by Akella,G.
"How long might that take?"
"I don't know," the woman bit her lower lip and turned around.
"Well then," I chuckled. "No choice, no time for extended research. That means we'll just need to go and kill him."
After those words, the daughter of the late Master of Death got up sharply, and proceeded to pace around the room anxiously, head down and arms folded.
"Do you even realize what you're risking?!" her voice was on the verge of screaming. "What's going to happen to you all if you fail? You will cease to exist! Com-ple-te-ly! This is the bloody Soul Devourer!"
Without reacting at all to the agitated Vaessa, I picked up the glass and finished off its contents, then rose from my seat.
"Your cognac is good. And you're no slouch yourself," I smiled at her. "But it's time to go. Tomorrow's going to be a long day."
My own analysis of my situation was quite sober. Even if I were to recruit the required number of bodies, my century was no match for Nerghall. There wasn't a single realistic scenario in which the monster ended up biting the dust. With our current getup and full buffs, we were capable of doling out roughly half a million damage per second against a boss around our level. Now divide that number by three and subtract thirty percent—his approximate damage absorption between resistances and armor—and you're left with around 250,000. Assuming that, in a fight against a century, the boss would heal himself for 300,000 HP every two seconds in the battle's first and third phases, that brought the century's damage output down to a measly 100,000 per second. At that rate, even if Nerghall just stood there cracking jokes, it would take us over four hours to take him down. The problem was, he wasn't going to do that! Between Siphon Life, Devour Souls, Dark Rain and the like, we'd probably need three times as much time. And all that assumed zero room for error: no deaths, no blunders, no falling asleep at the wheel despite hours and hours of intense combat. This would be our only shot. And what if we failed? Would I even resurrect, or would my soul be devoured along with the rest?
Was it within my right to risk the lives and souls of the demons that had trusted me with them? I tried not to think about that—the decision had been made, and I couldn't afford to second-guess myself. To be sure, I doubted that anyone but a god or a great mage could challenge the monster from the Gray Frontier. A pity I didn't have Altus at my side anymore; Ingvar probably didn't give a damn; Celphata hadn't been able to dematerialize Nerghall for whatever reason; Setara I had only seen in the form of a statue... And then there was Hart, who might just find this matter of interest in light of the potential fallout if the terrible beast were to be let loose somewhere in the middle of Nittal. How much damage would he do, how many souls would he devour before the Lord and his punishers put him down? So yes, my century alone didn't stand a chance against Nerghall in a fair fight. But who said that I intended to fight fairly?
"You really are sick, Dark One," Vaessa shook her head. "I heard that creatures like you exist, but it's only now I see the legends don't lie. How do you intend to kill Nerghall?"
"That's my problem. Thank you for showing me the journal. And now you must excuse me, I really do have to get going," with a nod goodbye, I made for the exit.
"Stop!" I heard her voice. And so I did.
Vaessa dar Luan requests to join the Steel Wolves clan.
I spun back around. The woman stood there, her chin raised high, staring me down with defiance. The color was gone from her face, but her narrowed eyes shone with resolve.
"Why do you need this?" I asked for formality's sake, realizing that the daressa had already made a decision and wasn't going to back down. "You do realize this is forever?"
"When my father was trekking to that cave, he too knew it was forever," she exhaled. "I don't know who you are, Dark One, but I do see more than most. You've slain Shaartakh. I realize the significance of that act. Now you're standing here, telling me you're going to slay the Lord of Darkness, and damn it, I believe you! If we succeed, then my father's sacrifice and my own life won't have been in vain. Do you see now? The guild can make do without me—sadly, I'm no battle mage. But the undead wreaking havoc on the princedom today, all of them combined aren't worth a bloody rear paw of the Beast from the Gray Frontier. Besides, I can help by fully blocking all of Nerghall's abilities for five minutes. I'd been preparing for it my whole life! I know that won't be nearly enough, but—"
"That would be immensely helpful," I shook my head, suddenly feeling great sorrow for myself and all the millions of people that had come into this world. How many of us real people were capable of such a selfless act? To cast aside one's own interests and sacrifice oneself for the greater good? I realized that NPCs were inherently prone to such behavior, that it was part of their programming... But so what? They were more genuine for it! Back in the real world, how many people would I have trusted to have my back? Max, Ivan, Alyona... But here, in a game, I wouldn't think twice about trusting any one of my clanmates! Not to mention Kort, Raey, Annat...
"What now, commander?" Vaessa gave me a searching look. "Will you tell me now how we're going to slay Nerghall?"
"We have a fortnight and a half to nail down a strategy. I promise to share my thoughts with you soon, but for now I need your help."
"Yes?"
"I know you felt it already—something isn't right. I'm going to need to reallocate your talents and abilities—call it special elder magic, if you will. And since I understand virtually nothing in necromancy or the dark arts, I need your advice. But before all that, would you answer me one question?"
"Yes?"
"Do you remember Reece?"
"He's alive?" her brow arched upward.
"Aye, and he's one of the Wolves," I nodded.
"And Luitha, his mother?"
"She died when the undead took their village. He was rescued when he himself was at death's door."
"I told his mother to stay here, in the city," Vaessa fished for another bottle in the cabinet, refilled the glasses, and upended hers in one go. "How is he?" she turned to me, putting the glass down on the table.
"He's a mage with potential, a good alchemist and a fun-loving fellow all around," I said, reaching for my pipe again as the meeting appeared to be extending. "He seems to be slightly wary of you, albeit very grateful for teaching him alchemy."
"Hart," sighed the tiflingess, easing back into her armchair. "It's been a century since I drank this much! I can barely stand! About the boy, Reece, he's like a son to me. And he mustn't be afraid—I'd long forgotten his tomfoolery, and I'm not angry at all. So, what is your question, Krian?"
"He wants to know who his father was. He believes that you gave your word to his mother to keep it a secret."
"Aye, that is true," Vaessa gave a bitter smile. "But I know almost nothing about his father. Only that he was one of the barbarians that used to frequent these lands. I don't know his name, not even his clan... And he doesn't even know he has a son. Luitha gave birth to him at home, in the village. She feared that the boy would someday decide to find his father and try leaving the princedom, which would be tantamount to suicide. But she's gone now, along with her fears. You can try asking the merchants, especially the ones who used to trade with outsiders. Or probe the girls in the Bellflower, though I suspect Reece had already tried that route. Maybe it's for the best? What's the use in stirring up the past?" folding her hands on her knees, the daressa looked up at me. "Now, what did you want to know about necromancy?"
It had grown completely dark outside, with the moon's crescent assuming its rightful place in the sky. The wind had picked up, gusting into the trees that framed the mages' guild's tower. It made the branches creak and the solitary streetlight clang as it swung to and fro; it rustled the patterned curtains, and drove off the midges swarming the table-mounted magic lantern.
The daressa was initially skeptical that she would be able to learn anything new, and I'd had to dig deep into my reserves of patience to convince her. It wasn't until I drew both the dar
k mage and necromancer talent trees on paper for her that she got the concept, and then she was hooked. Imagine the face of an eight-year-old girl whose parents took her to a toy store on her birthday—the kind that sells not only dolls but also doll cars, doll clothes and doll castles—and told her to pick any five things she wanted. Better yet, imagine taking your girlfriend to an upscale boutique with the same instructions: any five items she wants, but no more. Suffice it to say, surviving the ordeal is going to require quite a bit of self-medication in the form of good ol' alcohol. Good thing we had plenty of cognac. I had to explain even the most basic, elementary things, like the fact that you couldn't change anything after distributing talents, and why it made sense to have an idea of a final build and gradually work towards it as opposed to grabbing a little bit of everything in all branches. After a good hour and a half, in the course of which I'd nearly lost all my hair and the second bottle's contents had been transferred into our bellies—mine mostly—we had settled on a build for Vaessa that would take her to level 350, at which time she would be able to summon her first bone dragon. The build would max out her summoning branch, the rationale being that her father's kris greatly boosted the strength of creatures Vaessa either summoned or raised from the dead. The level and quantity of creatures controlled by the necromancer were fully determined by so-called summoning points, so I ended up dumping more than half of her available talent points to boost them. Then, summoned creatures required a lot of mana-intensive upkeep, which meant a necromancer had to have crazy high mana regeneration. Out of those considerations, I threw a bunch of stat points into spirit.
The end result turned out pretty interesting—Vaessa was suddenly capable of controlling up to fifteen skeletons or zombies, or three bonehounds, or two reapings. Her father's dagger doubled the effectiveness of spells from the school of Darkness, bringing the creatures she summoned to almost the same level as their mistress. Taking into account a fifteen percent increase to their constitution and all resistances, and a twenty percent increase to damage output, my clan had acquired quite a powerful fighter in Vaessa, practically our own mini boss. The remaining points went into an advanced Spear of Darkness and two curses, one of which increased all physical and magic damage dealt to the target, and the other decreased the target's resistance to Dark magic by the same amount.
As I was allocating Vaessa's talents and stats, I actually felt a little annoyed. Up until today I had thought that my unique build put me head and shoulders above any players I might encounter in the upper realm... But now, seeing how a single epic dagger could transform a necromancer, I realized how gravely mistaken I was about my power and singularity. No doubt, I still had advantages over her, mobility being the main one as Vaessa's Jump had a far longer cooldown at two minutes. If we met on in battle, I would most likely succeed in finishing her off before her hounds ripped me to pieces, but what if there were two necromancers? And what other epics were scattered around this world? After all, there were players above who had bought numerous epics in spite of their exorbitant price; these folks would make fearsome opponents on account of their gear alone. On the other hand, there were certain downsides to possessing such objects, despite their indisputable upsides. Residents of the planet Earth were envious and greedy by nature. Therefore, a person rocking a bunch of epics had to look over their shoulder far more than anybody else. No longer was the Log Out button there to save you, and if caught, there was only so much torture you could endure before agreeing to give up all your earthly possessions. That said, it was safe to assume that a person with the wherewithal to purchase even one epic piece of equipment wasn't an idiot by default. As a rule, idiots simply didn't have that kind of money.
Silence of the Great Darkness, the special ability the necromancer's daughter sought to silence Nerghall with, was a reward from Celphata for faithful service, just as her father had at one time been awarded the privilege of summoning the goddess. The ability didn't disappear when she'd joined the clan, so I set to studying it.
Silence of the Great Darkness.
5,000 mana.
Instant cast.
Cooldown: 120 hours.
Minimum level: 200.
Range: 60 yards.
Prevents any creature up to level 600 from using their main abilities for 300 seconds.
I didn't believe in coincidences—there was a reason the goddess had given her adherent this ability! Could everything in this world really be predetermined? Nonsense! Though the list of suspects in the theft of the book of prophecies had just increased by one. It appeared that someone really didn't want me to read this book. Or was I getting too big a head, thinking everything revolved around me? What if whoever had snatched book from the library didn't give a damn about me? There were plenty of other prominent characters in the princedom. I could spend a month speculating wildly, which was precisely why I shouldn't do it. As for the ability, I hadn't pinned my hopes on it before simply because I didn't know about it. And I wasn't going to start now. What were five minutes in the context of twelve hours that it would take to bring down the Ancient Beast? Still, it wasn't a bad ace to have up one's sleeve—who knew what other monsters our clan would encounter where the ability might come in handy?
It was time to go. As I gazed at the woman convulsing slightly in her sleep, I realized just how exhausted I was. A thought flashed in my mind to carry the demoness to the couch and lie down next to her for the night. I chuckled to myself, admiring the sleeping beauty, then covered her with a wool blanket and left her abode, shutting the door behind me.
Reece was sitting on the lip of a fountain, feeding the fish. His symmetrical face was still and ruminative. The kid wasn't wearing any armor. Like me, he must have taken it off upon our arrival to the city.
"Ashberry," the mage showed me the berries lying in his open palm, the lone streetlight reflecting in his eyes. "Once I tried feeding these fishies bread, and Vaessa wasn't happy. Apparently, bread is bad for the water," he sighed, tossing the remaining berries into the fountain. "Then again, the magus was rarely happy about anything. Ever."
"Your father was one of the barbarians that used to come to the princedom," I sat down next to him, a hand on my scabbard to hold it steady, and took out my pipe. "She doesn't know his name—your mother was good at keeping secrets. One of the local merchants might know, or—"
"Nobody else in Xantarra would know," the mage shook his head. "But we're not going to be stuck in the princedom forever, are we? The curse will be lifted at some point."
You've completed the quest: Father's Legacy I.
You've accessed the quest: Father's Legacy II.
Quest type: unique.
Help Reece find his father.
Reward: experience, unknown.
"All things must end," I mused in support, accepting the quest. "The question is when..."
"How is she?" the mage gestured up at the lit window on level five.
"She's fine. Said to tell you she's not at all angry with you."
"I really didn't mean to upset her then," the mage looked down at his feet. "I only wanted what's best..."
"No doubt. The road to the Gray Frontier is paved with good intentions," I modified the classic adage. Though the Netherworld would probably be a fairer comparison, I had a reputation to protect here, so let the habitat of the undead serve as Arkon's version of hell.
"She was a young beautiful woman, you see, but her job—"
"Say no more," I cut him off, seeing how the memories pained him. "Now, why don't you tell me why you're sitting here?"
"We were going to visit the Bellflower, weren't we?" the mage smirked. "You said yourself we only had a few days in the city. Better spend our time wisely... I'll apologize to Vaessa tomorrow. If I can muster up the courage."
"No rush, you can apologize the day after, too," I stood up. "You'll be seeing a lot more of each other now. Very well, take me to the local nest of debauchery and sin."
"What?" Reece blinked, suddenly very still
.
"I said, let's go to The Pink Bellflower," I explained with a sigh.
"I'm not a moron, dar, I know exactly what you said. But what did you mean about us seeing a lot more of each other?"
"Like you said, you're not a moron. You know exactly what I meant."
"You mean to tell me you've managed to convince the princedom's finest mage to join our clan?" the kid's eyes lit up with a mix of shock and awe. "Not even Gorm had ever gotten her to swear fealty..."
"I didn't need to convince her of anything," I shrugged. "She has her own reasons for joining us. She's desperate to take part in the killing of the Twice Cursed god's ghastly pet."
"She had reasons to agree to head up the free mages' guild, too," Reece gave a stunned shake of the head. "And she did it without swearing an oath to them. You don't know her, dar... You wouldn't have refused her request to simply accompany us, would you?"
"No."
"Exactly," the young man rose to his feet. "The gods walk with you, Krian, and I would bet all my future fortune that the magus' decision to join us is no accident."
The entire way to the brothel the mage seemed pensive and didn't utter another word.
Chapter 9
For the majority of people in positions of leadership, their main priority is climbing the career ladder in order to eventually assume the very top spot in their organization. As a rule, those who aspire to this goal see only the external aspects of the leader's job. They see the power and the prestige, and don't even consider the other side of holding such a high post.
Loneliness. The very nature of being at the top separates a person from others, leaving him without any friends in his own organization. Unlike his subordinates, when facing difficult problems he's forced to make individual decisions. Any leader is devoid of friendly support. He has no one to share his thoughts with, no one with whom to have a heart-to-heart. His office is essentially the last line of defense against problems threatening the company. And if deputy directors can always go to the director and ask for help, the director himself has nowhere to go and no one to ask for help. As the face of the organization, you are required to not only make the right decisions, but also bear direct and sole responsibility for any and all consequences. And when said consequences could mean the demise of hundreds of intelligent creatures you've come to genuinely care for, the commander's burden becomes almost too heavy to bear.