The Quest (Dark Paladin Book #2) LitRPG Series

by Vasily Mahanenko

  “YARI, YOU OUGHT to lower the fines.” Miltay tried once again to appeal to my conscience, but all he got was a negative gesture and an invitation to sign the agreement. Or move on and find business somewhere else: there were plenty of mercenaries at the auction.

  “You think that’ll stop us if we are really hard up?” The warrior surrendered. The Game provided information about entering into an official agreement with the team of mercenaries named “Zeltan” for rendering services with respect to completing my Dungeon. Minus three more granises.

  “I wouldn’t really care at that point,” I honestly replied. “At twenty granises from each body I’d be able to buy myself such a bauble that all the loot in Alveona would look like child’s play by comparison. So if you get an irresistible urge to stiff me, go right ahead.”

  “Reach the boss first, then put on airs,” snorted the mercenary. “Completing level ten is not like downing a six-pack.”

  “That’s what I have you for, along with all your weaponry.”

  “Are we setting out for Earth?” Miltay perked up as soon the upcoming work came up.

  “That’s right‒ that’s the ticket. One boss, tons of small crap. Here’s the overall layout for the Dungeon,” I extended the document I had prepared. Miltay started reading, whistling contentedly from time to time. Of course. I had not spent two hundred kilos of gold on this book. At this point I was a theoretical guru for completing Dungeons. By the way, I put the book back into the auction right away: I would like to recoup my money and check how the Game functions work. It was still not clear to me: if one had to come here to retrieve the objects they bought, what happened to the money? Will my account be credited immediately or will it be stuck somewhere in virtual space waiting for me to come back? That was an interesting question; immediately a plan for getting rich appeared in my head.

  “Let’s take a look at what we’ve got here. We provide a force field dome. Support and backup is also on us. We’ll provide the Energy. How are you planning to remove their shields? While they’re up, you can’t even scare these guys with ammo. They have good protection against magic as well as physical damage.”

  “Sticky net with spells. Here, I have explained its principle of operation here to the extent I could.” I handed yet another document to Miltay.

  “The shield will come back up in seven to eight seconds,” the mercenary was thinking. “There are ten of us, so we’ll have time to fire about twenty shots each, no more. Look, most of the monsters have chitin armor; bullets may not pierce it. We’ll soften it up with magic, but it takes time. How many nets do you have?”

  “There’ll be enough nets; how do you enhance the bullets?”

  “We don’t. How could one enhance them?”

  “There are ways.” I sensed an opportunity to reduce the cost of hiring these mercenaries. “Shall we talk about it?”

  Miltay did know about the possibility to put a spell on each bullet, but had no idea how to actually implement it. Too many things would have to come together at the right time: a ton of Energy for charging, an infinite amount of patience to engrave each bullet, an available draftsman willing to spend several years on monotonous and tedious work, and most importantly, one needed to prevent the spell from deformation once the bullet hit its target. Given that opponents were clad in tough chitin that sometimes resisted even bullets with an iridium core. There was another condition, and Miltay remembered that: 5 seconds had to pass between the shot and spell activation; that was enough time for a monster to kill us flat out. However, the force dome and decelerators were supposed to help against that.

  “Check this out.” I pulled out three shells and handed them to the mercenary. “If it doesn’t work, the agreement is void, and I’ll pay the fine.”

  Miltay looked at my creation with interest. It had taken me almost two years, as far as I could tell personal time, to experiment and continuously test the results. My first bullets with the Templar’s Blow engraved on them would not detonate: the engraving deformed on impact. I created models again and again, trying to figure out one problem after another, and plodded back to the auction for more knowledge. I was happy with the result; even in case of deformation the bullets enabled me to activate the spell engraved on them. Funny that one of the teachers in the Academy had mentioned that it wasn't profitable to sell knowledge in the main world‒ that people rarely buy it. Ha! All I do is shell out one granis after another trying to become smarter. The only conclusion that could be drawn from that is that for a teacher a hundred granises is mere change. Gromana had made a generous gesture and presented me with a handful of Game money, obviously without much hope of return on this investment.

  “Hm…,” Miltay reacted meaningfully to the explosion that destroyed the nearest tree. “Did you make it yourself?”

  “So I did.” Let’s drop the price by half a granis, and I’ll make a thousand of those little jewels for each of you.” I was quick on my feet, catching Miltay’s drift.

  “That’s expensive,” he cringed. “This way we’ll be going in for nothing.”

  “Tell that to someone else. I know very well what experience you get in the Dungeons,” I pointed out. “So shall we make an agreement?”

  The book on the Dungeons helped me understand one important nuance of the Game: why the players were so concerned about their levels. One could think that the lower the level, the less experience it would take to increase it. However, the Game had decided that would be too trivial. There were two types of levels: current and global. The current one controlled the number of available respawns, access to abilities and enhancements, opened doors to different places, etc, etc, but there was one most important thing it did not do: it did not advance you to the next stage of development. That’s where the global level came into play. The amount of experience needed to advance to the next level was calculated using a simple formula: the global level multiplied by 1000. So it took 2000 experience to attain level 2, 10,000 to attain level ten and so on. The problem was that the global level never dropped: if the player was sent to respawn, his current level diminished while the amount of experience needed to attain the next level stayed the same. So it was problematic for players to live with a low level count: the risk of being killed was too high. That’s what the Dungeons were for! Dying there did not have any repercussions for the players; all you got there was experience. Access to Dungeons cost players a pretty penny; it was compensated by just one granis one received from the Game for entering a Dungeon; so various mercenaries grabbed every opportunity that would bring them in there. By the way: each participant received a reward for taking part in the Dungeon raid: a granis or more. However, the “more” part started with level ten Dungeons, so I was still a long way away from that.

  “Smart one, aren’t you,” the mercenary sighed. “Look. You provide a thousand enhanced shells to each plus three granises for the raid. We provide help in completing it and half a granis for ammo. If we fail – there’s no claim against the group unless we, like, do some kind of an epic fail on purpose there. Loot fifty-fifty. Is that right?”

  “So then... We have little time, so we are setting out today. Bring the ammo and I’ll decorate it.”

  The gears of the machine called “Dungeon preparation” were set in motion at full speed. Miltay was dealing with materials, food, enhancements and other important things, in accordance with the contract. Meanwhile I was sitting in my eternity to which I had bought access for a month and worked on the shells. When I was there last I had polished my routine to the point when I could do it on autopilot. So now my hands and my head could be engaged in two different things. I preferred to occupy my head with thinking. I was turning over and over in my head everything I had found out about restart. Now was a great time to pick the wheat from the chaff and figure out for myself who was who.

  So, let’s start from the very beginning. It was foretold to Archibald that he would find the Keymaster once the Immune one appeared. Suppose that’s true. So
then neither I nor any other potential Keymasters of whom Archibald spoke received no help? We were given no potions, no enhancements, no information. Nothing! At the same time Dolgunata, mages, and even the necromancer were equipped for the Academy as if they were heading to war. Everyone except Keymasters, who were so vitally important to the Paladins. Strange.

  The other thing that was unclear was something Sharda had said in passing: that if I had gone into the Sanctuary without talking to him, it would have been no big deal. They would have just waited for a new Keymaster. Why would it be preferable for them to wait another thousand years than to arrange a private meeting within the Sanctuary? There were plenty of opportunities. Take the auction, for example! Protection there must have been as good as at the anchoring point in the Citadel. Instead, the Paladins calmly let the Keymaster with his activated Madonna’s Diary go into the wide blue yonder, not bothered in the least that he could give that Diary to someone else, for example. All of the above would have some logic and meaning in one case only: I was not the Keymaster, and Sharda and Archibald were simply using me to protect the real one. Now all I had to do was to fit the activated Diary into this theory. At this point there was not enough information about it to draw any conclusions. It could turn out that it had no value whatsoever.

  The only question that remained was: who was the real Keymaster? No matter how you put it, Dolgunata was an excellent candidate. Covered by invisibility, the druid could have very well sat in our cage together with Archibald and activated the book nearest to her just by being there. Maybe that’s why it was my Diary that activated rather than the Councilor’s, and being closer to Monstrichello had had nothing to do with it. Actually, that sounds like a plausible solution. The trained Keymaster is sent to the Academy, the mages and Zangar shift their attention to me while Dolgunata completes her training and no one harasses her. As Archibald mentioned, no one counts collateral damage in those cases. But still: why was I allowed to keep Madonna’s Diary? Maybe they thought I was Merlin!

  That would be quite a nasty outcome. I really hoped that I was not he. Otherwise, during the real restart, Paladins would expect that I would voluntarily, like a lamb, lay myself on the altar together with Madonna and whoever was the third one. Who still remained to be found. While I was so far from that idea that I wouldn’t venture to take a crap in the same field with that suicidal gang. I snorted in dismay and redoubled my engraving efforts: I had plenty of work for the next year. At this stage it was impossible to receive any answers to the questions that bothered me anyway.

  “What kind of a gypsy band is that? You should have brought a bear and balalaika with you too, to entertain the boss!” Dolgunata was waiting for us at the door of the building where the Dungeon portals were. I decided to ignore her as long as my patience would allow. Instantly figuring out who the head of the mercenaries was, the druid addressed him first, then turned to me again: “You are free to go. We’ll deal with this from now on. Yari, I hope you brought elixirs, food and enhancements? Come on, time is short‒ we are already late by waiting for you. My brother will catch up with us.”

  Dolgunata had no doubt that her words would be taken as instructions, so she turned around and calmly proceeded towards the building. Miltay raised his bushy eyebrows, puzzled.

  “Never mind her,” I reassured the mercenary. “This girl is in her stage mode. Let’s humor her.”

  “I am waiting!” The druid screamed from the door. “Come on!”

  “Her stage mode is kind of lame,” Miltay drawled. “This pest has marked everyone in the group now!”

  “Once we get inside the Dungeon, would you take them off me? By the way, I ran into a few more besides. Could you take them off too?”

  “Why not help a good man? I’ll take the hunters’ ones off for free – I don’t like their ilk. So what about this chick?”

  “I ran into her in the Academy,” I said under my breath, unwilling to go into this in any detail.

  “I can tell… the markers on you are quite something,” Miltay laughed. “Look here – six different ones. I guess all from random encounters, eh? Oh, and how did you manage to cross Archibald so badly?”

  “Does this affect our contract in any way?” Miltay was teasing me mildly, but I felt uncomfortable.

  “Nah, everything stands. Your affairs are yours alone. It does not concern us at all. It’s good to be a mercenary: the Game itself protects us from vengeance and from harassment. Oh, and aren’t you a truly lucky one! You even managed to run into Devir.”

  “So I did.” All I could do was sigh. “There was never time to remove all these disco lights. I don’t like being so conspicuous myself.”

  “Yari, I don’t get it – what are we waiting for? Say your goodbyes already! The shorter the parting, the fewer tears.” Dolgunata appeared next to us.

  “Nata, I changed my mind.” I decided to cut to the chase “I’ll complete the Dungeon on my own.”

  “Even so.” The druid was taken aback for a moment, but regained her composure immediately. “Will you make it on your own? I won’t offer twice. You owe me a fine for breaching the agreement.”

  Miltay looked at me with interest, and the druid immediately started fueling the fire.

  “Yes, he is a right out bastard,” she sighed theatrically. “First he begs me to help him do the Dungeon, signs the contract and all, and then: ‘Sorry dear, it was all a big mistake!’ So keep your eyes peeled, warrior.”

  “She’s actually rather cool.” Miltay looked at the girl. “Lively and with a sharp tongue. Baby, come join us. You want to be the tenth? I’ll find a spot for you. Miltay won’t hurt you.

  “I am not that easy to hurt. Right, Yari?” Receiving no answer from me, the druid added, “It’s up to you. See you later,” casting a disdainful parting look, Dolgunata disappeared into the building again.

  “She is damn good,” the mercenary watched as she retreated. “Is she your ex?”

  “No, it just never happened.

  “So it goes. Shall we now? Time is wasting and we are still alive. We need to work on this.”

  The guard at the door checked my access, clicked his tongue considering the composition of the group, then pushed a few keys on his laptop, and a portal appeared in front of us. An empty room, guard, desk, chair and a portal. Minimalism at its best. The good thing was that there were no magical rituals or shamanic dances; the process was fully automated.

  “Tomcat!” Miltay called, and a completely inconspicuous player stepped forward. “Tomcat” was so totally unremarkable that it was hard to keep one’s eyes on him. In case one managed to do that, it would still be quite problematic to remember and describe him later. Without saying a word, he sank into the portal, and Miltay’s phone beeped immediately.

  “It’s all clear!” He read the message and pointed out to me two fighters with machine guns. “Yari, here, hang next to Beast and Burst. Rast, forward!”

  A shooter hung with odd-looking coils went into the portal next, practically immediately followed by Beast and Burst. Remembering the instruction to keep close, I stepped in after them, and was engulfed in cool fog. It dissipated a moment later, and I found myself under a powerful force dome. Rast’s coils were generating a visible flow of energy that covered the area around the group with a three-meter umbrella.

  Alveona was a classic Dungeon comprised of five levels. Glum dark brown walls of unhewn stone, hanging stalactites, an echo of dripping water, semidarkness dispelled by the greenish glow of the moss‒ making players look like horrifying green zombies – the atmosphere of the desolate caves inhabited by all sorts of monsters was done to perfection. The monsters, as well as the final second level boss, were ordinary crabs; the only difference from their normal earth counterparts was their dimensions. The smallest arthropod was about half a meter in size.

  “Tomcat! Bring the first one!” Miltay commanded, as soon as he had taken all the marker bugs off me and the group completed its preparations for battle. The scout co
vered with chainmail pressed something on his outfit and seemed to just disappear into thin air. The Book tried to visualize the player’s movement from slight traces of floating dust, but soon gave up: the fighter moved fast, and left barely any trace. I heard dull bolt clicks: the team was preparing for battle. Not wanting to lag behind, I took out my weapons and attached the detonator to my forearm. Even if I were to die, the others would still be able to push the “red button” to destroy the crabs’ protection.

  The group stilled, waiting for the enemy. The oppressive silence was broken by a raspy screech and a quickly approaching staccato, as if someone were hitting the stones with a small hammer with lots of enthusiasm, but without any pattern.

  “Wasn’t able to get one‒catch three! Their spit’s toxic!” Tomcat appeared about three meters away from the dome; it took him one leap to get under the protection. A bubbling black splotch covered the chainmail on his thigh, spreading with each second. “Hang on!” one of the players commanded, and aimed his flame thrower at Tomcat. Flames leaped; we smelt burning flesh‒ the scout arched in horrible pain, but made no sound except a short moan of pain. This fiery cleansing lasted but a moment. With one gulp Tomcat downed half of the elves' potion, then poured the other half on the leg, and finally sighed deeply with relief. There was no splotch and no other visible signs of the burn. I really did not want to think what was going on underneath the scout’s chainmail: I knew how the “elven ointment” worked. It did not heal wounds like the life elixirs in all games or fairy tales. The potion dulled the pain and maximized the body’s own ability to regenerate by providing the necessary microelements. So at the moment the scout’s leg must look really horrendous.

  The warrior with the coils switched something and the dome’s color changed from white to greenish. That was when the “hammers” crescendoed, and the first group of monsters rolled out from around the nearest boulder. Three young crabs: level 5, enhancement 10. They were immediately caught in the traps that had been prepared.