“I see,” the captain said, scratching his protruding belly. “And where did the shadow monster on my ship come from?”
“It’s my fault. I used that shadow as a mount. It carried me here...and after that, I couldn’t overpower it. It seemed crazy...” I paused, trying to pick the right words. “It was ravaged by hunger; that’s why it started attacking. Sorry, Fayana.”
“No complaints from me,” the Pioneer said, looking at me with shining eyes. “HotCat saved us all by killing that creature.”
“I didn’t kill it, just sent it away,” I said, trying to avoid going into details.
“It doesn’t matter. I do regret losing six attribute points, though...” She sighed. “But I know how you can pay me back! Wow, the Shadow Plane! Did you know that it’s mostly uncharted? We, the Pioneers, have been searching a long time for a player who will explore it and classify the shadows. Any videos from there will be the bomb!”
“Hmm, I can try, I guess, but I can’t promise anything,” I said warily.
“Wait!” Thrainul said, waving. “So you brought that shadow here from the Stone Forest. Is that right?”
“Yes, it is. It’s been loitering in some deep half-flooded catacombs beneath the settlement.”
“Holy crap, it’s the Tormentor! An epic quest, the final one in a long chain given out by the local faction!” Thrainul blurted out in shock. “Many tried, but nobody ever managed to find that creature. So many NPCs died there! We thought it was a ghost. So you put it down? It should be one hell of a reward!”
“No, I just fended it off. It’s too early to talk about a reward.”
Thrainul let out a disgruntled croak, narrowing his eyes in suspicion. His entire expression told me: show me your log, buddy. I want to make sure that you really didn’t kill it but simply fought it off. I decided to change the subject.
“So what about our agreement, Captain? Will you take me to Scale?”
“I would’ve taken way more if I knew about the Pandas!” Thrainul replied. “But it’s a done deal. I will. We’ll get there in a day.”
“The Pandas won’t stop hunting me,” I warned him. “They will continue following us.”
“Screw them!” the zwerg exclaimed, thrusting out his jaw. “This isn’t the upper worlds. They’ll have to find us and chase us down, too. They can’t do anything to us at sea—we’d simply go down, and that’s it. We’ll have to be careful in ports, true, but I’ll put out the feelers to my friends so they warn us if anything happens.”
“Where are we going now?”
“Past the Mushroom Seat and to the Crown of Ice. Don’t miss it—you’ll never see anything like that in the upper worlds.”
* * *
The Mushroom Seat really turned out to be a curious place. As soon as we came closer to it, the water started changing color. Formerly dark green, like a bottle of vintage wine, it turned into thick purple slush. The upper layers were chock-full of flickering dust motes, and disgusting feelers resembling hairy caterpillars slithered across the surface. From time to time, we came across local flora sticking out of the water—giant mushrooms with eroded caps, their lamellas glowing pale blue. The distinct smell of triumphant mildew filled the air.
“Spores and spore-puffers,” Rocky told me, apathetically looking at the villose, whip-like tendrils probing the Abyssal’s iron broadside. “They’re mostly harmless, but I don’t recommend you try to swim.”
“By the way!” He perked up and looked at me, hope in his eyes. “I saw you fight. Mostly, you did everything correct—someone had clearly trained you.”
“Correct? That Panda made short work of me,” I snorted.
“I hate to say, but you have no idea how to move in battle,” the Gravekeeper continued, unfazed. “I could give you a few pointers, just for a couple of coins. The first lesson’s free.”
He gave me a gallant bow, the plumes on his hat sweeping the deck, drew his rapier, and switched to fencing stance. Well, why not? I had free time and gold to spare. I recalled Rocky swiftly dealing with two Asian players in the serpentfolk town. Maybe he really could teach me a few tricks? He was an NPC, but Gravekeepers were people who had died lots of times, meaning a lot of combat experience.
We clashed in battle. I often took part in duels with NPC trainers and players alike and considered myself a pretty good fighter. My One-Handed skill had already reached five hundred points, and Swords was well above three hundred. I doubted that the Gravekeeper could surprise me.
Yet I was wrong. In less than ten seconds, the blade of his heavy rapier chilled my neck. The second duel ended the same way, and so did the third. Neither had lasted more than half a minute. The Gravekeeper moved like a shadow, slipping away from me in a breezy dance and always appearing somewhere I didn’t expect him to. Feints, misdirection, and other tricks I had learned with Liberty didn’t work. Rocky wielded his heavy rapier in a simple, straightforward, and incredibly quick manner, overpowering me every single time,
“Esperanza, the fencing school of the First House of Heft!” he said when I finally ran out of breath. “It’s a secret art, yet to be surpassed. Some of you players know it. So, do you want to take a few lessons?”
I nodded, not saying anything, and Rocky came up to me, adjusted my shoulder and my elbow with his strong fingers, and showed me the stance I was supposed to take.
“I’ll show you the ropes. This is the basic stance fit both for attack and defense. Extend your sword. Imagine that you’re in the center of a circle contained within the reach of your sword. The main rule is never leave this circle during battle...”
He showed me things that we had never talked about in Liberty. His technique, which Rocky called Esperanza, was not really about fencing but rather correct movement, controlling distance, and picking the right time to attack. The Gravekeeper demonstrated two- and three-step moves, swinging the enemy like a pendulum and figuring out the best angles for making unstoppable attacks. It all seemed easy, even primitive, in its implementation, but I couldn’t repeat anything.
He fiddled about with me until Mildew appeared on the horizon, its ugly silhouette dispelling the hazy darkness around us.
It was a huge magenta-colored growth the size of an island, and it was alive. It seemed to be a conglomeration of giant mushrooms that fed off the oldest one among them. Dimly lit by the phosphorescent gills of the humongous cap, the entire cluster kept moving, stirring and budging both above and below. Dwellings and staircases were cut right into the petrified flesh of the giant mushrooms, and strange creatures bustled about next to them. The water became as thick as cream soup, and the Abyssal waded through the webs of hairy threads, revolting-looking creatures scurrying among them.
Right in front of us, a slow vibration reverberated through the colossal growth, as if Mildew started gasping for air. Then we heard a loud clap, a roaring sound, and whistling as loud as a train horn, and the largest mushroom, shaking and contracting, released a cloud of purple spores in the darkness above. Slowly swirling in the air, these flecks fell down.
“Tough luck, we got under a spore eruption,” Rocky said calmly. “Mother Mildew’s saying hello—I guess she missed us.”
Thrainul hurriedly raised the armor plates. Why, though? Submerging there was impossible.
“They’re not dangerous, but they’re unpleasant,” the Gravekeeper explained. “They take root on any organic matter. It’ll be ages before we scrub the ship clean. Be careful ashore. You could easily get a free myconid follower. You’d never be allowed anywhere respectable with something like that, though.”
Thrainul assured us that the coast was clear. Not a single ship was moored to the long berth—vessels rarely visited Mildew. I decided to go ashore with the Pioneers and some of the Abyssal’s crew—a sight like that shouldn’t be missed.
I regretted my decision almost right away, slipping and losing my footing while walking through the sticky mold covering the pier. Clouds of spores—scarlet, crimson, and purple—filled th
e air, carpeting the crooked streets with layers of dust, settling on our clothes, and getting stuck in our hair. The stacking Fungal Symbiosis debuffs lit up on our health bars, not dangerous but annoying. I removed them twice with Cleansing, but it was hopeless, as new spores appeared every minute. The residents of Mildew came in two types: the myconids, weird creatures that looked like moving mushrooms, and the NPCs, who probably used to be people. Living there had taken a toll on them—they looked awful. Fungal Symbiosis left its mark. I started to understand why the Hole was a closed world. It was a sight not for the faint of heart, an ugly trick of the procedural generator.
The myconids, as Thrainul explained, were a hive mind akin to ants or bees. They didn’t have minds of their own and were controlled by the Mother, a mysterious thinking mycelium. The entire mushroom island was this creature’s body, brain, and habitat. It was growing and reproducing, infecting everything around it with myriads of spores.
Any myconid was willing to become a pawn right away, with no quests or requirements. Hundreds of those creatures greeted us, the mushroom stalk billowing with growths.
“They are carrying out the Mother’s tasks,” the captain told us. “She wants to grow and infest all islands in the Hole with her spores, even get to other worlds. I advise you against getting involved. I used to know a guy who got tempted by a free pawn. They’re still calling him Mr. Mushroom.”
As I understood it, Thrainul traded with the locals. Barrels full of purple slices of “mushroom meat” were loaded into the Abyssal, filling out almost the entire cargo hold. That was the main source of Mildew’s export revenue, and it was in high demand in the Hole, poor in food supplies as it was. On the distant islands where nothing grew, people only ate mushrooms and whatever they could find in the underground sea.
The Pioneers didn’t rest until they studied the entire island and recorded videos of its inhabitants. It was funny, watching Fayana trying to make contact with a myconid and Bonus map out the settlement without breaking his stride. Thankfully, we spent only two hours ashore. Upon returning to the ship, I realized that in the future, I was bound to get nauseous from all the mushroom-based dishes.
As we set sail, Thrainul called me up and said quietly, “You were right: the Pandas are still at it. My friends contacted me, saying that they’re following us on Mancurt’s ship. I guess they got your coordinates on Mildew from an oracle.”
“What should I do?”
“Nothing. They won’t find us at sea. The Hole has lots of islands—how the hell would they know where I’m headed? And even if they do... Mancurt’s Barracuda is a fast ship, but it won’t stand a chance against the Abyssal in battle. Mancurt’s skinny ass knows this, and he won’t try. As for you, I’d suggest you log out for a few hours. I’ve heard that powerful oracles can track down targets even on the move.”
“Thanks,” I said. “I’ll log out, then. Just one question, Captain: why are you worried about my safety? You’ve got yourself a difficult passenger with Pandas on his tail, and you’re helping him out of the kindness of your heart? I don’t get it. Anyone in your place would’ve turned me in, getting rid of me and earning a bounty to boot.”
“Does the word ‘decency’ mean anything to you?!” the zwerg flared up. “I promised to get you to Scale, and I’ll do it!”
“Just that?”
“Not just that!” Thrainul grumbled. “I asked Olaf about you, and he told me to help you in any way. I owe him—he had my back when Hird pinned me down.”
“An interesting story. Will you tell me?”
“Nothing special. You know Hird, right? I used to run with them before deciding to split off on my own. Many guys went with me. We don’t like their laws, get it?” Thrainul was almost shouting. “The leaders had their own opinion, though. They called us renegades. Kill on sight, that kind of thing. We locked horns for a time, but you can’t chop wood with a penknife. In short, the upper worlds are closed to me. I’m their arch-enemy. As soon as I show my nose there, they’ll start hunting me like the Pandas and you. That’s another reason why I’m helping you—I remember what it’s like. Paying back my debt, got it?”
The captain’s explanation made sense. I obediently left the game for a few hours, and when I returned, everything around me was completely different.
The crew and the passengers were gathered by the board, clutching at the railing. An exquisite icy temple was looming in the distance, sparkling in the iridescent glow of northern lights. We had almost reached the Crown of Ice, the most beautiful and mysterious place of the Hole.
Interlude: The Watchers
A Courier video meeting, the Watchers’ council
Komtur: Everybody here? Let’s get started. In short, we have problems. Major problems.
Komtur: Yesterday, through a diplomat, I was contacted by Phantom, the leader of Euthanasia.
Olaf: He’s the unofficial head of Pandorum.
Damian: Wow! So what did he want?
Komtur: We met...
“I’LL BE BRIEF,” Phantom said. “A player from your clan owes us. He owes us a lot and has no intention of giving it back. He’ll be paying for a long time and not in money. I think you know who I’m talking about.”
Not a muscle moved on Komtur’s face. With a curt nod, he made it clear that he did know the man in question.
“For your own good, I suggest you do three things. First, kick him out of your clan and alliance. Second, put him on your KOS list. Third, refuse to shelter him, assist him, or support him. We’ll know it anyway. You’ll be surprised how many eyes and ears we have.”
“I’ve heard about that. It’s a murky case,” Komtur said, nodding again. “You don’t have any proof of Cat’s guilt. You started it, not him. Am I right?”
“You’re not. Proof doesn’t matter. We don’t need it, and we don’t care about the others who do. We just want him to be living on a volcano. Listen, Komtur, so far, you and your allies are of no interest to us. Don’t get involved, or—”
“Or what?” Komtur asked, coldly staring into Phantom’s eyes.
“Don’t play the hero. This is our ultimatum.”
“I understand. This isn’t just about my clan but also the alliance,” Komtur said. “We’ll confer and give you our answer.”
“Your voice is the loudest one in your carebear alliance; I’ve heard all about that.” Phantom chuckled. “So try to communicate my...recommendation to everyone. We won’t speak again.”
Balian the Raccoon: I’ll be damned! They’re nuts!
Damian: We always get in trouble because of Cat, don’t you think? He’s sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong!
Abel: He does a lot of good, too. But that’s not the point. He’s our clanmate.
Komtur: Exactly. And before making a decision, I’d like to hear out everyone’s opinion.
Olaf: It doesn’t matter who’s sticking their nose where. Cat’s completely in the right with the Pandas. They started it, and they don’t have any proof that he blew up their juggernaut. The problem is, they mean business. We’re no match for them. Are we prepared for a war—I repeat, a war—because of a single player’s ambitions? I think we should sacrifice Cat for the good of the clan.
Balian the Raccoon: They’re spitting in our face, and you suggest we turn the other cheek? What the hell, Olaf?
Abel: Anybody could be in Cat’s place, any player, any one of us who has a beef with the Pandas. Will we turn everybody in? What does it say about us, then?
Olaf: We and Pandorum are in different leagues. Yes, they’re weakened now—they lost two flagships, their castle is in shambles—but they’re still much stronger than us. Do you realize that we’re playing with fire? We could lose everything we have!
Komtur: Everything we have, you say? Don’t you remember how we got it in the first place? Who brought us land, riches, castles, reputation? People, Prophet. Players like you and me who logged in at night to farm, who spent days grinding... The greatest asset in Sphere isn’t mon
ey, territory, or ships. It’s our people. If we have a clan, we can protect or regain everything we want. If we lose them, sooner or later, we’ll lose everything else as well.
Balian the Raccoon: And if we lose one of us, we’ll lose our face. What clan would hand out its own member to the enemy? This is some fucking shitty politics, excuse me! Also, please don’t be offended, but I’ll say it to your face. Don’t you think that you’ve become too obsessed with farming? Dungeons, instances, Helt Akor... Clan storage is filling up, and our pro players are slowly losing their edge. When was the last time we went to an actual war? Half a year ago? Behind our back, people are saying that the Watchers have become carebears. I don’t know about you, but I take offense. That’s not what we were supposed to be.
Abel: I agree, Raccoon! How can you think about giving up and yielding? Let’s give the Pandas a kick in the nuts!
Shadow Seer (Rogue Merchant Book #3): LitRPG Series Page 15