“He’s a ranger after all. A born savage,” Pasha chided me. “If you only knew what kind of crap they eat when they’re behind enemy lines. Sometimes I was even afraid to extract them: They spend two weeks in the jungle, subsisting on god knows what, sleeping in lean-tos made of their own shit, and then when they hear my bird chopping the air, they come running out like...like an undiscovered tribe, only one that’s armed with AKs and Dragunovs instead of clubs and spears. So just make sure you eat your fill because this one leaves no grub behind.”
Hearing that we were talking about him, the object of our conversation hid behind a tree, popped out and stuck out his tongue.
“There, do you see!” the pilot pointed an accusing finger at him. “Like I said: Sa-vage!”
It was a little strange to see grown men who were almost forty fooling around like utter children. Strange, but pleasant all the same. To be honest, I’m sick and tired of people who act like the masters of the universe, slick businessmen and brutish alpha types. My opinion of people, of course, is pretty spoiled by all the corporate offices I’ve worked in, where everyone tries to outdo the next guy. Often the achievements are completely trivial or utterly fictitious. Chattering about some new luxury car, or a new addition to some collection of items the collector doesn’t even know how to use, arrogant discussions of how someone rose through the ranks normally...All that always caused me sincere bewilderment. What is the pleasure of building yourself up into someone who you really are not? Wasting your life in trying to live like someone else? This is probably why I’ve always felt more comfortable in the company of careless friends. They may be goofballs, but at least they’re true to themselves.
Pasha and his friends were like this. And even though their fun-loving carelessness, at times betrayed something else, something dark, gloomy and unkind lurking beneath the surface, they rushed to live life, eagerly enjoying any trifle that came across their way and utterly unafraid of seeming ridiculous to someone else.
When the meat was ready, everyone sat down by the fire and the conversation somehow wound its way to the topic of Barliona. Pasha and I relived our adventures in the Hidden Forest and began to discuss my negative reputation with both gaming empires.
“Damn. That’s a hell of a way to lose a character,” Morgana said, impressed. “You barely learned to walk and you’ve already borked your Rep. That takes talent! How hard is it to get to the Hidden Forest anyway? It would be interesting to see the botanical wonderland.”
“As I understand it, the scenario will have the biota and pirqs form an alliance with Kartoss. And then they should open the border. And in the meantime, it’s no easy feat at all. The Arras is surrounded by nasty aggros and crossing the border illegally means hatred status with the locals. Anyway, the embassy is due to arrive any day now, so there is no point in hurrying. Wait a week or two and go visit your new allies formally.”
“Do you have a map on the tablet?” Morgana asked. “I want to estimate how much a teleport will cost.”
I had my tablet with me and as it happened, I had just downloaded my map from the game in order to share it with Sloe, so there were no problems with this. Thanks to the Day of Wrath cartographers, the map on the tablet was much more detailed than my version. To my surprise, not only Morgana became interested in the map, but Wallace too.
“Will you look at these smart-asses,” the sapper snickered. He prodded a point on the map with his finger: “They’ve made a corridor here with a bend in it.”
“Well, yeah,” Sasha entered the conversation and, sniffing with concentration, turned the tablet. “Someone’s planning ambushes here and here—I’ll bet a case of beer on it. They’ll hit the column here and cut off a part of it. After that, depending on how things go, they can retreat or call up some reserves and finish the job. And if anyone tries to relieve the target, they’ll be stopped here and here.”
He returned the tablet to me and summarized:
“I’ll wager my tail that one of our boys is helping the corp with this scenario. What it lacks is fantasy, imagination. I guess he’s decided that since it’s for gamers, the bare minimum will do. But it is clear that the guy’s got some experience under his belt.”
“You should risk your tail less,” Morgana deadpanned amid the general laughter. “And could you explain for us special needs types, what are you looking at there so intently and who is going to be doing the hitting, the cutting and the relieving?”
“All right.” Sasha took the tablet from me again and turned on the three-dimensional holographic projection, shamelessly burning my battery.
“Look here...” The blighted areas of the forest filled with red, outlining a convoluted labyrinth that for some reason reminded me of a map of urban catacombs I had seen once. “The renegades have an advantage on the blighted ground, which allows them among other things to quickly transfer resources from sector to sector, making the best use of their small numbers. Here and here...” Sasha drew some blue circles and labeled the locations he was talking about, “...they hem the road in from both sides and make a sharp turn at a right angle. These are the spots to set up an ambush—the renegades will let the vanguard pass or whatever part of the column they’re not interested in, and then they can strike the target. And any help coming will be cut off. This way, they can easily destroy a fairly large formation piecemeal, unless there’s air support of course.”
“I’d mine the corridor too,” added Wallace. “You know—to ensure that life doesn’t always seem as sweet as honey. And here...” He pointed to an area that resembled a town square: the narrow road widened, forming a kind of circus arena and then narrowed again to a bottleneck. “...here I would mine the entrances. And more mines around the open area. And when the enemy enters—I’d hammer him from all sides with everything I had, periodically setting off the mines to keep him disorganized.”
“Well, and the cherry on top,” said Pasha “is that the passage from the border also passes through the blighted areas. Heck, even without landmines and other modern amenities, those renegades have really prepared very well and stand a good chance of winning.”
Everyone stared at the map pensively, contemplating the conclusion the ‘true blockheads’ had just come to.
“Okay, ladies and gentlemen,” Pasha suddenly said, tearing the company away from its meditations.
In his hand, Pasha held a cut glass tumbler—an incredible anachronism that remained quite popular in our time. It was not entirely clear to me why he would bring such a fragile item on a camping trip. My puzzlement was immediately cleared up, however: Two golden stars fell to the bottom of the tumbler with a quiet ring, and then the helicopter pilot filled the glass to the rim with vodka.
“Here.” He handed the tumbler to Sasha.
Sasha took the tumbler, stood up, cleared his throat, and rattled off:
“I hereby present myself with my newly-assigned rank of Lieutenant.” And to the approving roar of his friends, he dumped the vodka down his throat.
Having emptied the tumbler, he kissed the stars and placed them into a case that Pasha held for him.
“Well, finally,” Wallace clapped Sasha on the shoulder. “It’s for sure?”
“Uh-huh.”
“That was quick,” hummed the sapper. “I figured it would take another half a year. So what now? A cushy desk post in the Pentagon?”
“Nothing doing,” Sasha grinned like a tomcat that had just cornered a carton of half and half. “It’s back to the Congo next Saturday, this time at the head of a platoon.”
“To the Congo?” To my surprise, the warriors grew gloomy.
“That’s where Mtoro is up to his usual again...” Wallace spread his arms. “What are you, incapable of sitting in place, calmly on your ass? Is that stick that’s up your butt bothering you again?”
“Something like that...” Sasha filled the glasses.
“Let’s drink to your return,” said Pasha, taking his glass.
“Ah come on. Without
the purple stuff, please,” Sasha replied dismissively. “It’s just another day on the job.”
“Sure. Just another day. Just a bunch of scumbags who’ve managed to raise and recruit three combat ready battalions,” Pasha concluded for him. “With all the materiel and all. Transport, armor, artillery.”
“I have an idea,” Wallace winked. “Let’s break his legs. Then they won’t send him anywhere.”
“Let’s break his neck,” said Morgana ominously.
“If there’s anything I value about people—it’s their willingness to help a fellow human out of a difficult situation,” said the ‘explosives master’ with emotion. “By the way, Snegov, shouldn’t Diver get a promotion now that you’ve taken his place?”
“No.” Sasha frowned unexpectedly and from his suddenly sullen demeanor, as well as the sullen looks that appeared on the other soldiers’ faces, I understood that the vacancy and subsequent promotion had come at a terrible price.
“And so,” Sasha changed the topic. “The base is still equipped with capsules, so you won’t get rid of me that easily!”
“You’re going to keep playing?” Wallace asked, surprised. “How come? You used to hate all that crap.”
“Well, at least I’ll be able to see you guys,” smiled Sasha and cast a quick glance in my direction.
“That’s it!” Morgana approved. “At least you won’t vanish for weeks at a time because you’re too lazy to charge your visor. By the way, I have an idea! We should implant a generator in you. The rotational speed of that crowbar that’s stuck up your ass will allow you to recharge not only your comm, but the VR capsule too.”
This uncomplicated joke finally broke up the lingering gloom. And we went on laughing, joking and belting out songs to my guitar’s accompaniment into the early morning.
Chapter Fifteen
I returned to Barliona reluctantly. I wanted to hang out and have fun instead of fermenting in that VR capsule, and yet less than two days remained before the First Bulbs Festival and the arrival of the embassy. After that, I couldn’t imagine what would happen with the renegades’ camp, and therefore I wanted to finish my business and prepare for the scenario finale. Sasha was shipping out that night and I had to complete my in-game business before the sending away party began.
Alas, my plans were dashed in the very first seconds upon entering the game. Geranika appeared in front of me right there in spawn. The Lord of Shadow’s pursed lips and scornful glance suggested that he was not happy to see me.
“You failed to cope with a simple task,” he said after a brief silence. “The Guardian is free. I do not need such worthless students.”
Quest failed: Way of the Apprentice.
Current Reputation status with Geranika the Lord of Shadow: Hostility.
“The task turned out more complicated than expected,” I tried to justify myself without much enthusiasm. “Eben freed the Guardian with the help of free citizens from beyond the Arras and then he killed me. Am I expected to handle a member of the Council?”
Geranika fixed me so intently that I involuntarily shivered and a chill ran down my spine. In the next instant, a flash of light formed around me.
“You speak the truth,” Geranika said with some surprise. “And I see the mark of the Seventh on you. Do you know that he can track your movement thereby?”
“That bastard!” My exclamation was sincere. That damn spymaster. He could have warned that his mark would track me. Although, maybe he doesn’t trust me and wants to know my every step?
“It’s okay. I know how to take advantage of this opportunity,” Geranika smiled mysteriously and a shadow flew from his hand and rushed towards me.
In the next instant, it was like I had been wrapped from head to toe in dark translucent matter: My vision blurred and I felt a cool touch on my skin. And when the shadow pulled away—I stared at a shadowy clone of myself standing before me.
“Your shadow clone now bears Eben’s mark,” Geranika explained.
At the wave of his hand, the shadow biota sprinted from the camp, and the Lord of Shadow’s gaze turned back to me again. An oppressive silence followed.
“Perhaps I shall grant you a second chance, after all. In the future,” he added and disappeared, leaving me alone with a system notification.
Current Reputation status with Geranika Lord of Darkness: Neutral.
I exhaled and hurried away from the respawn point. Who knows, maybe my gig as a Shadow court minstrel might work out after all.
Completing the second step of the Help the Renegades quest immediately took me from Level 22 to Level 26 and raised my reputation with the renegades a little more. I didn’t receive any items as a reward; most likely my ‘losing’ the two seeds was to blame for this. I was just about to ask the legate about the skills that he had gained by adopting Shadow when a very agitated Vex came rushing into the tent.
“Lorelei! The Sixth wishes to see you. This instant!”
“What happened?”
“The time of the embassy’s arrival! It has been moved. The ambassadors are already on their way to the Arras! We must start right now!”
As if in confirmation of his words, the sound of a horn echoed through the camp. Hearing him, Signifier Lotos instantly jumped out of the tent and began to bark orders. Vex grabbed my arm and dragged me to headquarters. Throughout the entire camp, NPCs were springing to action, putting in motion a plan developed long ago. Voices were booming even in the renegade HQ, a pirq commander roaring orders and directives. In the process he almost stepped on me with his huge paw. I managed to check his properties and mentally sympathized with the embassy from Kartoss.
Kodiak. Shadow Pirq. Level 400.
By the way, I wonder why the biota became ‘blighted biota,’ while the pirqs became ‘shadow pirqs?’ What’s the difference? Vex interrupted my further contemplation of this issue. He pulled me out from under the paw of Kodiak and confidently dragged me along an unfamiliar corridor.
Strange, I had imagined that the ritual would be held in Astilba’s laboratory...
The goal of the trip turned out to be another cave, resembling the one where the captive Forest Sentries had been kept. The resemblance was reinforced by two blighted sentries, standing dutifully by the earthen wall. An enormous bulb was growing in the center of the cave—almost an identical copy of the ones that biota spawned from on the Tree. The difference was the familiar fog, twining about its black petals.
My recent experience of growing a guide for the world of the dead came to mind.
“A Bulb of Shadow,” announced the Sixth in a ringing, triumphant voice. “Geranika helped grow a bulb from a piece of the Tree and the power of Shadow. When you summon Portulac’s soul, I will furnish him with a vessel for his new body. It is a pity, of course, that we only have two vitas available, but time does not permit us to do more. Commence the summons, Lorelei.”
With difficulty, I tore away my mesmerized eyes from the Bulb of Shadow, blinked and quickly cast the Detect Currents of Vitality spell on myself. My magical vision revealed inky umbilical cords between me and the blighted sentries. The vitality channels pulsed unpleasantly, resembling feeding leeches. Three more channels, translucent and very thin, ran into the wall of the cave. The other blighted sentries were out there somewhere.
“Do not delay!” Astilba snapped angrily.
I shuddered and touched the eid’s strings. Hundreds of years of waiting have not mellowed the Sixth.
Music and song intertwined, filling the cave, and an invisible fabric descended over all of us: Vex standing mutely, Astilba frozen in expectation and the bulb with its slowly winding wisps of fog. This time there was no transition to the Intermundis. Simply, the game world faded and lost its colors. The air in front of me swirled, gradually condensing, and formed a portal through which I could see the familiar surreal landscape of the world of the dead.
The earthen floor underfoot of the Sixth began shining blindingly, a magical seal appeared, and the necroman
cer’s voice filled the cave, intricately intertwining with my song.
“Do not interrupt the summons!” Vex yelled for some reason and in the next instant the umbilical cords that connected me with the sentries flared brightly and disappeared, while the elementals themselves crumbled to the floor in a heap of dry twigs and branches.
New scenario event: You have been endowed with the powers of a Level 300 Blighted Forest Sentry. Your current level has increased to Level 326. The respective stat points have been automatically distributed among your base stats.
You have been endowed with the powers of a Level 300 Blighted Forest Sentry. Your current level has increased to Level 626. The respective stat points have been automatically distributed among your base stats.
You are unable to cope with such power and are losing your strength. Level loss rate: 1 level per minute.
Attention! An increase in levels caused by a scenario event does not unlock any relevant achievements.
The portal gained clarity and grew in size. Landscapes and faces succeeded each other until the detached face of the biota from my vision appeared before me. As I played my ballad, his face acquired a meaningful expression, until by the final chords, it had become completely clear.
Portulac stepped through the portal into Barliona.
You have summoned a soul from the Gray Lands at the cost of half of your vitality.
Attention! Summoned souls cannot exist in Barliona without an external supply of vitality. Every 505 minutes, you will lose 29% of your maximum HP. The upkeep for summoned creatures ignores all skills and spells of damage absorption or reduction.
In the event of your death, a summoned creature will return to its original plane of existence, unless it finds another source of vitality.
You have summoned the soul of Portulac, the Fifth of the Biota Council. The level of the summoned soul is Level 400.
This is a scenario event: You cannot unlock achievements related to summoning this soul.
A torrent of accessible skills and spells from the summoned creature streamed through my log. While I was sweeping aside a bunch of system notifications, the Sixth moved to the next stage of the ritual. The Bulb of Shadow drew Portulac’s spirit as if it was a giant magnet and the vitality channel connecting me with the summoned soul flared up and disappeared.
A Song of Shadow (The Bard from Barliona Book #2) LitRPG series Page 30