The Duty (Play to Live: Book # 3)

by D. Rus

  A thousand-strong indignant uproar shattered the air as the Chinese players couldn't watch the unfolding genocide any longer. Throwing discipline to the wind, they lunged at the impertinent Russians.

  "Wansui!" the earth trembled, making the hair on my neck stand on end.

  "If you say so," scowled a warrior next to me with an old-fashioned Ivanych moniker more suitable for an old man. He bore a clumsy inscription fresh on his shield, For my Dad! The guy had to be one of those Far East conflict kids. Despite its transient nature, the conflict had orphaned tens of thousands of children in Russia alone—and God only knows how many in China, especially considering the civilian casualties from the air strike carried out by the SU 39 air squadron on the power station at the Heilongjiang, known on our side of the border as the Amur river.

  It was guys like him that made this kind of battle personal.

  The battered archers darted toward the tidal wave of Chinese while the Russian raiders, being turned away from the already closing portals, retreated to their own lines. Those who could, ported out using their own personal gates while the remaining ones joined the ranks, wiped the enemy's snot off their faces and grinned back to my soldiers' welcome. The defense area had expanded to over a thousand warriors. Its size worried me: not to mention the fact that the dome had already given up the ghost with a curious sobbing sound, it also increased the probability of the enemy's obtaining our portal coordinates which could allow them to jump our defense lines. So far it hadn't yet happened, glory be to the Fallen One.

  The first wave of attackers had reached us, turning the scorching afternoon into a horror film set. A miscellany of pets, familiars, ghosts and other such creatures rammed human bodies crumpling them by their sheer weight and total lack of concern for their own damage and life. A thousand enemy wizards melted the earth under our feet. That was the first time we regretted consolidating our forces all in one place instead of spreading them thinly over the desert, so high was the concentration of spells per square foot. Personal and mass shields died within seconds, the umbrellas of Minor Domes lighting up and expiring almost at once. Our hundred and fifty clerics were giving it their all. I'd hooked ten of them up to the Altar mana flow and now they were casting non-stop, their eyes manic.

  We continued to inch back, grinding our way through the enemy menagerie, when the first Chinese warriors squeezed past their pet's hides and skeletons to join in the slaughter.

  Blessed be a circle for its perfect round shape! Thanks to the circle, we had no flanks of rear stripping the enemy of their chance to create a numerical advantage. At any given moment, a hundred soldiers of the outer circle engaged with an equal number of Chinese. Although their average levels were slightly higher, their progress was impeded by their fellow soldiers who tried to push their way through, impatient to get to our fragile frames. Another reason for their stalling was the absence of auxiliary classes—all those clerics, buffers and such, who had by then been shoved aside. The enemy rogues, too, had been left with nothing to do while ours kept horsing around, jumping portals and leaving a trail of destruction in their wake. I had a funny feeling that all those ingredients that were used would be my ruin: jumps between clusters cost a fortune.

  Behind my back, I heard the continuous whoosh of the glaive throwers; squat dwarves, disbelieving their luck, lovingly reloaded them with the massive missiles whose heads gleamed purple. Yes, yes, so I had splurged on the most expensive ammo there was. Money is there to spend. But now each gun was firing like an AGS 30 grenade launcher, generously peppering the area in front with a blaze of explosions.

  A bit further away, the Engineer Squad held the fort well with its mechanoids. Although they didn't deal much damage themselves, they considerably reduced any incoming damage by compensating it with some crazy regen times. In any case, judging from their report, the animated steel monsters would only be active for a few more minutes, followed by a lengthy self-repair in the tech's warehouse. Gold was slipping through my fingers. A full-blown war was a very expensive business. I didn't think I could last that much longer.

  Further on, the uniform ranks parted, making space for a kill machine a.k.a. Snowie. His doubly-blessed mithril tank barrel spread panic among the enemy. It might look like a defenses breach but there didn't seem to be many volunteers to try it on for size: not many could negotiate the forest of tombstones in front of him, so the enemy preferred to shower him with arrows and try their kill magic on him. Snowie was dying to lunge forward—which would have been suicide—but Bomba was doing her best to calm him down. Standing behind his back, she repeated something soothing in an admiring whisper, occasionally protecting his flanks.

  Three different-color portals hummed peacefully in the center of our circle, connecting us to the Guild Hall and to a couple of clans that had refused to change their soldiers' bind points. The portals pulsated with a never-ending trickle of resurrected fighters, restored casters, messengers and ammo deliveries. At a certain point, Dan appeared next to me, apparently wishing to come and see for himself. He stood there in silence, taking in the situation. Then the familiar sound of his voice made me turn round.

  "So you've let the genie out of the bottle. Happy now? Do you understand that your corrective portal placing idea is a stroke of genius? That it radically changes all modern battle tactics? Now in order to take a castle one will need a force twice as big as before—that's provided the besiegers made sure they'd premarked the area in order to be able to repel the enemy's forays targeting their weakest spots. This ability to create a considerable numerical advantage within seconds is worth its weight in gold. I just hope you have a solution to this problem up your sleeve, too."

  I smiled mysteriously, then shook his offered hand. I meant it. I'd been missing our "cloak and dagger"—admittedly crafty but friendly and reliable.

  And still we were being overrun. At the current five to one ratio, I couldn't see how we could do them in on enthusiasm alone. And I wasn't prepared to lay down all my trump cards quite yet.

  What eventually saved us was my good choice of tactics. My battle plan was based simply on containing the enemy's main forces, ignoring regular soldiers and concentrating on seizing their elite units as well as the more vulnerable groups: casters, siege vehicles, staff officers and support services. Wherever we sighted a squad that sported an unusual amount of gold-engraved armor and feather headgear, the spotter immediately gave us their coordinates, allowing the grab party to land right on top of them. It was funny, really: the moment I excommunicated a soldier or two in a selected group, the remainder scurried in all directions like roaches when you turn the lights on, trying to blend with the crowd and fade into the woodwork.

  At a certain point, quantity turned into quality. The gangsters seemed to be losing their enthusiasm by the minute, their dwindling caster ranks unable to heal and rebuff their fighters promptly any more. Their staff officers were dispersed and demoralized, the bulk of them being captured while others had chosen to make themselves scarce. The standoff began to stall; twice tidal waves of new attacks arose half-heartedly and were deterred without much effort. After that, the enemy presence would subside, leaving in their wake our battered circle barely visible over the tops of tombstones.

  I peered at our opponents' confused faces. It was now or never. I had to use their moment of weakness, pressurize them and wrench a sudden victory from their hands. Even if it meant a drawn game.

  "Cease fire," I commanded over the staff channel. "Send universal signal for negotiation."

  Not waiting for the Ice Comet to be launched into the sky—the gaming tradition analogous of the white flag—I parted the wall of panting soldiers and began my walk across the ravaged land toward the enemy. Bagheera sashayed to my right; to my left, the vitrified earth crunched under Snowie's heavy gait. Three silhouettes, walking imperturbably into no-man's land.

  Incredibly, the sight of the famed panther—or alternatively, of the fearsome troll—caused the enemy ranks to flinch as th
ey instinctively tried to keep their distance. I physically sensed my authority meter spin in both our clusters.

  I chuckled and stopped in my tracks, having covered barely half the distance. Even in that, I was trying to win some invisible points demonstrating my domineering position, however unconscious. I made a show of scratching Bagheera's neck, waiting for their reaction. Five minutes seemed to have lasted forever; then the enemy ranks seethed, letting out a few officers in gaudy clothes surrounded by their retinues of adjutants and bodyguards.

  One of the officers raised a timid hand over his head. A white silk scarf fluttered in the wind.

  We'd won.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The Chinese negotiating team was impressive. A large orc walked first, smug and full of himself, sporting some custom-made colors—a very expensive option in the Admins' book. I quickly looked him up: the leader of a top Chinese alliance. He was chaperoned by two enormous NPC bodyguards, level 400 Terracotta Warriors clad in steel and mithril.

  Oh wow. Those were some high-profile dudes. I wondered if he'd left behind two Nova Plus castles unprotected, splurging his entire hire budget on the pleasure of having two six-thousand dollar goons behind his back for a day. Actually, if I applied my own philosophy here—money being secondary to authority—then his actions made perfect sense. I was pretty sure my men were duly impressed.

  Next to him and his hard-boiled bodyguards, the remaining officers looked rather bleak despite all their gold braid (by the pound), the glitter of magic stones and gorgeous plumes in their headgear. Were they breeding ostriches in the desert? I didn't see either the Shui Fong representatives nor the Maoists among them: apparently, they had their hands full with other matters.

  Bagheera growled a warning, making the negotiators stop a few paces away from me. The orc gave the panther a glance full or contempt and scowled, turning on his caps-lock voice.

  Yeah, right. Your wish is my command. Who did he think he was? "We demand you bring back the captured slaves, pay ten million gazillion contribution and cancel the excommunication." Not happy, eh? You guys not capable of a sincere prayer to attract our beautiful goddess' attention second time round? Well, tough. The goddess of blissful death is not for the likes of you.

  The orc took in my sarcastic stare and lost it completely. According to my very basic knowledge of the Chinese etiquette, I don't think anyone had given him this kind of look for a long time. I didn't think many people ever dared to raise their eyes at all in the presence of anyone that high a rank. So he went on hissing, turning on the heat,

  "You think we can't survive without your divine slut? A goddess of slaves and cowards! There is only one warrior god: Yu-huang, the Jade Emperor. And he rewards his faithful servants well! Look at the Terracotta Warriors, the soldiers of his legion that he entrusted to me for my fierce faith and my good deeds in his name! One word from me, and they will trample through your ranks, there and back again, only becoming stronger as they devour your souls!"

  I studied the motionless figures. They were definitely golems, even though they must have been based on clay and not metal. It didn't make them easy prey, though: level 400 spoke for itself. But any golem was nothing else but an undead furnished with a captured human soul. Which made them beings of the Dark by definition. And if so...

  I glared at the orc and swung my hand, motioning him to shut up. "Enough! I don't think you know who you're talking to, either! You've chosen the wrong approach from the start. You dared insult the Goddess. That's more than enough to merit a death sentence."

  His retinue backed off. He too turned sort of pale—the senior officers must have already known about the loose-lipped Weidong's sorry fate. Obeying his silent command, the Terracotta Warriors stepped forward, shielding their master with their powerful mass. Oh well. It would only be more spectacular this way.

  I pointed at the insolent negotiator and activated the Religious Outcast skill. "Kill him," my voice was calm to the point of being tired.

  A skeptical smile curved the orc's mouth. The tracers of two sabers flashed by. I swung my head aside, avoiding the thick jet of blood which was now gushing from the green stump that had once been his neck.

  His body dissolved into thin air. A gilded tombstone crashed onto the sand. In the silence that followed, the masterless Terracotta Warriors crumbled into dust, the wind taking away the tiny particles of reddish clay.

  I gulped and gave myself a mental high-five. "How many more of you do I need to surprise to death in order for you to realize this is serious?" I said with a disenchanted voice of a Hollywood hero. "How about you quit playing power games? You're looking at only a part of the Russian cluster's joint forces led by the Dark Pantheon's First Priest. So are we going to have a constructive discussion or do you want a personal Inferno invasion in each of your respective castles?"

  Sure I was bluffing. But it did get their attention!

  At this point things got moving, even if reluctantly. Task #1: prisoner exchange. As it turned out, our enemy too had had orders to take prisoners which was why the combat may have looked rather weird to the uninitiated eye. Constant hand-to-hand with lots of clinches and par terre situations, followed by dogpiles and tugs-of-war with a potential prisoner used as a rope—funny, yeah. Dreadful.

  The Chinese had managed to get hold of forty-six of our permas who, for one reason or another, hadn't been able to change their patron god. Unfinished quests, high religious ranks they'd invested a lot into, or custom-leveling to gain access to a particular god's privileges—the latter was especially popular among paladins who'd sworn allegiance to Aphrodite's exaggerated curves. Each of them deserved the Grand Order of Lobotomy. Ridiculous, really: the First Priest of the Dark Pantheon saving a Paladin of Light from slavery! Surreal.

  To cut it short, we exchanged all active soldiers on equal terms one to one. Any attempt at haggling was nipped in the bud. "I'll be the first to agree that each of our soldiers is worth ten yours," I told them. "But I should stick to the agreement if I were you because otherwise, I'd be obliged to increase my claims regarding Russian slaves accordingly. And those claims are quite high as they are."

  The negotiators deflated and didn't broach the subject any more.

  We exchanged the forty-something POWs on the spot, opening two portals opposite each other and running two single file exchange lines simultaneously. The guys didn't even get time to get properly scared.

  But then the negotiators stalled, exchanging helpless stares, as they had run out of all their bargaining chips. No wonder: we had taken 380 prisoners, most of them high-ranking officers, elite warriors and top experts.

  We should, in all honesty, have conducted a more equal swap. But to do so would be very much like cornering a desperate rat: it might run amok and attack anything in sight, even a human. Besides, dragging out the negotiations wasn't such a healthy idea. At any moment, God forbid, portals could pop open all along the oasis edge, letting out ten thousand warriors, and that would be the grand finale of my market day.

  For all these reasons, I very importantly allowed the defeated enemy to save face while negotiating some truly yummy conditions. The swap was head for head, each Chinese POW for a Russian slave. With one extra condition: each POW surrendered the contents of both hands to the squad that had captured him. My allies weren't going to just let go of the excellently equipped prisoners, so that's where I had to surrender my power to their treasurers, storeroom clerks and other inner greedy pigs.

  Admittedly, I'd set an example by making an awesome profit on the prisoners during the storming of the castle. The pic of me sitting on that towering thronelike pile of silver and gold bar had gone viral and was doing the rounds of the Russian cluster's media. In the picture, the Shui Fong gangsters were heaping glittering items of top gear at my feet, against the modest but significant backdrop of the dwarf mules lugging tons of loot toward the cargo portal. Newspaper analysts competed in greed, counting and recounting zeroes and publishing the trophies' estim
ated value.

  We agreed to conduct the prisoner swap within twelve hours in the neutral grounds of the Fortress of the Blind King. That was a place popular with shady dealers as it boasted indecent quantities of NPC guards who didn't take sides, considerably reducing the risk of any strong-arm scenarios.

  Our demands for the provision of free passage to the Lost City had caused the most confusion and took a lot of negotiation.

  "If you're after the location's main boss in the Deserted Temple, he is unkillable. Three times we called up raids of fifteen hundred men each, and every time the Black Death," the negotiator gave Bagheera a confused glance, "made a quick job of us! He has a bunch of some very unpleasant skills. When his health drops 25%, he summons every monster within 300 feet from the Temple, and there're all level 300-plus! And if you do manage to work your way through their first wave and get the bastard's life down to 50%, he'll summon them again, this time within 1500 feet from the Temple. We can only conjecture that the next surprise would probably await the brave at minus 75% of their life, but that's pure theory as no one had ventured that far."

  My heart missed a beat. I didn't let it show; instead, I nodded my acknowledgement. "We'll see."

  Unwilling to suffer our presence on their stomping ground for any longer than humanly possible, the Chinese offered to set up a portal directly to the ruins. I scratched my head. Had this cumbersome raid idea been really necessary? Couldn't we have sent a messenger to the Asians, hire their wizard and jump directly to our destination in two easy transfers? Oh. Talking about slow on the uptake. On the other hand, we'd broken the chains of so many slaves; we'd laid our hands on a lot of gold and quite a few cool goodies, without mentioning the free authority rush. No, I had nothing to regret.

  A group of our rangers was the first to enter the portal. Soon they posted a quick OK. The serpent-like raid followed: at least half of all the battle participants had expressed the desire to join the free ride in order to have a look at new lands, collecting beacon coordinates and farming new mobs. By now, our column counted some 700 men—nothing to turn your nose up at. Okay, maybe not in China, but as far as Russians were concerned, we had one hell of a force.