by Arthur Stone
"You got information about me in a dream?"
"Yeah, I realize it sounds weird, but I did."
Ros was inclined to believe the girl. And not because he was charmed enough to believe anything she'd say. He had a few dreams of the most unusual sort himself where there was a character whose appearance he could not remember, but whose words stuck in his head nevertheless.
And they made a lot of sense, just as in Thyri's case. The information received from that voice may not have been of the most useful sort, but it had come in handy, nevertheless. He searched through the most obscure corners of game-related forums, official and not, searching for anything he could find about such "dreams." All to no avail.
Until today. But it wasn't a forum post—he met an actual eyewitness. Someone who had the same kind of dreams.
"Did this voice foretell anything? About the game, I mean?"
"It foretold that you would appear next to the destroyed watermill, at least. I'm sorry. I cannot tell you all the details. There was a lot of personal stuff there."
"Oh, I didn't mean to pry. All right, then. In that case I can promise that I'll wait for you at the border."
"You mean you believe me?"
"I do."
"All right, then. I'll try to get back as soon as I can."
"But there's nothing for you to do beyond the three-river valley. There are too many people, and it's the most PK-active area in these parts; the place is notorious for it."
"It's gonna be dangerous for you without me."
"Well, you may have noticed I wasn't your average noob."
"I've noticed that all right."
"Those who like to kill fellow players will see a puny level 67 player. And they aren't used to surprises. I, however, have a penchant for surviving."
"I'd still like to accompany you to the very gates. I can stay unnoticed, as you should well know by now."
"Another thing I know is that such players as you are extremely slow in maximum invisibility mode. How long is it going to take us to get there?"
"Around twenty-four hours, once we cross the valley."
"It would take me four instead of twenty-four, or perhaps even less than that."
"But you'll be on your own, and an encounter with a high-level killer may prove fatal to you."
"I'll spend a lot more time in a dangerous zone if we stick together. That would be a huge risk, too."
"All right, let's get to the border, and then… Well, we'll see once we're there."
* * *
"The wife of the notorious professor Aurelio Barbarossa demands that her husband be legally recognized as deceased, disregarding the proper legal procedure, to initiate the process of sharing his estate. The relatives of the scientist who had vanished support her.
The professor is known to have vanished five months ago. However, no signs of foul play were found by the police during their investigation. What they did find, however, was indirect evidence that Barbarossa may have left the country accompanied by his young assistant, who is also known to have disappeared at the same time. Thus, there was no reason to believe that the vanished professor was killed or died a natural death. However, if without serious evidence that the vanished person is still alive, they may be officially recognized as deceased after a certain period.
No such evidence has been found to date, and the indirect leads do not carry sufficient legal weight. But the period has not expired to date, and thus the statement made by the wife's attorney might imply that Aurelio Barbarossa is still alive and is trying to rake up more notoriety. That's what he's been best known for all these years.
However, it has to be said that his notoriety was anything but a classical example of tabloid fame. He became famous after having published a number of seminal works that have redefined modern psychology. In particular, we have to point out his work entitled The Parallel Consciousness, which was a trailblazing work in a discipline that is complex and convoluted. He was widely known as one of the theorists that helped bring about the latest-generation AI technology; such AIs are widely used by the military and the gaming industry these days.
He was also famous about his predictions concerning the effect of the separation of the body and the consciousness in a highly-detailed gaming environment made around the time he first started work as a consultant for the famed Second World project. As everyone well remembers, shortly after the launch of the game, there were many reported instances of the players' minds staying in the game. In other words, they failed to return to their bodies. Moreover, the problem of "ghosts" or "digital people" emerge shortly afterwards—the terms are currently used for referring to the phenomenon of the consciousness becoming disconnected from the body permanently. More specifically, this concerned the players whose real bodies ceased to exist for one reason or another, but whose characters kept on existing in the game temporarily or permanently.
We must remind the readers that no other project ever experienced anything of the sort."
One of those boring articles no one would ever bother to print out. Published online.
Chapter 8
Thyri may have trusted Ros, but not enough to leave her body where he could see it. She returned into the greenish mist that had hung over the nearest part of the murky wood and used her Disguise skill somewhere in there, without any fear for the undead roaming the treacherous forest.
Ros stayed alone. He didn't perceive any real danger here, at the edge of the woods. Apart from that, the undead weren't very active during the mornings, unless they haunted deep dungeons where no light ever shone. Yet he tried to get as far away from the woods as he could—the last thing he wanted to do was getting involved with a bunch of high-level ghosts of the sort that you encountered here.
He descended a low-sloped grassy sloped with a narrow but swift stream meandering underneath. The crystalline water babbled happily between the mossy rocks, with shoals of fast-moving baby fish and individual fish of a larger size swimming in the water, and rows of frogs lined up alongside the shores. There were reeds growing around the oxbows, and Ros decided to choose one of such places. It would be hard to spot him among the tall reeds, but he could observe all around him; there were no shrubs or trees anywhere, and an observant watcher could see quite a few things.
Yet there was nothing much to see. The edge of the woods was the border between two areas of a fundamentally different nature. Back there you could run into a level 100 ghost anytime, or encounter a group of malodorous and clumsy level 80 zombies. On the other hand, you could walk for hours without encountering a single enemy. Especially during the daytime. So the zone wasn't particularly good for those wishing to level up, since you would waste plenty of time hunting for the kind of mobs you'd need. There were a few destroyed villages around with plenty of fiends haunting them, but even an average party of players could kill all of them in three or four hours, which wasn't anywhere near enough for having real fun. Thus, it was one of those Second World locations where there was nothing much to do. Only a rare and complex quest could take one somewhere like that, or a wish to spend a few days roaming on your own, without having to talk to any other players or endlessly fight monsters of all sorts. There were many players who loved to spend their time in this very way; in fact, it could be very beneficial at times. For instance, if someone was gathering herbs to level up their Alchemy skill, there'd be no reason for them to do anything else. All you needed to do was search for whatever you needed, and then gather the ingredients and combine them.
The three-river valley was a whole different kettle of fish. There were no murky thickets over there—on the contrary, it was a wide open space filled with sunlight. The grass on the meadows grew low, as though it had been mowed. The rolling heals were clear of trees; there were just a few sparse copses here and there. You could run into a level 100 ghost here, too, in theory, since the mobs' respawn points had no fixed locations, but something like that would be very unlikely. The majority of monsters preferred to keep
close to their preprogrammed locations. So this was a peaceful reign of small rodents, trustful rabbits, abundant with well-fed pheasants and wild turkeys, with cunning foxes cunning them. The places where you could run into lone wolves or packs of wolf cubs were few and far between. This was a paradise for newborn characters. The mobs' levels were between 1 and 7, and none of them were aggressive. The chances of running into something dangerous and evil were negligible. The capital was near; it was a popular place with the players who could afford to pay for getting to choose where they would incarnate for the first time.
However, just like the Murky Woods, the Three-River Valley wasn't really popular. And there were reasons for it. You'd have to waste half a day to walk here from the capitals—low-level characters couldn't use riding pets, after all. So, what would happen next? It would take one a few hours to reach the eighth or the tenth level hunting the local fauna if one really put some effort into it. If one took the trouble of reading the game forum and visited a few places where there was a chance of getting a side quest, one could reach that limit even faster.
But why was it the limit? The reason was that it made the most sense to use monsters of approximately one's own level for leveling up. Killing those of a higher level would be useful in terms of experience and the chance of receiving valuable loot. However, if you settled for small fry, you'd have to expect the rewards to be a lot less substantial. Once the level gap got sufficiently great, they would dwindle almost to nothing, and the progress would stop.
That meant that once you got three levels higher than the foxes, which hardly ever grew higher than level 8, you'd have to find a new location with the kind of game you could hunt more profitably. Therefore, one would have to hunt monsters leveling around 8 or 10 (or, perhaps, a little higher, but nowhere above 15, since they were, for the most part, too dangerous for low-level individual players, and it made no sense to form at the very dawn of one's gaming career. One needed to grow stronger to form a team.
Ros encountered no mobs leveling below 80 in the Murky Woods. The ones you would expect to meet leveled between 50 and 80. Exceptions were few and far between, and never deviated from the standard levels much. Thus, level 10 players would have nothing to occupy themselves with in this area.
There was a better place at a distance, but they'd have to waste a day crossing a valley rife with useless low-level mobs (it would take almost twenty-four hours on foot). It would have been much easier to return to the capital or make a detour. There were lots of useful locations behind it, and you wouldn't have to waste time on a taxing journey once you got to your stat maximum.
That was why there were few players wishing to marvel at the wonders of the three-river valley. That suited Ros just fine. He was a loner by nature, and the fact that the Iron Hills would be the next location was already sufficient. That was the very location for those wishing to level up over 50. According to the statistics, the majority of characters belonged to that category, yet there were few places where they could level up comfortably, so there would be an overabundance of players there. Those who liked to amuse themselves by killing noobs were perfectly aware of that. And they had no interest in roaming empty areas in hope to find someone sooner or later since they preferred a guaranteed outcome. This was why such places were haunted by hordes of archers, mages, and specialists in invisibility of all sorts—the kind that preferred to hit you from a distance, or from behind, winning a battle where the fighters weren't matched evenly in a single sudden attack.
How much does it take to kill a noob? A single cheap arrow or a spell. It would be hard to run away from a high-level player in the first place; when they ambushed you when you expected no foul play, you hardly had a chance.
On the other hand, if you killed a player whose name was displayed in white, you got karma points. The lettering of the name displayed over your head reddened as a result. The redder the color, the more penalties imposed while alive—and, most importantly, after death. Any conflict can result in the loss of valuable property and a good chunk of your XP. Those who really liked to hunt noobs with impunity were hunted in turn. Some were wishing to get hold of the loot you dropped. Others remembered old slights done by the likes of you and always felt like revenge. Others still strove to be remembered as protectors of noobs, or just wanted to hunt the hunters for the hell or it. There were even minor clans whose entire ideology was based on protecting newbies from attacks from other players trying to have fun at their expense. There were even a few major guild who practiced it as a side business. They could recruit promising players as they looked after promising recruits, who, in turn, were happy to join the heroes capable of giving even the most dangerous "rednames" a taste of their own medicine.
In other words, too many interests of all sorts met in such locations as the Iron Hills. They were always a barrel of fun—you never knew what could happen the very next moment. Thus, Ros was enjoying his last peaceful moments. Henceforth, he'd keep running into players, and he could only hope those encounters would be of a pleasant or a neutral nature.
That was what he'd been thinking of as he sat in the reeds without doing anything much. He didn't get to the river bank by chance; he'd been following the first rule of any serious player. And that rule was, "Not a single minute should be wasted." So, what else could one do in an area with useless low-level mobs aplenty? Given the enormous level gap, he'd be unlikely to get any loot, no matter how cheap, in any case.
But one can always find a useful task. Thus, Ros chose a pastime he had never indulged in before.
"Attention! Do you intend to create a fishing rod? Yes/No."
Yes was the obvious answer.
"Ingredient required: piece of cork. Possible replacements: a piece of light wood, a singed feather, an Arkh herb stalk, or a Footgnawer's antenna.
Ros didn't have any such feathers, and it would be too boring to try to get one. Also, low-level pheasants were unlikely to drop anything useful. He had no idea of what this herb was or where one could find it. The Footgnawer was out of the question—the mob would likely be a very rare one. That was why he had to go back into the woods, picking up one piece of wood after another and studying them. Finally, he achieved the desired result.
"You create an item: A Novice Fisherman's Reed Rod."
Fishing was more than a way of upping your Cooking skill in the game. You could find something as you would gut it, if you were lucky. It would normally be junk, but sometimes one would find someone to set the entire forum aflame. There were lots of irreplaceable ingredients that could only be gathered like this—you'd have to spend some time sitting on a bridge or a river bank. Also, once you'd spend enough time fishing, you would open an auxiliary stat—namely, Fisherman. Once you would level it up, you would get a few handy bonuses; this was why even some of the most advanced players didn't feel it beneath them to sit down with a fishing rod every now and then.
However, they would usually choose the best places for the purpose. As for Ros, he'd have to choose the first one he came across. He wouldn't waste any time; on the other hand, he could take a break and let his eyes rest on the flowing water. Nothing but advantages, come to think of it. And he could watch the local fauna frolicking around, too. You could see a pheasant take off, or a rabbit go about its business in the grass—or a fox sneak through furtively across the far side of the hill.
But now…
What the hell was this, anyway?
It took Ros a while to realize that something weird was happening around him. There should have been no overabundance of mobs in such locations. That was just how it was when he had just arrived. But these things kept changing all the time. Formerly, rabbits appeared in ones or in pairs, but now he started to notice groups of three or four; they started to get more numerous shortly.
A lot more numerous.
And it wasn't just a question of rabbits coming together. The same concerned wild turkeys and pheasants. The birds came over from every direction, either flying or walki
ng, and their numbers came increasing, too.
All those little creatures seemed to be doing the same as always—namely, wandering back and forth. But no matter how they moved around and what patterns they made, they were invariably attracted to Ros. It barely took him ten minutes since he'd dug up enough worms and sat down at the bank with a fishing rod since he found himself surrounded by nearly a hundred of the most harmless denizens of the three-river valley.
They were hardly a menace. Those birds and beasts weren't aggressive, and they'd never attack first; the only way you could make them hurt you was in defense. However, their behavior was suspicious. Ros had never seen anything of the sort previously.
At some point, the mobs running here and there gathered at a tiny spot where there was barely enough space for them. Their chaotic crowd started to get more orderly; Ros saw the rabbits' bodies form two parallel lines with pheasants in between, and the wild turkeys forming a triangle at the end. They formed a rather oddly-looking arrow pointing towards the very hill where Ros had seen his first fox.
The arrow fell apart in less than a dozen seconds. The mobs had been standing as if paralyzed for a while, and then got back to what they'd been doing. They seemed to be no longer interested in Ros, and started to scatter everywhere. In a few minutes, most of them were out of sight, and most of the others, nearly so. He was certain that there would soon be no reminders whatsoever that something extraordinary had taken place.
On the other hand, was it really extraordinary? You could find a rational—or an irrational—explanation for anything. Or at least search for it.