The Gods of the Second World

by Arthur Stone

"Well, now you know that whenever you decide to cheat on your wife, your new girlfriend may not be quite what you may have expected."

  "By the name of everything that's holy! How am I supposed to live with this knowledge?"

  "No concern of mine. Figure something out. It's hard for everyone these days. So, what about my assignment? As you realize, I'm a regular."

  "Not quite. It's just the second time that you have an assignment for us. You need three to become a regular."

  "I'm also a hero, the likes of which have never been seen in Second World."

  "Why would you say that?"

  "Take a closer look."

  "Yikes! You're right! Sorry for having failed to recognize you at once. Would you like some tea with lemon? Or a strong drink, perhaps? I have this special dwarfish horseradish liquor for special occasions."

  "Keep it for my third assignment—then you'll welcome me as a bona fide regular. Right now, I'd like a discount and a party of strong warriors. The discount also needs to lack nothing in fortitude—you don't have heroes like me visit you every day."

  "Let's see what we can do… Are you headed for the Fiery Cleft again?

  "Not this time."

  "Where, then?"

  "A secret location far away from here. There'll be no one else but us there. I like to keep things private."

  "A dungeon, is it?"

  "Not quite."

  "You asked for a different party last time."

  "I have taken a few errors into account. Now I need this kind of party."

  "Aren't you concerned about the level gap between yourself and our fighters?"

  "I'll deal with that."

  "You are choosing mages as your primary DPS characters. Why don't you have an archer with you?"

  "The party will have an archer. But the mages will be a lot more useful—our opponents will be vulnerable to element magic with their low resistance."

  "On the other hand, an archer only needs a bow and arrows, whereas mages consume mana by the gallon."

  "I am prepared to supply them with mana restoration elixirs at my own expense. I can also share my own mana with them—I have a special spell to that effect."

  "But you won't be of much use. Your level is just too low."

  "Never mind the levels. I'll be useful, don't ever doubt that. How much do I owe you?"

  "The previous time…"

  "The previous time I paid 4 thousand for a day of work. You also said that you could give a discount for a week—25 instead of 28."

  "You have an excellent memory."

  "It's near-perfect inasmuch as money is concerned. This time I supply the party with elixirs and excellent food, and I'll take care of the transportation, too, so there won't be any problems with that. Apart from myself and a high-level archer, the party will be supported by a tank, albeit a low-level one, and a flighting buffer. The two of us have resurrection spells and lots of other useful skills. Overall, your warriors will be under reliable protection and well provided for. Apart from that, I'm offering a bulk contract for ten days. And this isn't the first time we work together, either; besides, I'm a great hero, favored by the Emperor himself. The same goes for my friends. Taking all of the above into account, I would think it fair if your services cost me exactly twenty thousand. It's a beautiful number. You can't help liking it."

  The dwarf took on an alert look immediately, winced, and said,

  "It may be beautiful, but it sure lacks volume. You're planning to take the fighters away to some unknown location. What if it's extremely dangerous, and their poor children face the risk of becoming orphans?"

  "How about you pick the childless ones? I am appalled by children’s tears, and would naturally hate to pay for something that would make children cry."

  "We don't have enough free fighters. How am I supposed to find so many childless ones?"

  "It is common knowledge that most mercenaries only marry after retiring—and they retire early. If someone had impregnated some poor girl and then went off to war, I certainly cannot condone that. And, once again, I would dread to give money to the likes of such people."

  "That's all fine and dandy, and I can find no objections, but you were looking for warriors of a much lower level the previous time. And now you want the best. They're the lifeblood of our establishment. It would be a pity to sell their services for such a pittance. You respect our glorious fighters, don't you? How about expressing your respect monetarily?"

  "How much does respect go for these days?"

  "Thirty-three thousand."

  "That kind of respect borders on groveling. Twenty-five thousand."

  "Thirty. But that would imply a bit of a slight."

  "Feel slighted all you like, but twenty-six is where it stops."

  "Twenty-nine."

  "Twenty-seven, or I get out of here and head East. They have much better warriors, and their mercenary guilds are reported to have a much friendlier attitude. They'd love the publicity, too. And they're your competitors, by the way. Everyone will keep saying that great warriors are only appreciated in the East, while all the West cares about is money."

  "It will cost you an arm and a leg to bring a bunch of Eastern mercenaries through all those teleports."

  "I have no problems there; I can transport them for free."

  "All right, how about you tip me personally with another five hundred as a token of your respect. Beer money, you know?"

  "I wonder how many barrels you could buy for that kind of money. I only hope you don't wet your pants after all that beer."

  "I wouldn't mind soaking my entire house for that kind of money. So, how about it? An extra half a grand? Aye or nay?"

  "27,500, and I hope your house gets flooded. So, is it a deal?"

  "It's a deal."

  * * *

  A flash of blinding light, a short yell, and the player who had been trying to approach the coveted doors turned into a wisp of smoke.

  Another failure.

  Actually, Eric Coleman didn't see any reason to hire a professional burglar. He was one of Second World's most prominent criminals, and his gaming credo was to break into the best-guarded treasuries. He could always find a way to sneak in without being seen by the guards. Not a single lock could resist him. He was a thief extraordinaire.

  But why would you try to pick a lock in a gate you couldn't even reach?

  They had already tried to do it from a distance. Archers trained to deal colossal damage and mages with beefed-up high-level spells have all tried to shoot the gate from every position, following every tactical scheme imaginable dozens of times. The total amount of energy spent would likely leave a thermonuclear explosion far behind. The area before the entrance suffered the greatest damage—the crystals were hard as diamonds, but even so they chipped and cracked.

  Yet there was nary a scratch on the gate itself, while every player to participate in one of those acts of vandalism would immediately be sent to their respawn point. It would be impossible to resurrect them—a blinding electric spark, a wisp of smoke rising toward the ceiling, and it was all over. All that remained of a player was a dark spot on the ground and whatever items they would lose.

  There were no other gates of this kind anywhere in Second World. They were a genuinely indestructible object—and those should not exist in the game.

  Today was the burglar's turn. He didn't even manage to do anything. He just approached without heeding the warning. The door didn't warn you twice. A flash, and you were gone.

  Eric had no idea how to proceed. Nor did anybody else. The latest method failed. What else could they invent? There was nothing like dynamite in the game. Should he call a council of alchemists so that they could brainstorm a suitable explosive production method? What did one need for it, anyway? To mix up some ingredients? Eric had a very vague idea of the subject.

  The quest was stuck hopelessly one step away from the final stage. They didn't have anyone who could make the door open by itself in their party.

/>   It was supposed to be the greatest hero of all times.

  Did such a person even exist? It is suspected that the mysterious Rostovtsev has a chance. He had a whole bunch of spectacular achievements to his name, after all. But that was far from certain.

  His achievements had all been studied in great detail, after all, and nothing of interest was ever found.

  But if even he would fail to advance here, who could accomplish this? Why did the quest that the Second World had originally been created for start to stall in such a lamentable way? Who was sticking spokes in their wheels? Was there any way of accomplishing the final mission, or had the game gone completely mad?

  The Old Man was tired of waiting. And it wasn't just him. What they expected was a result. The main result. Time was short, and no one had any patience left at all.

  Damn that door!

  Chapter 20

  The orc in heavy armor stopped suddenly, turning toward the group of ugly golems that he had drawn toward him from his half of the cave hall. The fifteen-foot-tall giants had a steel gleam. Their features were so rough they could have been chiseled with an axe, and their grimaces were as ugly as they. Their massive log-like arms were so long their knuckles could touch the ground, and the unwieldy giants used them for extra support when they moved.

  They were made of metal, clay, or rocks, and moved rather slowly. Yet they were relentless trackers. An irate golem could track its prey for days on end until it succeeded. And then they would start pounding at whoever had pissed them off with their massive fists that could get through the highest Defense. No matter how tough you were, you'd be unlikely to win such a battle.

  But that only concerned a fair one-on-one melee fight. Ranged attacks were a whole different kettle of fish. Golems could only answer with an ability that would slow down their opponent for a while. They used it immediately after receiving ranged damage. It didn't take off any HP, but the character became a crippled snail that could be easily reached and dealt with mercilessly.

  Archers would be totally useless in such a battle. Every golem had an incredibly high Defense, and you'd likely use up all your arrows without taking off half of its HP bar. Once it would reach you—and that would happen sooner or later—you could but prepare for instant death. Only the strongest warriors in heavy armor would still stand after such mighty pounding. Anybody else would most likely enter a state of shock and never come out of it again.

  In other words, it was the kind of quarry that no classes specializing in physical attacks would find easy. Dealing damage was hard, there were lots of problems, and it was extremely hard to make such hunts worth your while, even though you could get decent loot if you succeeded. After all, over the time it took to vanquish one of those giants, you could dispatch and loot five to seven mobs of a similar level without any unnecessary heroics. There may be less experience in this case, but the quantity would compensate for that.

  It was quite different with the mages. Golems were extremely vulnerable to spells. Any resistances they had were to specific schools. However, mages themselves were very vulnerable to slowing-down spells. They hit them the hardest, all but gluing them to a single place for a long time. Then the enormous walking rock, ugly as sin, could approach you slowly and end the fight in one or two strikes.

  Even if it took more, they'd be happy to hammer away at you until you fell down dead. And golems were tenacious bastards.

  The party gathered by Ros was ideal for hunting these bulky monstrosities. The tanks could hold the mobs collected from all across the location in a compact group. A warrior would stun all those enormous sheep brought to the slaughter by mass control spells, and mages concerted their efforts to deal area damage. A few flashes of different colors, and nothing was left of the golems but piles of rubble and puddles of molten metal.

  Tangh and Danger Babe helped Ros with the choice of this place. It was called the Rock Gardens—large open caverns where thousands of golems roamed amidst the stalactites and the stalagmites. They were absolutely harmless and had zero aggression—unless you attacked them first.

  A tank would hit as many as possible with attack-provoking skills, gathering a "train" from a large area and then bringing all the mobs to where the mages and players of other classes stood waiting. That would be followed by a well-coordinated massive attack. At best, a few elite monsters with plenty of HP would remain standing. Those would be held motionless by a warrior and a tank. Thyri helped with her daggers, too—assassins had some contact control skills, too.

  It would be over in a few minutes. Then another tank would bring a bunch of mobs to the killing ground, and the genocide of the giants would continue.

  Ros would strike first. The very nature of his Chaos Aura made it work even against enemies with high resistances. Vulnerable golems were an easy target, and they didn't benefit from the enormous level gap at all. He only had to cast it once to take ten percent of their HP. The spell did not distinguish between regular mobs, elite mobs, and bosses. It would take off the same percentage off everyone. Very fair, that.

  Next was the turn of three NPC mages. Spells that could hit an area or a group of enemies took up lots of mana. He had to share his magical energy with the mercenaries in between attacks. That wasn't particularly effective, since the process took time, and his personal reserves weren't exactly bottomless. His insanely high regeneration rate didn't help much—the party used up an enormous amount of mana. Therefore, the costly potions were consumed in crates. It was a pity the game dynamics did not permit to use those without a cooldown period. In that case, they would have lost no time at all.

  Danger Babe helped with the mana as well, but she was even less useful than Ros. When all the mages and all the support characters used up nearly all of their mana, they needed to take a rest. The regeneration of HP and MP became considerably faster in that case. The regeneration speed depended on whether or not the character was fed well enough, and Ros's high Cooking stat came in really handy there.

  In general, the party was balanced in a very effective manner.

  And then it was his turn again. Dramdiur, a green-skinned orc tank, was dragging a train of at least fifty giants that trailed behind him sluggishly. It wasn't the biggest group they'd met, but it wasn't the smallest one, either. A few more attempts of this sort, and they'd have to search for a different hall for there'd be no more mobs left here. They would reappear—there were always enough of those appearing out of walls and stalactites, but the party was unlikely to return here.

  There were more halls of an even greater size further on, after all. The lower you got down the Rock Gardens' labyrinth, the darker it got, the more mobs there were, the larger the packs, and the more of them you encountered. Their levels kept growing, too. They would soon get to a point where the party's capacity would be insufficient. The giants that inhabited those murky depths were scary enough even for the invincible Imperial Guards to tread carefully around them lest they draw their attention.

  Chaos Aura struck the entire crowd. Nine days of extreme leveling-up turned the party into a single mechanism, and there were hardly any misunderstandings at all. This time was no exception. As soon as the golems turned towards the impertinent noob, a warrior approached and struck the ground with his halberd. All the mobs were instantly showered with cones of light capable of paralyzing the target for a period between three and eight seconds. This was enough for the three mages to strike the mobs with area spells that didn't only deal damage, but also had some controlling effects. They may not have been particularly efficacious or reliable, but with three spellcasters the mobs hardly stood a chance.

  A warrior would then use another ability, while the mages fired at will, aiming to take off as many HP as they could as fast as they could.

  They succeeded. Golems started to fall down by the dozen, disintegrating into ugly piles of rock and metal mixed with clay. Some of the most persistent ones with the most HP still stood, but they weren't allowed to move one inch. The giants wer
e trying to reach the mages now, using their slowing-down skills, but what was the point if they couldn't take off a single hit point? None whatsoever.

  They were really close to victory, with only three elite golems left standing. The mages no longer wasted their mana on area spells and hit their targets individually, saving mana. Tangh rushed toward the battlefield without even waiting for the rest of the golems to fall, and started to search the remains for trophies. A tank whose level was insufficient for participating in battle alongside the others wasn't particularly useful, so his role was looting most of the time, as well as backup in case some mob would break through. Ros joined him. He was more proficient at extracting valuable loot from fallen enemies. There were the soul crystals, for instance, coveted so much by necromancers and all kinds of summoners. They were also used by enchanters and even high-level alchemists. They could only be harvested by specialized classes.

  "Hey, Ros! There's a rare cap here! Just what an archer would need!"

  "That's cool, Tangh! Keep looking, or we won't manage before the second group arrives, and they're on their way already!"

  "Your сache has been discovered by a high-level creature. Your сache has been discovered by a high-level creature. Your Cache Master level grows by 1. Current value: 11. Your сache has been discovered by a high-level creature."

  Ros stopped and raised his hand.

  "Stop! Dramdiur, don't collect any more golems! Tartasfex, get these over as soon as you can, and then just stay put!

  "What happened?" asked Danger Babe loudly.

  "We have guests."

  When they were just preparing to level up, Ros made a few dozen simple caches with cheap objects near the entrance to the Rock Garden crater and along the pathways leading into its depths. Many players did that. After all, if someone passed your cache without noticing it, you would get a few points to a rather useful auxiliary stat.

  However, Ros left the caches there for a different purpose. He was using them as an alarm system, recollecting how useful they had proved to be back in the day. The messages he was getting now told him that a high-level player had discovered his cache. A weaker one would have passed by without noticing anything.