Respawn: The Last Crossing (Respawn LitRPG series Book 6)

by Arthur Stone

  This tank driving up to them now was clearly not restored. Even from a distance, they could see that it was modern, and in excellent condition. It was a dangerous opponent in any circumstance, and this terrain—flat fields in nearly every direction—was an optimal operating zone for it. It could hit anything from miles away, while remaining safely out of the reach of most adversaries.

  The tank was approaching quickly, and from their weak side. The side the Devils had come from. That was upsetting, and the thin strip of forest that stretched along the road in that direction only heightened the party’s apprehension. After all, that was the only cover they could take, but attempting that made no sense given the enemy’s approach vector.

  In addition, the party didn’t have decent anti-tank weapons. They could deal some damage. RPGs were a solid option. But they had a limited range. The tank could defeat their whole party from a safe distance. Meanwhile, they would be shooting back at it with the only thing that could reach: machine guns and rifles.

  The sounds of shooting would not last long.

  If they even shot at all.

  There was no time to get the Nold turret ready, either. Plus, even it would be unlikely to fatally wound such a battle machine. Cheater was unable to aim precisely with it, and its shells worked their destruction primarily via high temperatures—a force unable to disable a modern tank. He doubted its explosive power. The points of impact had not demolished everything into oblivion, just set it all on fire. Those had been flimsy village houses; orders of magnitude less solid than a tank.

  They were out here caught with their pants down. In the middle of flat farmland, vulnerable from all directions. No cover, and no escape.

  The tank would be in range soon.

  So, they did the only thing that remained to them, and hastened to prepare a worthy reception for their enemy.

  Grenade launchers were handed out to those who knew how to use them. The party dispersed. Cheater activated Chameleon, hoping to hide both from human eyes and from the sensor devices the tank might have at its disposal.

  First, though, he shot down a drone. It had been brazenly hovering over the intersection, a good distance ahead of the tank. Five hundred feet up in the air it buzzed and fed its images to its operators.

  Until Cheater took it out with a single rifle shot.

  At least the unnerving buzz was gone.

  A modern tank could create all kinds of problems for them from miles away, but this one recklessly trudged down the road, ever closer.

  Cheater had been tracking with his rangefinder. Two kilometers. One and a half. One.

  Five hundred meters. At this distance, he could easily hit the enemy with a long-range grenade launcher, of which they had two. Hitting a vulnerable point on the tank was more of a long shot, but miracles could happen.

  Especially when Cheater was involved.

  Still, he did not hurry. First of all, he had not been given one of the long-range launchers. Second, his disposable wouldn’t reach that far, no matter his skill. Third, the tank was still moving, rushing towards the intersection at a steady speed.

  Three hundred meters. Two hundred. One hundred.

  His rangefinder lost its usefulness.

  The tank was close enough now to throw rocks at, never mind grenades. Every one of their grenade launchers could hit from here.

  The rumbling vehicle rounded the smoking truck and the burning armored personnel carrier and then braked so dramatically that sparks and bits of asphalt sprayed outwards from its tracks.

  At the same moment, the hatch on the tower opened, and a very colorful man slowly poked his head up out of it, followed by his entire torso. He had no clothing and no weapons. Just accessories. His physique was not about to win any strongest man competitions, but he was not weak—he had the sinewy look often sported by dangerous hand-to-hand fighters. The man’s bare arms were covered from wrist to elbow in huge gold bracelets. His body was tattooed up to the top of the neck, a shapely beard adorned his chin, and his nose held a large white metal ring. An unnatural hairstyle completed his look: a mohawk mashed up with dreadlocks and intertwined with multi-colored ribbons and lace.

  The stranger was holding a can of beer in his hand, which increased their hopes of a peaceful resolution.

  March, at least, had something in common with the man.

  He slowly looked over the members of the party, positioned in a semi-circle in front of him. When he spoke, it was with a voice like an offended child’s. “Why the hell did you guys snipe Buzzer?”

  “Buzzer?” Nut asked.

  The man immediately pointed his finger at him, demanding, “Who are you?”

  “Nut.”

  The man’s face was inexplicably conquered by an overjoyed expression, but his offended tone continued. “Ah, so you’re Nut. Then tell me, which of you shot down Buzzer? Also, I would like to clarify that I am quite certain the shooter’s nickname was Cheater. So confident, in fact, that I didn’t shoot at any of you. I don’t want people talking about that time I dared to take a shot at Cheater. I’m rooting for the guy, after all. I’m a fan! I would bet on Cheater’s success any day. What idiot would shoot the horse he has a bet on? So I didn’t shoot. Well? Who shot Buzzer out of the sky?”

  Cheater stood and slowly put his rifle up on his shoulder. He approached. “I did. And you’re right about my nickname.”

  The tank man jumped out of the tank top so quickly that Cheater started guessing how impressive his Agility must be. Before anyone could think twice, he was standing in front of Cheater with an outstretched hand and a grin like that of a clown college student receiving his diploma. “Well, it is a pleasure. Beetle’s the name. Perhaps you’ve heard of me.”

  “I don’t recall,” Cheater replied tentatively as he shook the man’s hand.

  “Well, you and I live in different worlds. Wouldn’t have crossed paths. Want a beer? It’s warm, but I have a lot of it.”

  “We have cold beer,” Cheater replied, still on edge. “Our boss cares more about the temperature of our beer than he cares about our ammo.”

  “March is your boss, I’m guessing?” Beetle smiled wider. “We’ve heard a lot of stories about him, too. Alright, you win. I’m not one to turn down a cold beer. Or any beer. Then I can tell everyone about that time I drank March’s beer. Not a bad story!”

  “So, you don’t mind the whole thing with Buzzer?” Cheater clarified.

  “Hah, hell no. I’d have taken a shot at it too. But unlike you, I wouldn’t have hit. What people say is true. You’re an amazing shot. Don’t let it go to your head, though. You can’t take all the praise—have to leave some for the rest of us. Anyway, I’ve been chasing these devils since this morning. Barely missed them, one time. Then, you showed up. Unfortunately.”

  “They were Devils, and we’re not on their good side,” Nut added. “We weren’t, like, stealing or anything.”

  Beetle slapped his chest. “Hah! Unfortunately for them, I meant. I’m not complaining. I just wanted to know why you and the Devils are such vicious enemies? I heard rumors that you killed Bugle and smashed up his den. After a feat like that, you should take a break. Leave the rest of them to us! There are plenty of good people in this region who love killing Devils. People like me. So, you—” he pointed a finger at Cheater—“you must be heading east, and in a hurry. So why have you stopped here? You should be on your way. With the kind of people who are after you, I would keep moving if I were you. This region will do fine without you, now. We’ll kill the Devils over and over, until they’re scattered across the Continent. We’ll knock them all down to zero. Back there,” Beetle waved vaguely behind him, “our forces are camped out. Smart commanders in there, and in general strong players. You’re always welcome. They’re all saying hello in your chat window right now. Not everyone believed in the legend of Cheater, but well, here you are. What a great day! Anyway, if you get bored, come on and visit us. Anytime! But not now. Later. We’re not accepting guests right now.
No offense, but you can see what’s going on in the region. So will you come see us? Later?”

  Cheater was reeling at the stream of consciousness emerging from his new acquaintance’s mouth, and he looked hopefully at March, who was approaching from the side.

  But the leader was just as doubtful. “Hey, man, we don’t know you. We don’t know this camp or group you’re talking about either. It doesn’t have anything to do with us. We were just passing through and happened to run into these people, who shot at us. So we shot back. There’s no reason for you to be upset about it.”

  “I’m not upset. Like I said, guys, I’m your biggest fan. I heard about you, I’ve been following your story, and I’m happy to meet you. But I don’t believe you. You have a reputation. As maniacs. Everyone knows what you did to Bugle and his fortress, Cheater. They say you and your friend danced on his corpse. I don’t approve of any desecration of a corpse, to be honest, but I can understand it. Whatever necrophilia Bugle suffered, he had it coming. It’s just that there is no way you ‘happened to run into’ these people. These were quite possibly the last organized Devils in the region. And you’re saying they found and attacked you? That’s hard to believe. Plus, no one comes this way to cross the border, everyone knows that. There’s no good way across. The only ways are up north of here, or far south. So you’ll pardon me, friends, if I don’t believe a word of it. I know that you have a grudge against the Devils, but this is our field, and our Devils. Go look for your own Devils in other fields.”

  “You can have all of them,” Cheater offered, sincerely.

  “You’re not giving us the chance,” Beetle insisted.

  “Nonsense,” March shook his head and sipped from his can. “Come on, drink with me. While you do, listen up. These people and I are heading to the border. To the East. Everyone knows the story by now. If anyone gets in our way, we kill them. Not out of any malice—we’re just clearing the way. These losers tried to interfere with our progress, so we killed them, and now we’re pushing ahead. Now, someone has told you that this border is impassable, haven’t they? That does nothing to deter us. We go places where the System itself fears to tread. We like these places. Now, do you understand that, or do I need to repeat it?”

  “No, no need, I’m not stupid. I get it.” Beetle raised his beer in a toast. “So, to the east it is? And you don’t care that no one goes that way? Well, the ‘maniac’ reputation is right, boys and girls. I don’t mean that as an insult. More of a compliment, even. However, if you go directly east, with no turns or detours, you will not make it. It’s bad country. Complex geography and numerous enemies. Two months ago a horde came from that direction and wiped a couple of stables off the map. You visit either now, you can’t find a trace of the settlements. Oh, they tried to stop it. No success. We recently sent some scouts out that way, deep into the territory. They died the first day. When they came back from respawn, they reported that the place was filled with ghouls beyond counting. So it seems like another horde is gathering there. Preparing to march out. You’re not from around here, so you’re going by the maps, right? Well, even the maps show that there’s no way through. You’d best back before it’s too late. No one crosses here.”

  “Bring our new friend a cold beer,” March finally demanded, “before the refrigerator runs out of cold air.”

  “What’s wrong with the fridge?” Beetle asked.

  The party lead pointed at the destroyed truck. “This was how we carried our antiaircraft gun, and our refrigerator. The two most important items for a successful crossing. These Devils smashed them both.”

  “That’s too bad,” Beetle sympathized. “So I see you decided to take their truck for yourselves.”

  “Any objections?” asked Clown, who had already come to consider the truck a part of the family.”

  “No, not at all. But you should cover up the Devils’ emblems somehow. Or better yet, paint over them. The Devils are hated here, and you might get shot at without any kind of prelude. Actually, wait. How about I accompany you east? Not far, just to the main fork in the road. I do wish I could go further, but no, I have too much to do. And not enough gas. However, that’s as far as you need me. From that point on, there’s a good road that runs right towards the border. You won’t get lost.”

  “Why go to the trouble?” Clown wondered, suspicious.

  “It just sounds interesting. I’ll be able to tell the story, how I showed you the way on this stretch of road. At the same time, you’ll prove to me that you are indeed going east, not just hunting our Devils.”

  “Sounds like someone has trust issues.”

  “This is the Continent, buddy.”

  “There’s something fishy here,” Cheater interrupted. “If you really do have the Devils on the run—where did this convoy come from? Three vehicles in excellent conditions, with Devil markings all over them. No attempts to disguise or hide them. It looks more like they’re the ones in charge here, not some persecuted minority.”

  “This convoy’s a special case,” Beetle replied gloomily. “The Devils tried to gain a foothold here not a month back. They started to seize power over our region. Oh, there had been clashes before that, but none of them were very serious. Some local fools made a pact with them. They had a fortress inside a stable here, and so the Devils took it over. Built it up for nearly a month. It was a good outpost, well positioned, hard to conquer. Now, when the power shift began, everyone who could went in there and dug in. Many did so successfully. While our people were getting their act together, these Devils set up a strong defense in that very fortress and even started raiding nearby clusters. So we besieged them. For several days, the two sides shot at each other, until they decided to negotiate. No one wanted a prolonged game of Scorched Earth. Lots of random, stupid deaths. So we agreed that we would let them flee in peace. And we did give them a head start. But we told them to move in one direction only. Some of them followed instructions, but others set up a cunning and treacherous maneuver, which slammed right into our flank. Many of us died or were crippled, but we fought back hard. Both sides dispersed. It was a bad business. Our side was, of course, enraged by this betrayal, so now we hunt them with zeal. This is tough country to hide in. No big forests here like you’ll find to the north or the west—everything is out in the open. They didn’t get away in time.”

  “These ones did,” Clown noted. “When we first saw them, their vehicles looked like they had just rolled off the assembly line.”

  “This is a group that followed instructions,” Beetle specified. “And pretty much the strongest of those. Our fellows are probably still arguing now about what to do with them. They seem honest enough—but they allowed their comrades’ betrayal. Bad business, bad business. So I followed them. I have a score to settle with the Devils, truce or no truce. I wanted to deal with these ones personally. I planned to catch up with them a little farther down the road, in a more convenient location for me, but you beat me to it.”

  “We weren’t looking for this kind of confrontation. And this one gave us nothing but trouble. We had to swap out our antiaircraft gun for these machine guns . Which one do you think is better? The cannons, obviously.”

  The Janitor approached. “Do you have an antiaircraft gun for sale? Or maybe for trade? We could give you this one, with some extra spores to make up the difference, in exchange for a working one.”

  Beetle shook his head. “Sorry, guys, but I’m no merchant. I don’t do that sort of thing. If you’re not in a hurry, though, I bet we can work something out.”

  “We’re in a hurry,” Cheater insisted.

  The tank man shrugged. “Then no. I’m sorry. Everyone wants antiaircraft guns, and they’re a rare item. As you know, they’re the best weapon against manmincers and young elites. Plus, fitting shells are pretty easy to find in these clusters, and they’re relatively easy to double, and not too expensive to boot. But back to our main question. Shall we go?”

  At these words, the Beetle turned around and s
tared down the road, peering intently into the distance.

  March turned, as well—then took a spyglass out of his pocket, looked through it, and grinned. “Well this is just a regular holiday. The System’s back to its old jokes. Seems this chatterbox is looking for a good respawn.”

  “You know that biker?” Beetle asked.

  “Of course I do. He’s the lamest of the local losers, and he keeps getting unlucky enough to run straight into us. Cheater, Glock is heading straight towards us. Riding a beauty of a motorcycle. He looks happy. Truly happy. As though he’s unaware he has picked the wrong road. So will you let him go, or not?”

  “Yeah, I’ll let him go,” Cheater replied as he reached for his rifle, “but not far.”

  “That’s what I thought,” March nodded. He turned to Beetle. “My friend here likes to play ‘catch the bullet’ with this one. Once he’s done, we’ll continue east. If you would still like to show us the way, let’s discuss how we can show you our gratitude.”