“Free us!” the dark flame echoed.
The Vicegerent has expelled you from the Leprosarium. Your access to the Leprosarium has been revoked.
Scenario updated: ‘Burden of the Creator.’ Object of scenario: Meet the Creator. Current objective: Destroy the Alabaster Throne.
As I stared at the notification with surprise, another one appeared before my eyes:
Heroes of Malabar! Shaman Mahan is the enemy of all life in Barliona. From now, you are allowed to attack him within the limits of the tournament grounds and send him to respawn. Whatever you do, do not allow him to reach the Tomb!
Heroes of Kartoss! Shaman Mahan is…
Heroes of the Free Lands! Shaman Mahan is…
I smiled maniacally opening design mode. The Creator’s Sons, for this is who the humanoid flames were, were locked in the Leprosarium. I should probably find out what that is. And neither the Emperor nor the Dark Lord want them to be released. Why? That is the question.
My access to the Spirits turned out to be entirely blocked — my reputation with the Shamanic Council had plummeted to Hatred as well, which meant it was now trying to help the empires. The hell with them then. I’ll use the Shadows, since they’re no different from the Spirits anyway. The same summons mechanics and the same strengthening mechanics in design mode. The only difference was some fog around my hands from which the Shadows would emanate. Hah! If someone had told me back in the Dark Forest that I’d be fighting with Geranika and the entire game would be against me, I’d laugh them in the face. How’s that possible?! I! A Shaman Harbinger! With Geranika?! Silly nonsense…
It took me half an hour to assign eight Medium Battle Shadows and two Heavy Healing Shadows to the quick cast slots. The system was willing to grant me the Heavy Healing Shadow, but refused to budge on the Heavy Battle Shadow. Thus it took me twenty minutes to realize that either my Crafting was too low or the Corporation had placed some limit on this functionality. And I found the first option more likely — the Heavy Battle Shadow slipped away from me at the last moment, when I had almost caught it. I’d need to increase my Crafting by another 3–4 points and then see what the deal was.
“You’re already here?” Plinto appeared beside me, sliding his shimmering green daggers from their scabbards and examining their properties. “Mmmyeah…These babies really took a hit…Hapless crabs, huh? I like that. I know at least ten idiots who’ll definitely get salty over such words, so you can be sure we’ll have a few bouts ahead of us. Did you talk to Stacey?”
“Yes, here’s what she came up with,” I showed Plinto the fireworks and explained how we’d use them, causing the Rogue to holler: “I’ve never even heard of something like that! If we survive to the semifinal, we’ll cause a real kerfuffle.”
Plinto thought a bit, glanced up at the sky, at me and then asked wryly:
“You’re don’t mind my boys creating a diversion in your name? I’ve wanted to raze several castles for a while, the opportunity never presented itself though. It’s not like things can get any worse now…”
“I’m all for it,” I returned the wry smile. “Who are we gonna raze?”
“There’re a couple candidates from among the top clans, who…”
“Welcome to battle!” roared a voice, interrupting Plinto. A haze filled everything around us. When it dissolved, we found ourselves standing on the sand of an enormous oval arena. The amphitheater was brimming with spectators and booming with screams, clapping, whistles and booing. Some of the spectators were on our side, some against and some had shown up randomly to see a fight. But there were very many of them. “May the strongest among you triumph!”
“Mage and Warrior,” Plinto immediately reported, checking the frames. “Shall we make bets? We’ve got ten seconds…”
Like a top-notch bookmaker, the system had assessed our chances against our first challengers, giving us 5/1 odds of winning. Our opponents meanwhile were at 2/1. Even the Barliona bookmakers didn’t believe that we could win. A Shaman and a Rogue were dead meat. Everyone knew that. Even the Imitators.
Silly of them.
“Hell of a bet,” Plinto whistled when I placed ten million on us. According to the rules, participants could bet on their duel, but only on them winning it. Any attempt to bet on the opponent was viewed as an attempt to profit from the government and therefore punished with disqualification as well as criminal prosecution.
“Go big or go home,” I shrugged as a countdown appeared before us: 5…4…3…2…
1…
To battle!
Off we went!
The enemy adopted a primitive tactic — the Mage began to teleport around the arena, leaving hunks of ice in his wake. Meanwhile, the Warrior began to advance on us with an axe, using the ice hunks as cover. It didn’t take much to guess what they had in mind — as soon as we enter the ice’s AoE, the hunk would explode, freezing us for a minute and giving the Warrior the opening he needed to put his axe to use. Silly…silly…
“They’re mine,” I smirked, targeting the Mage. His teleport had a cooldown of 3–5 seconds, so I had plenty of time.
The Shaman has three hands…
It took one Battle Shadow to blow the Mage to smithereens. And he was blown to smithereens literally — he Teleported near us, within the Shadow’s range and the Shadow happily entered him. I managed to see a look of surprise and shock as the player blew apart in various directions like a balloon that had been punctured by a needle. It’s a good thing there wasn’t any blood. Ours is a game for teenagers, after all. It’s okay to see a creature explode, but blood is off limits. What’s the logic behind that? Damned if I know.
The Warrior stopped, glancing between the bits of his Mage buddy and us. Plinto demonstratively traced a dagger across his throat, letting our opponent know just what awaited him in the near future and a system notification appeared:
You have completed the Round of 524288 of the 2 vs. 2 arena
The Warrior had resigned.
“Why don’t you break it down for those of us who are slower on the uptake?” Plinto asked, once a shimmering field concealed us from the spectators, the remnants of the Mage and the surrendered Warrior.
“Crafting,” I explained, happily regarding the 50 million gold that had appeared in my personal account. “I figured out how to use it.”
“At last!” smiled the Rogue, clapping me on the shoulder. “It hasn’t even been two years! How much of it do you have?”
“Thirty-one points.”
“Whoa!” whistled Plinto. “No wonder it tore him apart. We’ll change tactics. Do you have some other tricks up your sleeve?”
We only had another twenty bouts ahead of us, so the organizers divided them into four per day, wishing to complete the arena within a business week. A countdown timer appeared, indicating how long we had to wait until our next opponents. Thirteen minutes. So the bouts would happen every 15 minutes. The obvious question was what would happen if there weren’t any victors in the allotted time? Would both win? No one? Whoever had done the most damage? I’d have to make sure to find out.
On Plinto’s advice I adjusted my quick slots, replacing two Battle Shadows with Shadow Shields that would absorb incoming damage. When Plinto saw the amount of damage they would block, he burst out laughing: The enemy would have to wipe out one-and-a-half times my current HP before I would take any damage at all. As with the other stats, Intellect had been scaled to our levels, but I had so much of it that this steep decrease didn’t really affect the final outcome. My Battle Shadows would detonate any players without the proper equipment like that Mage in the first bout.
It almost felt like cheating.
“Rogue and Paladin,” Plinto remarked as soon as the second battle began. “Tough combo. If the Pal starts healing, we’ll have a hard time of it. Check it — they don’t think we’ve got a chance again!”
Ten million were again withdrawn from my account, and directed to the Corporation bookmakers. Our chances stood at
4/1. Less than in the first battle, but still large enough to make a nice profit. I checked the enemies’ frames and frowned. The names were familiar: Silkodor and Chikan. I’d heard of them somewhere, but for the life of me couldn’t remember where. Well, good luck to them. As far as I’m concerned, they’re just more mincemeat.
Paladin Chikan headed our way from the other edge of the arena. Silkodor was nowhere to be seen — he’d gone into stealth mode. Plinto had gone into stealth as well and at the very beginning dashed off in the Paladin’s direction, ready to fall upon him at any moment. More than likely, Silkodor is standing behind my back. That would be the most logical thing to do.
“Odd couple, these two. They’re too calm ,” Plinto typed into the clan chat. “I’m sensing a trap. Cast a shield on yourself.”
Chikan didn’t make a move. Slowly but surely he walked in my direction. I was in agreement with Plinto — there was some peculiar confidence in how these two were behaving. I’d better protect myself.
A protective sphere appeared around me and as soon as Chikan entered the range of my attacks, I sent two Battle Shadows at him. Just in case!
“Reflection!” roared Plinto, popping up behind the Paladin and casting Stun on him. I managed to smile at our success just as I butted up against a wall behind me. The blow was so intense that a heap of debuffs descended on me: Stun, Daze, Petrify…A minute each. But before I could disconnect, my smile vanished — Silkodor appeared behind Plinto! Blast it all to hell!
During the minute that I was out of the fight, I watched Plinto’s frame gradually but steadily crawl to zero. Scrolls of healing, like all scrolls, were disallowed in the arena. Damn reflection! Here’s the power of a well-rehearsed duo! Chikan had acted as bait, causing the enemy to concentrate all the initial damage on him. At the same time that bastard had a Sphere of Reflection that sent any spell or attack back at the assailant. If it weren’t for my protective sphere, the double Shadow attack would’ve killed me. Just hang on another 20 seconds, Plinto. Too much depends on it.
Petrification was the first debuff to expire and I, still Stunned and Dazed, immediately cast a second strengthened sphere on myself. Now I could consider…
A sunburst erupted before my eyes saddling me with Blindness for 10 seconds. I started back and cursed — a gray haze concealed the arena from my sight, while a series of damage notifications streamed before it. Silkodor was dutifully stabbing me with his daggers, trying to send me to respawn. Plinto’s HP was barely over 10%, while Chikan and Silkodor were entirely unharmed. And now I got angry. As soon as the Blindness dissipated and the arena’s yellow sand reappeared in my sight, I turned into my Dragon Form. Time to end this fight!
“Argh!” I roared, stunning our enemies with Thunderclap. Silkodor froze with his dagger in the air, green drops still dripping form it. I looked at the frames and swore again — the poison that covered the Rogue’s daggers increased the debuff duration by 100%, lasting until the end of the battle. Without wasting time, I sent two Healing Shadows at Plinto. Bloody hell! I had basically been forced to use my entire arsenal to win the second bout.
Then again, win isn’t even the word…Silkodor and Chikan were still kicking!
“Don’t just stand there!” yelled Plinto, noticing my indecisiveness. “Take them out!”
Silkodor was blown to pieces right away, but Chikan required a little more work. I still had one Medium Battle Shadow that took 50% of the Paladin’s HP. How is that possible?! He should’ve burst too! Where did this duo come from?!
You have completed the Round of 262144 of the 2 vs. 2 arena
“That’s what a well-practiced duo means,” Plinto collapsed wearily onto the sand. “If it weren’t for the Patriarch’s Tooth, we’d never come out of there alive. Sucks that we encountered them so early on. Now everyone knows what we’re capable of.”
“You were a Vampire?”
“How else was I supposed to survive that?” the Rogue smiled grimly. “Damn! They were so polished. Imagine what would’ve happened if your Thunderclap had met their Reflection? See you later and don’t forget to write! We should talk to those two — they seem promising.”
You have completed Round of 65536 of the 2 vs. 2 arena
We won the next two bouts without any issues. A pair of Mages had nothing against my Shadows and went flying to bits all over the arena. As for the Warrior and Death Knight who were our last opponents of the day, I had to stun them with Thunderclap and then methodically cut them down. Nothing complicated.
As soon as we left the arena, a new notification appeared before us:
New private challenge received. Mahan/Plinto vs. Chikan/Silkodor. The bout will take place in 60 minutes in the private arena. Fighters’ level: 100.
“They’re salty,” laughed Plinto, reading the message. “They want revenge.”
“What are you so happy about?” I began to fret. “They just almost knocked us out and…”
“Mahan, I know what they’re capable of now!” Plinto patted me on the shoulder. “Let’s go celebrate our victory!” We need to leave a lasting impression on our opponents.”
By ‘lasting impression’ Plinto meant gloating and gloat he did. He welcomed any high-level player who popped into the tavern with whistling and clucking. His scathing messages about the cowardice of various specific players periodically appeared in the general chat, accompanied by observations about the limpness of their wrists and other bodily parts. Several times we were approached by players asking us to shut up, but Plinto told them all to get lost, offering to resolve any salt in the private arena.
There weren’t any takers, however, so the Rogue went on mocking everyone he came across.
Our grudge match against Chikan and Silkodor went off without a hitch. Two defensive spheres, a Minor Shadow at Chikan to check for Reflection and one more right after the first, then another one and only on my fifth shot did I send a Medium Battle Shadow at the Paladin. Judging by his surprised grunting, he hadn’t expected it. Finishing off the Paladin was a matter of technique — Plinto dispelled Reflection while I sent another two Shadows at the Paladin and Silkodor was left without a partner.
Fifteen minutes elapsed quickly and then the system automatically gave us the victory. We didn’t bother running around the arena looking for the hiding Rogue. What for? He’s one and we’re two — we’d win either way.
“Mahan, Master Bihan wishes to see you,” said a Celestial player with a deep bow as soon as we left the arena. “The head of our clan wishes to hold a meeting in Altameda, so as to avoid prying ears. To this end, Master Bihan wishes you to grant guest access to Bihan and Azari. What shall I tell my master?”
“Tell Bihan,” I consciously omitted ‘master,’ which the messenger was trying to impress on me, “that if he wishes to meet with me, especially in pairs, then I will be happy to grant him this honor. With Plinto. In the arena. Two on two. All other meetings, especially in Altameda, are out of the question. I don’t meet with mincemeat. Relay this message to the one you call ‘Master.’”
“My school of diplomacy,” smirked Plinto, watching the departing messenger.
“The hell with him!” I blurted out angrily. “What can he tell us? ‘Stop acting like clowns and angering my warriors?’ ‘Follow us to the Tomb like a good boy?’ ‘Here’s a bunch of money, now get on your hind legs and dance?’ Tell me, what’s with the main tournament?”
“Are you talking about the Labyrinth?” Plinto inquired. “If you mean seriously, then we don’t stand a chance. There’s no cohesion, the classes are all over the place, and we only have one tank and not enough healers. At the latest, we’ll be out tomorrow. We won’t pass the third day on time alone. Bihan’s setting the bar too high.”
“And if Stacey comes with us?”
“So it’s like that?” Plinto grinned, but then shook his head. “All right, in that case, we’ll make it to the day after tomorrow. But no further.”
We were silent for a short while, each one of us t
hinking of his own business, and suddenly Plinto turned to me and asked:
“Mahan, you don’t have some miracle up your sleeve do you? If the Celestial, Astrum, Phoenix and other top clans aren’t in the tournament, we’ll be able to reach the Labyrinth’s final boss. And, at the risk of being sentimental, I always wanted to see him in person instead of just watching someone’s recording.”
“A miracle?” I looked at Plinto sadly. “Where from? All the miracles…”
A stunning thought pierced my consciousness like a bolt of lightning and goosebumps popped up all over my body. I snatched up an amulet, heard a response on the other line and yelled:
“Stacey, I need to see you in Altameda this instant! We’ll meet in the main hall in ten minutes!”
“This instant and in ten minutes are different things,” Plinto remarked, but I wasn’t listening. Yelling at him to follow me, I ran off in the direction of the castle. I urgently needed the counsel of intelligent players. Stacey and Plinto.
“The map, Stacey!” I asked, forgetting that I already had the same map. Once Stacey had unfolded her map on the floor, I began to ask questions.
“How much time will the GAS need to get over here?” I indicated a point in the open seas to the north of our continent. “If we leave right now, how long will it take?”
“A week,” Anastaria guessed. “Five days at least.”
“Daaamn! Can we teleport it somehow? With a portal or some other way?”
“Impossible.”
“Okay…Next question. Assuming that the GAS is at this location,” I pointed at the northernmost tip of the continent. “How much time will it need to reach this point?”
“About twelve hours,” Anastaria said pensively. “What do you have in mind, Mahan?”
“Hold on. Here’s the most important question — the one that everything hinges on. Does Altameda’s change of location count as teleportation?”
A silence filled the hall.
“Viltrius!” I called my majordomo without waiting for a reply. “Tomorrow, as soon as I go to Pryke, send Altameda to these coordinates.”
Clans War Page 29