The Battle (3 page)

And how addictive, these seeds! Stylish and tasty, they also restored one health point each. Certain "rodents" jumped aboard the health train and would restore a hundred HP per minute by speed-biting the seeds!

The admins had clever traps in other areas besides agriculture.

The best mounts took years to mature and receive proper training. No gray store-bought horse could be a match for a full-grown three-year-old mustang. The demand for these fine-bred stallions greatly exceeded supply. The cattlemen’s shortsightedness was to blame for this; they’d overlooked the fact that very few buyers had the money and patience to care for a herd year after year.

Virtual farming gradually went from being an object of ridicule to a career that evoked envy. The process itself wasn’t anything out of the ordinary or particularly fun; get up, start the game, shovel manure, feed the horses and give the sick ones magic potions. Then, it’s off to the field and after that, boring training.

But it was all worth it! Moscow and Beijing were filled with the first Porsches and BMWs from the suddenly-rich digital horse manufacturers.

And pigs? You could get a big roll of skins, a load of ingredients, and a thousand servings of first-rate bacon from just one well-fed hog!

The developers’ prudence and imagination never ceased to amaze. A neutering option had been programmed in, and was used for selling animals abroad. A whole Versailles drama could unravel around the acquisition of a non-sterile elite breed!

Crafters hadn’t been left out, either.

The cleverly hidden steel was being worked on in the swamps and the few places of power. It acquired new characteristics every day.

In the real world, intricate smelting, forging, and blade sharpening could take months. Oddly enough, magic only slowed everything down. Rune marking, crystal insertion, and magic effect application also took time and ingredients.

We were in a sense going back to the middle ages. A skilled craftsman could spend a whole year making an elite item whose characteristics resembled those of an artifact.

I’ve had to learn all of this after making the top of the local power structure. I’d become the master of the Valley of Fear, whether by choice or not:
de facto
if not
de jure
.

The water meadows just begged to be turned into farms. The five mighty hills were perfect for castles. It had been a while since Lurch had had his eye on the ample lumber supply, the scanty malachite mine and the marble mountain range. For some reason my Evil Overlord castle was steadily turning into a diamond-studded sissy hut
. I gotta stop this!
I thought.

The Valley also had tons of spots for regular farming and leveling up. We took out the stray monsters rather quickly. The random number generator would give us a headache from time to time as it brought some of the vermin back to life. But our warriors had grown familiar with the spawn points, the medium-sized dungeons, caves, and other game content. These places were marked on the clan maps and subject to constant farming.

Many attributes came with being the top clan; steady leveling up without the risk of running into a PK and losing a favorite freebie; guaranteed freebie buffs; and mandatory resurrection by the top cleric in the event of death.
Praised be the Fallen One, for I have managed to give all this to my team.

Maintaining a high morale and faith in righteousness were key, of course. But humans are humans. They want to eat well, sleep safely, and feel cool. And don’t even get me started on women. I still silently thank the greedy pig god for pushing me to open the House of Pleasures and summon up my Ear-Choppers.

Anyway, back to the long-term projects. It looked like there was some sort of temporary anomaly in Tavor’s lair. My mother had been held captive for over six hours, while not ten minutes had passed on the surface. My gallant zombie cavalry attack had taken one hundred and nine seconds. The observers hardly felt a second go by. They had only heard my portal snap shut at the same time as Mom came back with a boom, and the Inferno autologger pinged.

Maybe this anomaly was another admin trick: overclocking at a specified location. Or maybe it was just a glitch within the growing world, which begged to be utilized, given all the business tactics it could accommodate.

For instance, a bottle of quality cognac got up to fifty random characteristic points after a year of distillation. Stuff the sleeping god’s crypt with this elite yak and come back in a day; stars and buff points galore!

Let the enemies cry "Cheater!" all they want. They can drown in jealousy and choke on their cravings! So what that I'd found an ancient liquor stash? That could easily happen to anyone.
So dig through the Dead Lands, help the grass grow...

Appropriating Tavor’s former lair jumped up a few spots in my virtual planner.

Okay, now, I need to unwind and get a few hours of sleep.
I wasn’t nearly as badass as I tried to appear to my subordinates. I had my doubts and second thoughts although I suppressed them whenever I could.

I switched to the magical abilities tab.
Take a portal to the beacon in my private quarters.
The base bind point had to be changed occasionally, and not always by choice. That’s why there was no such thing as too many evacuation zones; not everyone’s a portal wiz with fifty fixed points to spare.

Pity that the artifact was an awfully rare and versatile thing. It was irreplaceable in the spy world.

The painstaking rituals with penta-, hexa-, and octagrams could not help. The depiction of a portal arch was just too difficult and time-consuming. Like golem-making, it was a long and expensive process, and few spent time leveling up in these skills.

I nodded wearily to Lizzie, who had all the "couch kitty" rights to my bedroom. She hid the blades in the leather lacings. The so-called armor left ninety-nine percent of the lush, seductive flesh uncovered, barely concealing the privy parts. Guess there’s been a spermotoxicosis outbreak among the game designers.

But my complaints were unjustified. The project was too costly. There was no room for improvisation and someone’s erotic fantasies. The corporation knew its audience too well. It had probably run a bunch of tests. Looked at how the pulse and blood pressure of zit-covered teens varied with the different breast sizes being shown. The mighty storm missed nothing, Big Brother sees all...

Long gone were the times when postal services would carefully read your letters to better target ads. Stone age tactics. Now, even the free welfare TVs vigilantly tracked the position of the viewers’ pupils, determining what female faces attracted you the most. A week of unobtrusive monitoring, and already every interactive ad banner you ran into would be smiling at you with the painfully familiar face of that first love of yours...

In response to Lizzie’s raised eyebrow, I waved my hand and began to undress. I carelessly hung my gear on the marble statue as I said to her,

"All’s well. We completely duped the enemy. I’ll take a couple-hour nap. Why don’t you put Orcus in charge of the off-duty ear-choppers? The castle’s teeming with guests. They’re waiting for the gathering that’s been rescheduled for tonight. They might wander off and start making trouble, Fallen One forbid..."

Lizzie’s pensive gaze settled on the soft velvet bed. I shook my head. "No, Liz! I need a nap. Shoo!"

The she-elf snorted and headed for the exit like a runway model, pointedly shaking her firm athletic buttox. Just like a cat, wandering alone.

She was hot as hell. And she was grateful to her creator in a special, passionate way. But there was just no spiritual connection, like I’d experienced with Taali. And Liz simply didn’t knock me off my feet like Ruata.

Speaking of whom... Drifting off to sleep, I pulled up the princely interface and confirmed my attendance at the upcoming meeting. Regretfully, most of the control functions for The House of Night were locked by the moderators. Yes, everything was by the book: the treasurer controlled the finances, the gunsmith ran the armory. But still, there were ways to get around that.

I gave the guards a holiday: free access to the wine cellars, fish on the menu for a month, and all armor was to be painted pink.

Now I can finally sleep!

Chapter Three

R
andom quotes from in-game forums and open chat:

"Peeps, did everyone’s Patriarch quests get cancelled?! OMG, I’ve spent six days collecting the Alliance’s ears! Trampled the Original City NPCs, lost two PK items! WTF?!"

...

"How do I pm?"

"Alt+F4 on the virtual keyboard, n00b!"

"Thnx..."

...

"I’m fed up playing Light, why we got so many jerks?! These n00bs don’t know shit! Their temple’s busted up, The Sun God looks like he ain’t seen a dentist in fifty years, all the quests fell through, and minus 50 xp points! That’s it, I’m switching to the dark side. Adios, Pinocchios!"

...

"Badaboom PK!!!"

"Not funny..."

...

"Get your latest AlterWorld News issue! One-point-five gigabytes of info, stats, screens, and never-before-seen videos – all for just one gold! The sinister poisoning of the Light leaders, the Patriarch’s murder, the Temple massacre! All this for an insanely low price! Ten percent of sales profit will be donated to the city restoration fund!"

...

"Ten-pound mithril fragment for sale; remnant of the alchemy bolt that destroyed The Temple. High value item!"

...

"The Basilisk’s remains rotted away before they could be looted! Looks like the monster was damaged mostly by the explosion. None of the lone fighters or the spontaneously assembled groups could defeat it. Our guys guarded the corpse for two hours so that the dark kamikaze wouldn’t get through to loot it. Judging by the screens from the Chinese raid, there could’ve been at least ten artifacts up for grabs!"

"They say the Brits offered Badaboom a million gold for looting rights!"

"He’s an ass! The tombstones were piled up with stones. The graveyard’s never been so crowded! Three-friggin’-thousand people waited for three hours! You could come up with a cure for cancer in all the time he stole!"

"Yeah, and you’d be the one to do it... Be grateful that they got piled up. Or he might have returned and gone through our bags. There’s a shitload of gold in there, plus items. What’s your PK-counter looking like?"

"Wouldn’t you like to know!"

...

"Hey plz share the link to the vid where The Fallen One’s First Priest kicks the Sun God’s ass!"

"Don’t fall for it, it’s a cop auto-bot! They’ll run you in! The motherfuckers from Enjoy Movies bought up the rights to all video content on the temple battle..."

Warning! Player Eugene has been Silenced for 72 hours. Charges: violation of the EULA section 7.2. Report number KA783641У, Violation Of Law And Order, has been generated and sent to the criminal court.

"You’ve done it now..."

"Can’t be his first time; they give a warning to first-timers!"

"No, the virtual cops issue warnings. These are copyright agents. They have more rights..."

...

"The Light Allegiance is looking to buy the assembly instructions of the bomb that brought the temple down. Similar or alternative models also accepted. PM. Prank inquiries will get you on the KOS list!"

...

"Calling volunteer guards for Light temples! All levels welcome!"

...

"Did you catch the Russian sign on the Sun God’s temple ruins? ‘Nice pile!’ it said. The nerve!"

...

"Sign our digital petition! We demand that the admins punish those who summoned the mega-boss within the city limits! Restore XP for the thousands killed! Ban the pilgrim murderer! Restore the city to yesterday’s date or give forty-one million gold for speed-repairs!"

...

"The Crafters Guild is buying adamant in bulk!"

"The Chinese have an adamant bell for Yu-Huang summoning at the Jade Palace. A piece can be cut off!"

"Thnx for the tip!"

* * *

              The monotonous PM ping woke me. I had good filters that blocked over three thousand messages in half an hour. But the high-priority A-list was still full; many were eager to get in touch with the First Priest who was suddenly so active at the auctions.

              Badaboom’s chat must have been a mess! One kill alone could get you a load of threatening PMs. And that guy’s banked two thousand stars! I had to cut him extra bonuses for all the trouble he was dealing with. Perhaps a "Hero of Darkness" gold star, inscribed with "0001"? In just a hundred years, any collector would give his right arm for something like that.

              But then, he was already getting tons of freebies. And he should be watched closely, lest he go off the deep end and becomes a suicide bomber, the Fallen One forbid. He had gotten the Holy Unmercenary upgrade, and the next public bombing would get him scores of fallen players’ items. Bam, a millionaire... Even my fat inner greedy pig could not ignore such a temptation...

              Well, this party couldn’t last long. His PK-counter had already gone through the roof. Loot could not have meant much to him anymore. Something to think about...

             
Perhaps I should go myself?
I thought.

              As I pondered the question, the message filter kept up its efforts. My PM pinged twice; Fuckyall broke through all the filters, along with a very helpful fat hack writer from the top twenty.

              It can’t go on like this! I need a long-legged secretary with an IQ of 130 plus!
Seriously, it was about time to get an intelligent assistant and set up a bureaucratic barrier to ward off the people. I just couldn't handle all this red tape on my own any more.

              I glanced over the first fifty messages just in case. They were mostly congratulations, threats, obscure requests and retarded demands:

             
"How do I become a First Priest?! Greatly appreciated!"

              "What’re your staff stats?"

              "Congrats! You kicked some ass! Hey, lend me a hundred gold, pay ya back tomorrow."

              "Want to join your clan. Druid, level 16. So-so gear, but leveling up fast! Sincerely, Gandiel the Destroyer."

              "I’ve lost about 30 gold worth of buffs cuz of you! My bro’s with the Avengers; pay me back or they’ll paint the walls with you!!!"

What a bunch of lame-os...

Oh, where do I get a secretary? Camo? She’s tough and cunning, never speaks of her past.
But Spark did not see a threat. The ex-slave was as honest as she could be. Instead of lying, she preferred to say nothing at all. Camo would only shrug and blame everything on someone else's secret, the fifth amendment, and some NDA agreements.

I wouldn’t have tolerated this secrecy from anyone else. We had no use for shady characters.
Wanna lie low? No problem; there're tons of clans out there gladly accepting random strangers.

Yet... I kept an eye on the ex-slave. The girl was clearly hiding; never left the Valley, avoided public gatherings, and tried to stay out of sight in general. She’d spend most of her time in the Fourth Wing of the Super Nova, which was the rehabilitation center for former slaves. Everyone there had been deeply traumatized and had all sorts of anxieties and phobias.

Alas, I was wrong.

Camo turned out to be an ordinary level ninety wizard. Pretty good for a slave whom the Chinese looted daily. But far from the hidden race of rogue camo wizards that used to storm the Cats’ castle. A pity... actually, with all the weird stories, the biography gaps, and the failed attempts to pass for an ancient, figuring that girl out wasn’t simple.

Lurch kept a watchful eye on her as well. Orcus was trying to dig up more info. A hound would always be near her, accompanied by a goblin guard. Camo was not easily provoked. She was perplexed as to why she had been given a chain mail. Freezing a bucket of water was beyond her expertise; she specialized in spatial magic.

No, I can’t dump my mail on someone that obscure
. I was skeptical that we could outwit a special forces agent from one of the leading clans. Not that they would have ever sent such a weirdo to do such an important job. Their spy would’ve had a crystal-clear backstory, solid as a concrete wall, no gaps. But then, you never know...

I heard a racket outside my door; someone mumbling, a Drow growling, and even the sound of a slap it seemed. The door opened silently. An ear-chopper slipped in. She was carrying a breakfast platter with coffee and toast. The guards had stopped letting servants near leaders, thus depriving them of their tips and gaining quite a few enemies among them.

Every NPC servant had gotten some guard admirers to squeeze for "jewelry money." But the comely ladies had no intention of giving up their sacred cow; the right to cook for the clan leader and hold out their palms for the shiny coins.

The castle staff was slowly coming out of serfdom. They bought their freedom. Durin happily took their gold, but kept complaining that these measly cents wouldn’t even cover a pretty female servant’s yearly salary. She’d become an out of pocket expense...

I had long ceased to follow the logic of things around here, especially after one of the guard orcs submitted a certain request. He was tired, you see. Fifty years of combat, covered with scars; about time to retire. He had asked for a plump lady-friend, a tavern lot, a little loan, and a temporary tax exemption. And the cheat picked the busiest intersection near the castle. Those lots will cost more than the whole of Fifth Avenue in a century!

I had to gulp down my breakfast on the way. Cryl was venting away into the private channel, pressured by a hundred of the more persistent relatives staying in the castle. The promised gathering kept getting re-scheduled, the celebration ended with a terrifying Act of God. The ethereal beauty of the virtual world bared its fangs. The moms cried, the dads yelled, the grandpas threw their weight around, the grandmas flew into a temper.

No matter how those who were ill-informed about digital technologies had pictured the virtual world, everything turned out to be much more complex. Mystical, yet just like reality, it only got more and more terrifying for them.

I took a portal to the Altar, taking the scalding-hot coffee along. I hurried to the Main Hall. A blind man could have found it; scores of voices echoed through the surrounding halls, interspersed with hysterical shouts.

Thanks for the sound signals
. By the time I got there, I already knew the overall mood and could guess what kinda questions they’d throw at me.

My coffee dripping all over the white marble floor, I avoided the goblins’ reproachful glances. One of the hell hounds followed me, purring with delight as it slurped the hot drops of coffee in midair. Its eyes started to glow as it began to stagger.
Are you kidding me, high on coffee?

A few more hell hounds rushed out of a nearby hall, their armor jingling. They were very aggressive, following me with wild eyes. They ignored me, interested only in the coffee.

"Shoo!"

I regret to say, I was a little harsh with the doggies. Their hind paws paralyzed, their lean asses scraped the tiles as they tried to keep up. I could hear their piteous "GIMME!" cry and could sense their fear.

Thoughtfully scratching my head, I whispered to Lurch, "It’s a celebration, after all; get all the hell hounds a 100 coffee each... make it hot!"

Glancing at the first hound whose sagging muzzle now looked like that of a shar-pei, I added:

"’Xcept this one; this one’s had enough!"

I hesitated for a moment, wondering if I should pass a clan-wide ban on feeding coffee to hounds.
No, it’s worse if these guys find out; everyone’ll want to know the exact reason for the ban. And I can’t say I’ll obey the ban myself... Much to Spark’s delight.

"Oh, and, Lurch... have a goblin personally take a barrel of the best coffee to Spark. It’s to look presentable, you know, like a leader..."

Alright, time to act before Cryl is mentally raped
. With so much stress, he might just run off to the wild. At eighteen, killing monsters is more fun than being a scribe.

I entered the hall through a side door, then got up on the podium that had been thrown together in a rush. I set my mug down on it with a bang. That drew attention, but the hall didn’t get any less noisy. Demands for goods, loans, provisions, and explanations poured forth.
Buncha cavemen!

I tried to stare them down. Like hell! A thirty-year-old can’t manage hundreds of worried parents and seniors. Especially after they’ve sensed the magical opportunity to gain eternal health and immortality.

So, what does he do?!

Summoning the power of the Fallen One within my soul and mixing it with my Faith Points, I clenched my fists and entered my anchored state of a feudal lord.
I am the Master! This is MY land! MY people are behind me!

The darkness shrouding the corners deepened before my eyes. Obscure shadows flitted by as a whisper echoed in my mind. The air grew heavy. The demanding voices died down. The elderly opened their mouths, suddenly recalling what asthma felt like. The crowd rushed toward the center of the hall, staring in awe at my growing figure on the podium.