very good that you mentioned the Academy,” the kobold replied seriously, even seeming to perk up somewhat. “Because your question is so naïve and stupid that a player just could not have asked such a thing. I had even thought you were an 'echo’, and wanted to call the guards. Think about it: You became an apprentice. To reach this level you had to produce over seven thousand scrolls. In order to become a master you will have to create over a hundred billion scrolls. If there were no pockets, how would the players have an eternity?”
“With each word you utter I have more questions than answers,” I said slowly. “What’s an ‘echo’? Who are the guards? How does one gain access to a pocket like this?”
“Man, slow down!” The kobold cut me off. “as for an extratemporal pocket: I can provide one. This service costs three granises. As for the rest, figure it out for yourself, I don’t have time.”
Three granises were such a huge amount for me that I did not try to bring it down to a reasonable level. I was sure I could find plenty of other masters in Zurich who would charge much less for a private eternity. My eyes fixed on the reference book again:
“What is the book you have? And could I read it?”
“Do you want to borrow my wife for an hour as well?! He wants The Book‒ oh really! Go... say hello to Shevran! I can sense a trap a mile away! Really, who would have thought! To distract me with a stupid idea in order to get close to the book! Well, that will never happen! I need to work‒ get out of my shop!”
Puzzled, I went outside and the door shut behind me with a resounding crash. The kobold even shut the bolt, demonstrating his desire never to see me again. All that remained to me was to move on to the auction, to buy the stuff I needed.
The Game auction was comfortably located in the building of the Swiss Exchange, and its attitude towards visitors was most commendable. The core idea of the auction was simple: nothing at all was supposed to interfere with the client’s concentration. All the transactions were completed using a terminal with a clear and intuitive interface. Several times I received offers of food, drink or rest, but I resisted the tempting offers steadfastly. It’s not as though I didn't trust
the local hosts, but… oh well. No‒ I did not trust anyone.
The first thing I did was find information on completing Dungeons generally, and the second level of Alveona in particular. Minus a granis, plus an artifact level and understanding that there is nothing seriously scary in the Dungeon for newbies.
The next thing I bought were weapons. A couple of AKs with unlimited ammunition would be a hefty argument in disputes with minions and the main boss of my Dungeon. However, while a machine gun is excellent for killing monsters, for energy armor I needed a net launcher. Had I not been an active gamer in the past I would not have even guessed about such a thing existing. Buying licensed weapons was expensive, but I had no time to look for dealers selling things like that under the table. So the weapons took two granises; they came with a warning that it was not desirable to use my purchases against NPCs.
I was able only to drool looking at gems, enhancing elixirs and scrolls with the spells prepared by advanced players: the prices started at ten granises. Instead I extended my inventory to the maximum extent (as it turned out it did have a limit, after all), and filled it halfway with the Energy elixirs. My stash for a rainy day. The attack and defense amulets that I had received in the Academy were all but worthless; I nearly threw them away after replacing them with +20 each. In the end I put them up for auction for one hundredth of a granis, since they would not yield more. The only worthwhile item from the Academy was the Energy amulet: +500 was rare at the auction and cost 4 granises or more.
Having solved my issues with respect to weaponry and outfit, I got stuck on the tab “Services”. Because I needed to find nine volunteers willing to join me in a hellhole called “10-th level Dungeon” who would not try to take the final loot. I did not even bother to think of Dolgunata and her brother; those two would not even come close to my Alveona.
I decided.
Chapter Three. Alveona
The Quest (Dark Paladin Book #2) LitRPG Series Page 7