Текст книги "AlterWorld"

Автор книги: Dmitri Rus

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Текущая страница: 16 (всего у книги 22 страниц)

Chapter Twenty-Three

One thing I liked in Taali was her punctuality. Dressed to the nines, ten minutes to eleven next morning she was trying to force the door into my room. Did I say punctuality? More like lack of consideration, really. We went downstairs and joined a small crowd of other people waiting to be teleported to the Vets' Castle.

A teleport popped open letting out a Vet mage.

He looked over the crowd. "I'm not going to bother with a temporary portal. Too much hassle for what it costs. I think I'll use group teleports. It'll take us three trips to 'port all of you. Come on now, join in the first group."

He sent out the first five invitations, including Taali and myself. Then he cast the teleport spell.

Warning! Portal spell activated. Destination point: Sunrise Zone, East Castle. Press Confirm to teleport. 10… 9… 8…

I confirmed. The next moment we found ourselves in a small hall, its walls lined with numerous gun ports. The rough stonework, dented and molten in many places, bore the signs of constant repairs.

We were greeted by a sergeant on duty in full armor, his weapons glinting, his glare professionally stern. He checked his guest list and waved to someone, causing a heavily wrought portcullis to inch up. Below it lay the castle rooms.

Smiling, the sergeant apologized for the delay. "Welcome to East Castle. You are now in the Portal Hall. It's the only place where you can set up a bind point. But I shouldn't do it if I were you, not without clearing it with internal security first."

Very well. We walked through a short passageway and under an arch which opened into an inner court. There, a girl about twelve years old curtsied, handing us each five little ribboned medals.

"These are 'likes'," she answered our silent question. "If you see something or someone you really like, you can give them one. The persons who have the most at the end will win one of our prizes."

Her smile and her childish spontaneity pared to the quick. Without thinking, I hung a medal around her neck. Laughing, Taali did the same.

Before we could step aside, we heard Eric's deep voice nearby. "Hello, O Dark One! And his lady! Where have I been all this time that I missed this gorgeous girl? At least I deserve a kiss, I suppose."

Grinning at his own joke, he pretended he wanted to hug her. Taali laughed, fighting off his advances.

I took on the role of a jealous admirer, "Get lost or I'll turn you into a toad!" The girl fled his arms and hid behind my back, laughing.

A child's laughter echoed under the arch. We turned around simultaneously.

"Amazing, isn't it?" Eric whispered. "A child in this virtual world. A real child, I mean. A perma."

That was it. That's what I couldn't quite place here. AlterWorld was virtually devoid of children. Sure enough, this wasn't a good place for little 'uns. Besides, you just couldn't separate preteen girls from their bodylicious avatars or cute anime-style pics. Boys did the same, too. Why would they choose a spotty wuss as their new embodiment? Actually, this was how you could tell a teen player: by his overstuffed beefcake body.

"No? How old is she?"

"Twelve. But she was one of the first to go perma two years ago. Her dad was a colleague of ours, a special-ops guy, a good one, too, always out on missions, mainly in some hot equatorial places. Left the girl with her mother which apparently wasn't a good thing. She was a real piece of work, her mother, spent all her time in beauty salons, never had time for her little girl. When her dad learned that she'd been perma-stuck, he spent three days making withdrawals, cashing in and selling up. Then he went after her. He's one of those who founded our clan, by the way. He has the rank of Captain now.

"But the girl? Don't you understand she'll always stay a child?"

Eric stole a look around to make sure no one was listening. Then he leaned close as if to share a secret… and yelled triumphantly, "In your dreams!"

We backed up. Eric guffawed, pleased with the effect, then lowered his voice and added seriously, "She is growing, believe it or not. She's half a head taller now than she was a year ago. We just don't know what to think."

I fell speechless. That was too much. I had to sit down and try to digest the news.

"Our analysts claim it depends on one's mindset. If you think young and move about a lot, your body may begin to rejuvenate. If you feel tired and depressed, your skin will sag and you may start growing gray hair and wrinkles."

I shook my head. "It's crazy."

"But it's true," Eric said. "Take our Mr. Simonov. He's lost forty pounds—also in a year."

We walked in silence for a while, trying to absorb the news, finally arriving at some stalls and rows of restaurant tables. A large banner flapped in the wind. It read:

Cooking Contest! Likes are welcome!

Eric rubbed his hands in anticipation. "This is my favorite stall. I didn't eat anything last night to save some extra space. Come on, quickly!"

We dived deep into the cloud of mouth-watering smells. Eric dropped his cape onto a table, picked up a large tray and bored into the crowd. I looked at Taali. Together we walked toward the first stall.

Holy cow. Talking about localization. The Russian salad. My favorite, generously spooned into large bowls brimming with mayo and diced chicken, just the way I liked it. Noticing my eager eyes, Taali held me an empty tray.

I smiled to the woman behind the stall. "Can I have some Russian salad, please?" I pointed at the bowl. "Actually, make it as much as you can."

She laughed good-heartedly, then pulled out the biggest bowl she had and filled it to the brim with the long-forgotten treat.

"I'm temporarily AFK," I dropped over my shoulder to Taali. Grasping the bowl, I hurried back to our table and tucked in.

That was too good. When Taali finally came, she had a trayful of yet more salad and two glasses of a bright yellow sparkling drink.

The girl looked upset. "She won't tell me the recipe," she moped as she held out one of the glasses of what tasted like Fanta.

"Why should she?" Eric reappeared. "They say it's a contest, but here everyone is trying to come up with something they can make money with. Didn't you hear about that guy who sent AI a request to generate a potato-based crispy savory snack? He even added a file containing its smell and taste—pulled it out of our database. You can get everything online these days—from the smell of donkey dung to the taste of monkey puzzle tree shavings."

"And?" I managed through the salad.

"That was it. AI gave him a complete formula. The guy took some sneezewort shoots and a few leaves of kangaroo paws, plus a few other odds and sods. Chopped them up, sprinkled something on top and deep fried the whole lot. Got potato chips as we know them. The guy invested everything he had in it. He paid the generation fees and secured the rights to the unique recipe—which probably cost him ten times more. But he wanted to have the monopoly. To play it safe, he also patented his recipe as +10% to maximum taste. A food and drinks monopoly isn't cheap. But the product had a truly universal appeal, an ideal mass market. Virtually every inn and restaurant had to buy his recipe. Now you can crunch on your favorite flavor as you play, and the guy has retired on the income to his Alpine chalet. See how it works?"

I nodded. "Wow. Wonder if I could do something like that?"

Eric lovingly eyed his fat slice of rye bread topped with yellow butter and generously sprinkled with rough salt. He bit into it with relish. "You're not the only one. If the truth were known, there's just too much money around. Have you heard about the profession of digital interior designer? It's currently one of the hottest jobs in the real world. Have you any idea how long it takes to create interiors for a fifty-bedroom castle? It's more than a year's work. I suggest you check out the digital furniture auction. You might lose all interest in farming and wish you could become a virtual cabinet maker, turning designer chairs for the get-rich-quick crowd."

I couldn't believe my ears. I'd never looked at gaming that way. Actually, I should stop calling it gaming. This wasn't a game anymore. This was the world I shared with dozens, if not hundreds of thousands of other perma players. And that was today—but how many of us would be there tomorrow? Also, this world was young, too young, its biggest goldmines still untouched—undiscovered, even. Speaking about which, I seemed to have the makings of an idea…

In the meantime, Eric was devouring whatever was piled up on his tray: a plateful of Siberian dumplings followed by a dish of blinis and caviar, then a shot of vodka chased down with some pickles.

I couldn't help it. I handed the woman cook a like and was rewarded with another bowlful of the salad which I necked under Taali's amused stare.

Taali had preserved her own likes and even acquired some more. Some sleazy type—an Elf, by the looks of him—hung a medal around her neck and bowed, muttering something about her ethereal beauty. I sensed the hair rise on the nape of my neck as I eyed her wussy admirer. The realization took me unawares. Was I really jealous? Sensing the change in atmosphere, Taali grasped my shoulder, coldly thanked the Elf and pulled me away from the scene.

Eric was waiting, ready to tow us to the next venue: a pet beauty contest. Everyone could enroll their mounts and familiars or whatever else they had managed to summon.

"Watch my LAV," Eric pointed a proud finger at his bear, all kitted out in camo and armor. Then he noticed three likes hanging off the beast's ear. "I can't believe it. We're popular!"

Taali and I looked at each other and gave the bear a like each. Eric was ecstatic.

"Come on now, won't you summon yours? Your bear and mine are made for each other. You never know, they might even make us some baby LAVs," he chuckled.

"Does that mean yours is female?" I teased him. "Because Hummungus is a hundred percent male. No, I don't think they're in the same league. LAV is just too gorgeous. So you two are welcome to your fifteen minutes of fame."

Pleased with the praise, Eric didn't insist. I stepped aside and quickly sorted through my Soul Stones. You wanted a pet? You'd get to see one, now.

A maggot would be out of place here. What about a demon? Might do. A Hell Hound? Could work, especially if I put it next to all those lapdogs. Ah. The Succubus. A demoness in scanty clothing, curvaceous and horny—literally. The stone was level 53, a bit of a shame to waste it. But if the truth were known, I had too many of them. I clenched the stone and cast the summoning spell.

The earth parted. Infernal flames glowed in the void. The smell of sulfur hung in the air. The crowd shrank. Well, death flatters no one. She must have been quite a looker when still alive. Even now her darkened skin and black lips afforded her a certain charm. To top it all, she was level 56, no less. Wish I could have this kind of luck in raids.

Eric clapped his hands with enthusiasm. "Awesome! We have virtually no Necs here in the Branch of Light. A couple of newb masochists, that's it. Let the guys get an eyeful of a real demoness. I don't think many have seen them before. Over fifty percent of the Castle's population are civilians. Fighters' relatives, crafters, bankers, analysts and other embroiderers of the truth."

Indeed, we seemed to be gathering quite a crowd. Next to all the cute and cuddly gryphons and unicorns my infernal creature looked a sight. Attracted by the turmoil, a squad of guards elbowed their way toward us. Assuring that order was maintained, they saluted and disappeared for duty elsewhere.

"Eric? What's next on the agenda?"

He paused, thinking. "The guided tour around the castle, but I'd better take you on one myself now. That way you'll see more without all the hustle."

Of course I knew they were out to impress us. So I was quite prepared for some quality showing off on their part, especially as it comes naturally to military types. That's their forte and always has been. And still they managed to surprise me. Amaze me, even.

The Arsenal was jam packed with weapons. No idea who they were meant for, as every player had their own unique kit anyway. To my blatant question, Eric mumbled something about cluster wars, total mobilizations and squirreling some away for a rainy day. Ordnance was stacked up along the walls: hundreds of bunches of arrows, darts and crossbow bolts. In the alchemy stores, thousands of vials lined hundreds of long shelves, arranged by their type and level, making me feel utterly inadequate.

Trumpets blared outside. Eric perked up. "They're signaling the guest tournament. Are you in?"

That sounded interesting. An extra fighting practice never hurt. And this was a tournament with all that crowd watching you, your date among them… I found it both flattering and motivating. I wasn't worried about making a complete fool of myself: my character was strong and original enough and my gear was good.

"What are the rules? Prizes?"

"What do you think?" Eric looked offended. "This is all official. We've got AI's confirmation and paid all the dues. The victory brings you real fame points. Only the guests can participate. The clan warriors will have their star turn at the end, out of the competition. There're four groups: one for levels 10 to 33, another up to 66, the third group is for those up to 100 and the last group for those above. You're 52 now, aren't you? Not high enough, I'm afraid. We've way too many guests this time, probably four hundred in total, and I'm sure quite a few are at the top of your group. Still, there's no harm in trying. The fights take place in the arena. They don't affect your PK counter so it's all good healthy fun, really. There'll be betting there so you can back yourself if you wish to."

I looked at Taali. Eric noticed our exchange and hurried to add fuel to the fire. "On top of the main prize of five hundred gold, the winner will have the right to choose the Tournament Queen. Her portrait will be hung in the hall of fame until next year. Actually, there will be four winners and four respective Queens, one in each group, but I still think it's cool."

I sensed the girl's hand squeeze mine. She didn't say anything, I knew she wouldn't. But I understood well enough. Which eighteen-year-old girl didn't dream of being chosen tournament queen in a real medieval castle by a real champion knight? Regardless of the fact that his name was the opposite of Ivanhoe. Death Knight or not, who cares?

I nodded. I'd made up my mind. I might even enjoy it. "I'm in. Show me where to sign my name on the dotted line… in blood."

Eric dragged me to the main arena, delirious with the opportunity to root for one of his own team. The closest thing to participating, I suppose. The rosy-cheeked Taali trailed along. When I reached a bit of an open space, I sent the demoness a command to rejoin us. I hoped she wouldn't get lost. The entire distance was no more than a hundred feet as the crow flies.

The demoness came running. She resembled a Christmas tree covered with likes, flowers and ribbons of every color.

"So!" Eric and I said in unison.

Apparently, the guests loved the tame inferno creature. We removed and counted the medals: thirty-two in total. But we left her the flowers and ribbons which hopefully made her look innocuous enough.

I got my number and was waiting for the draw to start. In the meantime, Eric was lecturing me on the tournament rules.

"You can't use scrolls, elixirs or other people's buffs. There's a ten grand limit on gear. If you die in the arena, you'll respawn right here. Don't worry, we won't send you all the way to your bind point. Judging by the amount of applications, the winner will have to have five fights. I don't know if you aim for victory but I'm pretty sure you'll get to the quarter finals. There're many strong fighters here today. Some of the favorites are a paladin, a rogue and a warrior, all levels 63 to 66. Would be great if they knocked each other out as soon as possible.

Finally they announced the first pairs. The fighting happened in two arenas at once so we didn't have to wait long. I was lucky with my first opponent, a level 39 enchanter. No idea what had prompted him to participate, but an easy win was always welcome. I decided not to show all my aces prematurely and stashed away all the gear with summon bonuses. The demoness promptly dropped six levels. Then I reached for the primitive sword and shield that the management furnished the fighters with.

"Eric? How's the betting going?"

"It's not. No one's betting on you."

Shame. But I wasn't counting on it, anyway.

We entered the arena. The ref cast a Magic Nullifier and started the timer. We were given one minute of rebuffing and meditation which I used to cast a few buffs over the demoness. The enchanter, on the contrary, was trying too hard, casting all sorts of magic right until the time ran out. I had a funny feeling it wasn't going to help him. I unleashed my cutie.

It was all over in 26 seconds. I hadn't expected him to last that long. In the end, I had to root him to the ground.

Congratulations! You've won 1/16 of the East Castle Guest Tournament!

50 points Fame received!

Aha. Now I could see the logic behind all those low-level entries. The applicants hoped to do a round or two and get their share of freebie fame points.

Eric had definitely warmed to his role as my second. He fanned me with a towel and even tried to massage my shoulders through the steel breastplate. Taali joined the audience on a bench, but I could clearly see her excited face. Could I have thought just a month ago that I would take part in a knights' tournament—my friend spurting out last-minute fighting instructions, my lady fidgeting in her seat clasping her hands in agitation? Never in your life. A month ago I could only think about pain, medication and my looming death. Regardless of how this virtual saga would affect my second life, I knew I wasn't going to complain or regret my decision.

The second fight was equally easy. All the more reason to act it out, wearing a struggling expression, brandishing my sword without really hitting very much, casting DoTs and generally enjoying myself. The level 50 cleric had lasted all of six minutes, having restored his health 100% four times in that period. But still, a healer is no killer; he didn't have a chance against me, especially considering his hard-to-level pattern of a group and raid cleric.

Congratulations! You've won 1/8 of the East Castle Guest Tournament!

100 points Fame received!

Before engaging in that second fight, I had asked Eric about my betting chances. This time there had been a few bets placed.

"Four to one on," he'd said.

"Which means? If I bet four hundred and I win, I get five hundred back, is that right?"

"Precisely."

I'd given it a thought and decided to wage every available penny I had. I just couldn’t see how I could lose to the healer.

"Here," I said, "I've got eight hundred gold. Can you place a bet for me, please? An extra two hundred never hurt."

He studied me. "You sure?"

"Absolutely."

"Then I might do the same. Don't let us down, bud."

Now that I'd won, he slapped my shoulders, overjoyed, while I tried to avoid his fists from denting my armor.

"Easy money, bud. Five hundred, that's a windfall. Way to go! Who's next?"

He spoke too soon. The theory of chance put me up against one of the favorites: a level 63 warrior in expensive gear. A sword in each hand, he was a perfect damage dealer. And now, judging by his PvP armor, he was prepared to take on another player. Engaging him in close combat wasn't a good idea. I only needed to know who he thought me to be. If he believed me to be a knight, then he had to have plenty of armor and hit buffs. But if he had taken me for a mage, he had to wear some magic-resisting gear. Me, on the contrary, I was wearing my full combat kit I could use to face any emergency.

"What are the stakes?"

"Seven to one on."

I didn't need to ask more. "Bet two hundred for me. In the worst-case scenario I get to keep it."

Eric scratched his mop of hair. "Okay, you've talked me into it. I'll stake five hundred on you, too. Make sure you don't go down."

When I stepped out into the arena, I had an eerie feeling of déjà vu. It had all happened before. Either I used to be a gladiator in my past life or it was a flashback from a recently seen movie. The sun stood high at its zenith—no good trying to manipulate my opponent to face it. The stands hummed, discussing the just-finished fight in the second arena. Taali sat there, pale, anxious and close-lipped. A fellow paladin, she understood my chances well.

The warrior was good. The judges lingered, discussing some problems with the cost of his gear. Finally, the warrior got fed up. He pulled off a few rings and threw them to his partner. I tensed up, challenged by his defiant confidence. Just you wait, pompous bastard.

"One minute to go," the ref announced.

The warrior didn't move. I, on the contrary, had to work fast. I used the first thirty seconds to cast every buff I could think of over the demoness. Then I got both my shields out and slumped into the arena for a meditation blitz hoping for at least a hundred extra mana. As I warmed my backside in the hot sand, I summoned Teddy. The warrior's eyes squinted to a slit. You didn't expect that, did you?

The bell rang. The warrior charged. Jumping up, I sent both my pets to intercept him while I cast Deadman's Hand hoping to keep him at some distance. Ignoring my pets, he covered fifty feet in two seconds. No way we could stop him. Showered with double-handed hits, I cast the spell three more times. At least the shields absorbed them allowing me to stay concentrated. Seven seconds, minus both shields. The bastard had already dealt me 800 damage. Either he'd figured me out or he was a natural DpS.

Finally, my fourth spell got to him. I ran aside, trying to increase the distance, then cast three more DoTs. Only two worked. My inner clock was pushing me against time to renew the spells. If I failed, I might not get a second chance. The warrior was handling the demoness well, but his choice of speed weapons had played a trick on him. The Fire Shield only dealt 7 points damage, but it did so in response to every hit from that tireless DD.

I cast Deadman's Hand three times—finishing the last one as I faced the lunging warrior, my pets pounding his back. I'd done it. Now he was rooted to the ground in the center of the arena. My reaction times halved. I cast three heals over Teddy before turning back to the warrior. Three DoTs. Deadman's Hand. The warrior was at 40%, my mana at 30%. I didn't want to use Life Absorption: it wouldn't be too productive at the current mana-to-damage ratio. I had to play for time. I healed the demoness again and cast some more DoTs. Now I was almost empty. I had to use mana to immobilize the warrior. He at 10, the demoness at 10, mana at 0. Teddy was fit and healthy. The warrior shouldn't have ignored him, but ignore him he did. I exposed myself, engaging in close combat. That did the trick. Fed up with banging his head against a fire wall, the warrior was tempted with an easy win. He went for me.

Then I knew. I knew why he'd done so. His eyes glinted red. I heard a growl. Ability: Berserk. His blades glittered with Friend of Fire. His armor glowed crimson: Mars' Hand.

The stands gasped. Eric bellowed, drowning out the noise, "Don't push it! Get back!"

I'd have loved to have gotten back, but one of his combos had paralyzed me for three seconds. I writhed, showered with blows, until I could finally move and duck aside. In a matter of seconds, my hits were in the red zone. The guy was a freakin' killer. Another shield buff. Five minutes down already. With what meager magic I'd saved, I renewed Deadman's Hand. It went through, luckily. The demoness' life started blinking. But it looked like the warrior had lost his abilities and hit a cooldown, losing the last drops of his life. Done.

Congratulations! You've won 1/4 of the East Castle Guest Tournament!

200 points Fame received!

Eric erupted in a volcano of praise. "Max, you're too much, man. Three and a half grand! Plus the five hundred before that! You're my lucky charm!"

Was I really? I suppose so. I stood there, numb with triumph. Had I known the warrior's full potential, I'd have never bet on myself in a thousand years. But here I was, fourteen hundred richer. You couldn't complain, really. Plus the experience earned, priceless in itself.

I collapsed onto the bench Eric had helpfully pushed toward me. Time to regen before the semi.