by Akella, G.
The boar didn't follow me to the shed—and why would he, what with the outside being a pig's paradise? Apparently done with his session of silent psychotherapy, he found the biggest and filthiest puddle in the vicinity, splashed and tumbled in it several times, then fixed me with a beatific and somewhat bemused gaze. "No thanks, buddy, I'm perfectly fine where I am," I said to him with a chuckle.
Inside the shed was a dented bucket attached to a rope, a bunch of mostly broken crates, and a rusty spud with a chipped handle. Taking a seat on the floor, I produced Jaelitte's soul fragment from my bag, and pressed it to the ring's gemstone. The two stones instantly fused into one, the glint inside the emerald dazzled like a tiny sparkler as a warm wave ran over my hand. The stone that was the soul fragment of my bride began to crack, then shrink as it became absorbed into the stone of the ring, and I registered a countdown timer with my peripheral vision. This was it! In exactly half an hour I would care nothing for all the lords and gods in this whole realm put together! Once the ring became bound to me, nobody would be able to take it away.
Finding myself with time to kill, I leaned against the shed's wooden wall, and scrolled back in the system log. I'd sort through the loot later, after sleeping off this exhaustion.
You've earned a unique achievement, Lord Yllial's Slayer. Yllial is a unique NPC that can only be killed once. You and your allies have been granted a permanent 7% increase to your physical and magic damage.
This was the message I'd dismissed during the fight... At this rate, I might soon be worthy of squiring for Chuck Norris, I thought with a smirk while reaching into my bag for the cognac flask. To be honest, I wasn't quite sure who Chuck Norris was, but my father would often evoke the man with a kind of supernatural veneration, ostensibly deeming him a god among men. Then again, I had just soloed two of the dominion's most powerful NPCs—an accomplishment so unreal that even now I could hardly believe it. In fact, if it weren't for my two shiny new titles, I might start doubting my own sanity. As my former colleague Bill Clawrence—an Englishman both as tall and thin as a rake—used to say, the secret to mastering the game lay not in having OP abilities or even knowing how to use them, but in using them at the exact right time. I could have used that vial with Shaartakh's Breath a dozen times before, but I hadn't. Truthfully, I hadn't known if and how it would work, and up until very recently I hadn't had an epic scalable weapon, without which all those jacked-up stats would have been largely wasted. But Yllial had driven me into the proverbial corner, and, speaking frankly, I'd simply wanted to put some hurt on him before dying. I honestly hadn't expected to come out of that encounter alive.
Taking a sip from the flask, I recalled the sensation of power I'd felt during the fight, which was too surreal to be conveyed through words. It was like... a continuous orgasm, but not quite... Much stronger and different besides. The rage had somehow brought incredible bliss and serenity, with each strike dealt to the enemy quenching my thirst like a sip of cold beer on a hot summer day, like the flirtatious smile of a beautiful woman... No, even those descriptions were far too bleak and reductive. It was only my human essence that had anchored me, restraining me from feeling the full extent of the power coursing through me. Would I have liked to get back there, beyond the brink of my actual powers and abilities? Without a doubt. Alas, I'd had only one such vial... Then again, maybe that was a good thing—I'd already been feeling too much like I imagined an addict might. Taking another sip of cognac, I put the flask away, then removed the vial with Shaartakh's Venom, and inserted it carefully into the twelfth and final slot on my felt. It was the last of its kind—I had traded the last two for a 12% boost to physical and magic damage...
By the way, the message of the Lord's death probably hadn't been displayed in global chat—though Yllial was a raid boss for all intents and purposes, he was also technically an NPC, not a mob. Moreover, such information shouldn't be publicized during socially significant events as it would expose your entire hand to your opponent. Suppose your clan captures a baron's castle, killing the baron in the process, while the baron's suzerain, unaware of the baron's death, is advancing his own forces to lend aid. You've got a great shot at leading the army into an ambush, but how are you supposed to do that if the baron's death gets publicized globally the moment he falls? None of that was applicable to my situation, of course, so I wasn't concerned either way, just as long I earned the title and achievement bonus for slaying the Lord of Rualt. Having said that, given the choice I'd certainly err on the side of discretion rather than notoriety.
I kept the hand with the ring outstretched in front of me—just in case anything were to go wrong. As the timer counted down the final seconds, the gemstone flashed a bright red color, followed by a deafening crashing noise, and I felt as if a lightning bolt struck my body.
You've completed the quest: Splendor of Primordial Chaos I.
You have gained a level! Current level: 243.
You have 13 talent points to allocate.
Class bonus: +1 to intellect; +1 to spirit.
You have 39 stat points to allocate.
Splendor of Primordial Chaos has been bound to you.
You have gained a level!
…
You have gained a level! Current level: 245.
You have 15 talent points to allocate.
Class bonus: +1 to intellect; +1 to spirit.
You have 45 stat points to allocate.
You've accessed the quest: Splendor of Primordial Chaos II.
Quest type: hidden, unique.
Kill Urgam Ga'ar the soul catcher, loot from his corpse a shell fragment of Jaelitte dar Rakata's soul, and activate it on the ring, Splendor of Primordial Chaos.
Reward: experience, unknown.
"Bloody hell!" I swore, blinking rapidly. First the sword, now the ring—all these blinding flashes were starting to get annoying, even if for my bride the flash wasn't so much a flash as a little spark. Speaking of a spark... Yes, it was noticeably larger now, roughly the size of a match head, while the gemstone itself had transformed from an emerald to a vibrant ruby. Was I ever going to get used to all this magic at every turn? A drop of water fell on the back of my neck, making me shiver. I looked up at the ceiling—or what used to be the ceiling a moment ago—and shook my head wearily. Sure enough, the roof was gone now, and the next moment the door came crashing down as well, replaced by the concerned snout of my four-legged friend. Like master, like mount—I blow the roof off, he takes out a door, I gave a nervous laugh. It's not his fault boars lack the opposable thumb to open doors properly.
"Come, buddy, it's all right," I waved to Gloom, reaching for the flask again. After a few big swigs, I put it away and took out my pipe.
Nobody is going to take you away from me now, I addressed my invisible bride as I rose from the floor. Over my dead body, so to speak.
You know, I can't say I'm unhappy about that, she replied with a chuckle.
What?! I froze in an awkward pose. Did she just chuckle?! What a breakthrough in our relationship!
No more questions of that sort, she said at once. Don't give me cause to suspect I've married a brainless jarhead.
Ah, that's more like it, I grunted. I was beginning to fear you weren't yourself. Being nice to your husband and all—I'm not sure I'm ready for that.
Is this your sense of humor?
More like sarcasm, I sighed and made for the door.
We made it to the capital on foot—me walking down the road, and Gloom trotting to and fro like a puppy, sniffing every bush and even munching on something. Naturally, given that fruit was always sweeter off the ground. Max and I likewise used to climb an apple tree in a public park as kids to pick nauseatingly bitter green apples. Despite the fridges in both our apartments always being stocked with apples, and having the means to buy more—but where would be the fun in that?!
My quadrupedal companion was looking more and more like a massive mobile blob of a very particular substance that, while unknown in this
world, was infamous in my former one. Naturally, it had stopped raining, so the layer of light brown filth that now caked the razorback from snout to hoof would only disappear after eight hours. Could I ride into the province's capital on this... No, I couldn't afford such a triumphant return to Laketa. Then again, was the walking alternative any better? I'd bathe the beast, but, as ill luck would have it, there wasn't a creek or even a pond anywhere in the vicinity. The other option was to release him, but it hadn't yet been twelve hours since he was summoned. A dead end, essentially. I looked around me with futility. It wasn't that I was ashamed or inconvenienced by the razorback—he was what he was, and I wouldn't have him any other way—but Gloom wasn't exactly a subtle beast, and prone to distracting others.
Jaelitte, do you know how a succubus might influence the mind of an Elder Demon with high mental magic resistance?
There wasn't anything else to do, so I'd decided to clarify a question that had been on my mind. I suspected what it was that enabled Janam to influence Ar-Iraz, but I wanted to know for sure.
You're talking about the prince of the province Yllial offered you?
Yes. Somehow Lord Astarot's wife influences him, suggesting—
Indirectly, Jaelitte didn't let me finish. As a rule, one's consciousness is protected against direct mental influence, but that protection is easily bypassed. An anchor is cast on the image of whoever attempts the influencing. A mental projection, a statue, a painting, a drawing...
A small statue of yellow stone, I continued her train of thought.
Tuinian sard, Jaelitte said musingly. I'll need to meet with this Janam at some point. She's a smart cookie.
You will, I sniffed. If the Lord doesn't rip off that overly smart head of hers first. What is this sard you've mentioned?
Do you honestly think that a man could raise his hand at an Elder Succubus with whom he'd lived for even a short period of time? Jaelitte inquired mockingly. If he tried, he'd be howling with despair and slashing his wrists in a few days' time. You don't know succubi, Krian. But you will, and soon. As for the stone, it's the most capacious mental accumulator, but it can only be charged once. The mineral is very rare. Do you want me to tell you about its properties, dear?
No thanks. I'd rather you call me 'dear' at least five more times.
Pfft! she scoffed. By the way, I hope you didn't forget that you now need to find a succubus you've slept with? If you do, I'll even call you 'love.' If you want me to, that is. Moreover, I'll demonstrate my fidelity to you to full measure.
Why do women have to be so mercantile? I smiled.
You try sitting in a pocket of reality for as long as I have, then talk.
Fine. But I need to finish my affairs in Jarus first. That should take several days, and we'll head to Nittal right after. That's where she lives.
I very much hope she still lives... Jaelitte's whisper was barely audible.
With Laketa being nearby, it took Gloom and I no more than ten minutes to reach it. We entered the city, bathed in astonished gazes from the guards, and made for Ar-Iraz's castle. I'd briefly considered parking Gloom at some stable, but then decided I didn't have time for that. Yllial had said that the invasion would begin three hours after the forces of the city guard departed from the province, which left me with about forty minutes, according to my calculations. Once inside the citadel courtyard, I hitched the razorback to a tethering post.
"You behave now," I patted the boar on the nape mechanically, then let loose a string of obscenities while wiping my filthy hand on some old rag, and set out toward the main structure of the citadel.
"Have you visited us before, prince?" the young demon with a vaguely familiar face standing watch in the hallway was exerting colossal efforts to keep the shock from showing on his face.
And no wonder—last time around I was nothing but a courier, albeit a noble one, but now... Dars in Alcmehn were a dime a dozen, but princes weren't exactly common—I'd purposely displayed the right title over my head to keep the questions to a minimum. The demon merely asked me about the purpose of my visit, then hustled to summon one of his colleagues. The latter escorted me to the main door, then bowed real low and retired from sight.
"The prince is in a meeting!" barked the secretary from his desk—the same knight of quill and inkwell from my last visit. But I didn't pay him any mind at all, crossing the waiting area and walking into the prince's chambers unperturbed.
The atmosphere here hadn't changed in the past few months, with the same furniture, weapons on the walls, and a desk in the center. The prince himself was sitting on a high wooden bench by the window, explaining something to a couple of tiflings standing before him, their shoulders bearing scowling lizard snouts framed by white branches—the insignia marking them as tribunes. The prince wore full mithril armor, his helm with a high crest and a bright red plume lying on the bench next to him. The sound of the slamming door made him turn my way with annoyance, but then his eyebrows rose in shock.
"Krian?! Prince?!" he exhaled.
"And season's greetings to you, brother!" I grunted, walking quickly to the desk. Unsheathing my sword as I went, I swung and knocked the figurine of the dancing woman off the desktop. The statuette shattered on impact.
Savage, Jaelitte proclaimed absently.
"Why did you—"
"A spell," I interrupted the prince as he rose to his feet. Sliding the blade back into my scabbard, I poured myself half a glass of cognac from the potbellied bottle on the desk. Without asking for permission. "Courtesy of your cousin Janam. It was she who had persuaded you to deploy Laketa's city garrison to fight Vallan, was it not?"
"Yes, but..." Ar-Iraz noded at the pair of tiflings standing perfectly still. "These two are here to... Wait, how do you know all this?" he asked warily.
"Rualt was preparing to invade the province," I shrugged nonchalantly, then saluted the prince with my glass, and downed the fragrant fluid in one go. Putting the empty vessel back on the desk, I continued. "Six of their legions are currently on your border. Their orders are to cross it as soon as the city garrison departs."
"Stop!" the prince snapped, throwing up his hands. He then took a few steps toward me, and added, in a calm tone this time. "You do realize what you're saying is impossible? We have a peace treaty with Rualt! They cannot attack Jarus! Where did you even get this information?"
"Not from your scouts, that's for damn sure," I shook my head. "I was just in Rualt—that's where I found out."
It wasn't that I enjoyed tormenting him, but the scene was playing out in quite an amusing fashion.
"The Ryeed Peace Treaty you're referring to was signed by Kargat disguised as the Lord of Rualt," I continued my revelatory speech. "Which means the treaty isn't worth a dented penny. As for your precious cousin, she simply decided she'd make a good princess of this lovely province," I nodded at the broken statuette pieces at my feet. "Which is why—"
"Prince, brother... You're saying inconceivable things. Do you realize this means war?! If what you say is true, I need to contact the Overlord at once! What should I tell him?"
"There won't be a war. Like I said, they were merely preparing to attack." Slipping a pipe between my teeth, I cracked a smile at the prince. "They've had a change of heart and decided to honor the treaty, after all. You know how it is..."
"Krian," the prince took several deep breaths, then continued, accentuating every word. "Will you please just explain everything properly?"
Sure, I knew I was behaving like an ass, but to hell with it—I had earned every ounce of entertainment I was getting from this farcical scene! And besides, Ar-Iraz had promised to get me drunk last we met. Or had he? Oh well, either way I needed to blow off some steam.
"What is there to explain?" I displayed the recently earned titles over my head, one by one, then shrugged and clarified. "I killed Lord Yllial and Prince Saethdien Roa. After that, the new Lord of Rualt, Kargat, swore a trueblood oath to me that henceforth Rualt would abide by the terms of the
Ryeed Peace Treaty that he had personally signed eighty three years ago."
The prince's jaw flinched, then slowly dropped. The tribunes—tense from the very start of my arrival—were looking at me as if I were the statue of Ingvar come alive. Suddenly you could hear a pin drop. And scene!
"You killed Lord Yllial?!" Ar-Iraz exhaled in shock. "How could you possibly have..." He took another deep breath, massaged his temples, and gave a rigorous shake of the head. "At any rate, this calls for a drink!" Still boring me with his eyes, the prince walked over to his desk, gripped the bottle hard, as though it were a life belt, and poured himself a full glass. And since he wasn't looking at the glass while pouring, the brownish liquid flowed over the edges and doused the papers lining the desk.
Yet another evil of alcohol, I thought to myself, enjoying every moment without an ounce of shame. What was shameful was wasting such quality product, but surely this wasn't his last bottle. Oh, if only I could screenshot the look on his face and plaster it on every game forum...
"Excuse me, prince," A tiflingess emerged suddenly from the far corner of the room—I hadn't even noticed her presence until now. Had she been stealthed all this time or was her disguise skill so high that any rogue would choke on envy? She looked to be in her mid to late twenties, clad in a gray tunic with a punisher's mark on the right sleeve, her features lovely and noble, her hair worn short. I wondered if Master Ritter had assigned young men and women like her to every dominion ruler given these times of turmoil as a safety measure.