The Way of the Outcast (Mirror World Book #3) LitRPG series

by Alexey Osadchuk

  I was about to climb lower when something totally unexpected happened.

  Two nimble figures materialized within the circle of shields and assaulted the Black Axes' shaman, shredding him on the spot.

  Before his bodyguards could even react, I received the system message reporting the shaman's death.

  That was it. One of the most important and highest-level NPCs in the entire Caltean raid had died within a few seconds.

  So much for our magic support.

  I could see a smirk on Sub Zero's face. How cool was that? He'd just stripped his enemy of their most powerful player.

  The Calteans' ranks fell into disarray. The late shaman's bodyguards attacked the two assassins which resulted in their losing three of their own men. Furius was one of the two stealthers, brandishing his short sword like it were a fan blade. Only now as I watched him did I realize how lucky I'd been.

  The other rogue was using his two swords to make mincemeat out of the bewildered bodyguards. Even from above I could see blood gushing everywhere.

  The two stealthers' gear wasn't that great. They must have known they were going to die like some wretched kamikaze.

  Finally the bodyguards came round and struck back.

  Congratulations! You've received Experience!

  Congratulations! You've received a new level!

  Congratulations! You've received a new level!

  Congratulations! You've received a new level!

  Congratulations! You've received a new level!

  At first, I didn't even realize what had just happened. Then I knew: this was Furius and his raidmate biting the dust.

  I was level 42 now. And once the battle began in earnest... I dreaded to even think.

  Another system message followed, informing everybody that Scraggie had been appointed the raid leader.

  Why not Laosh? He was second in seniority in our little army!

  Wait a sec. And what if...

  Of course! I should have known! A character with the highest Reputation became leader by default. Did that mean that Scraggie had somehow outdone both Droy and Laosh in that particular department?

  What followed next must have answered Sub Zero's expectations perfectly. Scraggie led the infuriated warriors into battle.

  How I understood them! A handful of Darkies had just inflicted an unforgivable effrontery upon them. These kinds of things could only be washed away with blood.

  It was a good job Scraggie had left ten archers behind as reserves. He should have started by employing archers first thing though. True, they wouldn't have dealt much damage but they'd have worn out the enemy's magic shields.

  The distance between the enemies shrank dramatically as the Owls hurried to deal the first blow. What an honor for a warrior!

  Fifty paces.

  Forty.

  Thirty.

  Dramatically Sub Zero threw his hand in the air, summoning a whole menagerie of beasts out of thin air. They had all sorts: panthers, rhinos, pangolins, buffaloes and tigers. The pets' levels matched those of their owners'.

  I whistled in amazement. The pets' gear was mainly Red. I dreaded to even think how much it must have cost their owners. Each mount was probably the equivalent of a luxury car.

  I slapped Boris' neck. "Sorry, kiddo. Can't afford it quite yet. We still have some growing to do to qualify for these kinds of toys."

  Before the Calteans could get properly scared, the monsters were already making quick work of them, dishing out crits left, right and center. Badly equipped, the Red Owls met the gigantic pangolins and rhinos with their bare chests. Screams of fear and agony came from everywhere. The clatter of steel and the roaring of wild beasts filled the air.

  I had to close my eyes for a moment, so lifelike it was. So graphic. Blood gushing everywhere from severed limbs. Bodies squirming in agony from mortal wounds. This didn't look like a game anymore.

  The pets had done their job, nipping the Calteans' attack in the bud only some dozen paces away from the tanks' position.

  Once again Sub Zero theatrically raised his hand. A flight of arrows showered us from behind the wagons. I also noticed a few icicles and fiery crossbow bolts among them.

  Earth reared up under the Calteans' feet. Some of them were burning alive; a few others exploded in a cascade of ice. A Black Axe warrior grabbed at his throat and began sinking to the ground, his face melting like a candle made of blood and gore.

  It might have ended very badly for the Calteans, had Scraggie lived. Luckily, he didn't. I watched a panther rip him apart. That was the end of his war. I had to give him his due though: he'd fought at the forefront and died a hero.

  The moment the system informed me of the new raid leader's name, I knew not all was lost. Surprisingly, it turned out to be Laosh. I actually thought the system would go for Droy but apparently, the old shaman still enjoyed enough of his old popularity. If only I knew their Reputation counts! That would have made dealing with these stubborn bastards so much easier.

  The moment I received the message, a blue aura enveloped the Calteans' bodies.

  A magic shield! Laosh was in!

  The Red Owls' battle cry echoed over the field. Their warriors perked up.

  Soon the first XP and level messages started coming. The Darkies' pets were dying one after another. I, too, had loosed off a few shots but only scored one hit, with negligible damage. Oh, no. Pointless wasting ammo. My bullets couldn't make a dent in their hides.

  Annoyed, Sub Zero screwed up his face. So you didn't expect this, mister? We still had plenty of shot in the locker!

  I couldn't see Laosh anywhere. He must have been still in his tent, casting his magic. Good. That was exactly what he should be doing. Now I understood why Sub Zero tried to take out the shamans first. They were a power to be reckoned with.

  Finally the Owls reached the enemy ranks. A battle ensued, best described as "let's see who can remove the magic shield first".

  I watched them in silent desperation. To say it looked stupid was an understatement. A thirty-strong Caltean crowd surrounded five tanks and tried to deal them some damage while getting in each other's way, apparently oblivious to the enemy wizards and buffers casting their supportive magic from atop the wagon roofs.

  Laosh wasn't going to last forever, you know. The Caltean shield would collapse any minute now!

  Finally the enemy stealthers joined in. They reminded me of sharks awaiting their hour. I'd love to know where their resurrection point was. Couldn't be too far, judging how quickly they had recovered. They must have used some portable resurrection point — an altar or something. Forum posts sometimes mentioned these sorts of things. If that was the case, I could only imagine how much something like that might cost.

  Strangely enough, Laosh had outmagicked the Darks' buffer. His shield was still holding.

  Now the Owls began dealing damage in earnest, showering the enemy tanks with the blows of their spears, poleaxes and swords. The damage numbers were actually quite decent. It felt good to know I too was playing my part.

  You had to give the Darks their due. Their ranks hadn't buckled.

  A giant Horrud was especially impressive. It was the first time I'd seen one in full armor. At least ten foot tall, he was holding a huge club in each hand. His helmet was completely closed. Mist billowed from its mouth slit. Nickname: Dimax. Level: 272.

  Laosh' shield wasn't going to last much longer. The moment it was down, these two clubs were going to do some very bad damage to the Calteans. I dreaded to even think about it. Rrhorgus might want to check this guy out, just to get some prospective.

  Funnily enough, the short-legged Calteans had chosen this giant as their prime target. They must have thought that smoking him would be a truly valorous deed. So stupid. They should be targeting the wizards instead.

  That was it. The bluish glow surrounding the Calteans had expired. Once again they were sustaining losses. Predictably, the Horrud jumped at his chance. Forgetting his place in the ranks, he b
egan advancing, brandishing his clubs, until he found himself in the thick of the attacking Calteans.

  He'd taken it too far, hadn't he? His Life bar had shrunk considerably. Even the healers' magic couldn't help him anymore. No wonder: his body was studded all over with arrows and spears.

  He paused momentarily, apparently reaching for a vial. As if! The tiny but militant Calteans jumped at his feet and assaulted him from behind until finally the Horrud lay sprawled on the ground, Gulliver-like.

  The Alven healer perked up but Sub Zero raised a prohibiting hand. I had to agree with him. Pointless wasting mana on someone who'd disobeyed orders. The more disciplined soldiers were the healers' priority, especially because as soon as their wizards recovered, the Darks would counterattack. And I had a feeling this attack just might become the last one for my Caltean friends.

  Wow! I got three levels for Dimax. He had been awesome.

  It looked like I was right after all. They definitely had a portable resurrection point hidden in one of those wagons. A field altar or something. The good news was, thingies like those didn't last forever, either. They took one hell of a lot of energy.

  Dimax barged out from behind the wagons like a raging rhino. He paused next to Sub Zero, shouting something, mist billowing from under his helmet. He seemed unhappy with their leader. Sub Zero didn’t bat an eyelid though. He nodded at the battlefield as if saying, go and do your bit, and then we'll talk.

  By the time Dimax made it to his raidmates, two more of them had gone to their respawn points. Even from where I was, I could make out the scarlet-red chests they'd left behind.

  Soon they were already scurrying back from behind the wagons. Judging by their and Dimax' not-so-special armor, the tanks were using their standby gear kits.

  Once again there were five tanks — but the Calteans' ranks had thinned out considerably. There were barely twenty of them left standing. I saw Droy, covered in blood but keeping a safe distance, barking orders. Had it not been for him, this battle would have already been over.

  Sub Zero seemed to realize it too, casting impatient glances at Droy. I just hoped he wouldn't use some heavy-duty spell on him — one of those with long cooldown times.

  How could I break through the Calteans' prejudices? How could I explain to them that as long as the buffers and the healers were alive, the tanks would just keep coming back?

  Sub Zero was smart. He didn't engage his archers, knowing he just might pull the aggro to the rest of the raid. So at the moment, his tanks were taking the brunt of the attack. Plus Furius and his stealthers — but they were clever, reappearing here and there and pulling absent-minded lone warriors.

  The Calteans were on their last legs. I didn't even count the handful of archers in the back. Their shots made virtually no difference.

  Admittedly, the enemy tanks didn't enjoy it either. Their initial derring-do had been long forgotten. They were slow on the uptake, their reaction times considerably worse. Even their faces betrayed exhaustion. Only Sub Zero seemed to be cast from a slab of granite, apparently up to something really nasty.

  The Red Owls still had a few trump cards up their sleeves. Like the stuff Orman had smeared his spear with. According to him, that was the venom of the very creatures I'd healed with my Cleanse scrolls. The Dark tanks seemed to have already gotten the taste of it — and they hadn't liked it.

  I had to do something while the Dark wizards had their hands full with other things. But what?

  Actually, where was Laosh now? I could see some kind of scuffle by his tent. My heart clenched.

  Had the Darks finally gotten to him?

  I told Boris to land. In a few heartbeats, I was already standing next to the shaman's tent. The guards obediently let me in: the Red Owls trusted me.

  Jesus. The place was a right mess. Laosh lay on the floor with his eyes closed. His face was sunken, his bony arms lying listlessly along his body. His gray skin had turned noticeably pale. Poor old man. He'd overstrained himself.

  His servants rushed around the tent like headless chickens, fear and desperation in their faces. They didn't seem to notice me at all.

  I walked over to Laosh and crouched next to him.

  His ancient lips quivered. "You were right... Lightie..."

  His body was still conscious!

  "I was blinded by false pride... I should have listened to you..." he choked on his words. The servants hurried toward him but he raised his hand, stopping them halfway.

  Laosh struggled to open his eyes. "Do you know how to stop them?"

  "I do," I said firmly. "But-"

  I was about to explain to him the intricacies of the Darks' tactics when my gaze chanced on the shaman's table. Lost in the paraphernalia of yellowed scrolls, bits of leather, small animal bones and tangled ribbons and string, lay two items that looked very familiar.

  My heart missed a bit. I knew how to do it.

  * * *

  I'd been a young boy then. Every time our crowd finished watching yet another samurai flick, we'd get together to make wooden swords all of our own.

  The stealthiest among us were sent off to procure some wooden planks. Normally, they either came from our neighbors' fences or lone park benches.

  The ideas of private or communal property were alien to us then. We needed the swords ASAP to join in the great battles.

  Naturally, the sword-making process involved production expenses, like Uncle Greg's boxing our ears for the rolls of insulating tape we'd taken without his permission, plus all sorts of cuts and splinters we suffered in the process.

  Splinters! They were a must: a rite of passage. I always wondered why I, now a tall grown-up guy, couldn't abide the pain from the tiniest of those microscopic splits.

  Extracting them had been just as painful and difficult. It hurt your feelings too: while other guys were already winding the insulation tape around their swords' hilts for a better grip, I was still picking my finger trying to pull out the annoying sliver.

  Now too, as I circled the Dark players' fortifications astride Boris, I felt like I was a tiny microscopic splinter that didn't allow them to finish off what they had so successfully started.

  The battlefield situation hadn't changed too much in my absence. That was good news. I still had time, then.

  I met Droy's stare. I could see he agreed with my idea now.

  Instead of attacking headlong, now the Red Owls had hunkered down under the flimsy protection of the few remaining shields. Finally their archers could support them with their arrows. Still, that was way not enough.

  All the members of our small recon group were still alive, keeping close to Droy. I really wanted to hope I'd been instrumental in their survival too, thanks to my Order of Heroic Strength.

  "It's all right, guys," I whispered, directing Boris into the Darks' rear. "Help is coming."

  Boris headed for the cliffs at some distance from the Darks' positions. Once there, he dropped down and dove for their wagons almost touching the ground. They noticed us too late — and by then, we'd already soared back up.

  An Alven archeress hurried to string her bow... sorry, lady. Too late.

  Would you like to activate the trap: Yes/No

  Yes, please. Both.

  Two fiery yellow flashes blinded the pretty archeress. Two giant bundles the size of an elephant dropped directly at the center of their makeshift fortification.

  The blow was so powerful that both wagons bounced and dropped to the side, crushing players and draught beasts alike.

  A familiar furious roar echoed through the air as the two Rock Erezes broke free from their confinement. I congratulated myself. Those two shimmering marbles on Laosh's cluttered table had caught my eye just in time.

  Boris banked a steep turn over the cliff and began descending. I craned my neck, hoping to see what was happening below.

  A new system message popped up,

  Warning! Furius, a level-295 Black Ranger, has just attacked you!

  Chapter Twenty-Fi
ve

  "Rational use of resources, you say," a ginger-headed Dwarf took a sip from his enormous mug. "There was this woman in my old firm..."

  "Oh no, here he goes again," a black-bearded gnome screwed up his face as if he'd just eaten a lemon.

  "No, you really should listen," the gingernut insisted. "There's a lesson in it for you too."

  The gnome heaved a sigh. "All right, all right, just keep going."

  "So we had this woman in our department. Our wages weren't up to much, as you well understand. She was married. So one day she tells us they just won a lottery."

  "Lucky bastards."

  "Sure. We thought they might want to buy themselves a house. The place where they lived was a right hovel. But what do you think? The next day, she and her husband arrive at work in this latest Audi, a luxury model with all the options, bells and tooters. They just picked it up from the dealer's. She told us, they had thought long and hard and finally decided to invest all their winnings into that car."

  The gnome frowned. "And? What's the point of your story?"

  "The point of my story is, before splurging on the runes for your next skill level, you really should replace your old pick first! You still have another year working with Gray resources!"

  "All right, all right, so I made a mistake," the gnome admitted grudgingly. "No need to rub it in every five minutes. Can happen to anyone."

  "Not to me, it can't," the dwarf retorted. "This isn't the right place to make mistakes, man. This isn't some dumb computer toy. Everything that happens here is for real. You either get serious or quit the team. No one's gonna do your work for you here. You have to use your own Gray gear."

  In the silence that fell, the dwarf wheezed his indignation.

  "Oh, come on, man," the gnome finally said. "I learned my lesson! I understand now. You don't have to be mad at me."