《Dungeon of Assassins [LitRPG, Dungeon Core, NPC perspective]》 Chapter 01: Weylan Soft flute music drifted across the meadows, spreading out around the hill where a lone oak tree stood, its branches offering shade. Sheep grazed lazily in the surrounding fields. Seated against the tree trunk, the young shepherd held his flute loosely by his side, the notes of his tune fading into silence. Beside him, the sheepdog lay with half-closed eyes, keeping watch over the flock. When the music ceased, the boy looked up at the dog. "Don''t give me that reproachful look. I''m not here to play music for you. I''m here for..." He glanced down at the sheep grazing peacefully and shrugged. "Whatever. The sheep would do just fine on their own." His father Ryoden wandered through the flock, leaning on his shepherd''s crook and occasionally bending down to look at the hooves of some of the sheep. He frowned: "I won''t live forever and I certainly won''t work forever. Soon it will be your sixteenth birthday and you can choose your character class. Then you''ll understand the finer points better." "And if I choose something other than shepherd?" Ryoden straightened to his full height and turned his full attention to his son for the first time, "Weylan, this is no joke. You must take over the flock when I grow old. To be a good shepherd, you need the appropriate character class!" "I''ve already shot a few hares. Both with traps and once with my slingshot. Dorm says that''s enough to meet the requirements. So, I could also choose hunter." Despite his words, Weylan harbored doubts, but it was one of the possibilities he was clinging to. The thought of wandering after sheep for the rest of his life kept him awake at night. There had to be a way out. His father made a contemptuous noise, but didn''t sound angry, rather resigned, as he was having the discussion again and again: "If Dorm would stop licking toads all the time, he wouldn''t spout such nonsense. Back in my day, there was no need for these discussions. You automatically got the character class for the profession you were trained in, plain and simple." "You didn''t have a choice," Weylan retorted. "But what''s the point? I don''t need special skills to herd some stupid sheep. Bellmart could handle it alone. I''m just here to carry his food." "Some skills are vital. But you only get them at level 4 and 5. We are not warriors or some crazy adventurers crawling through dungeons. We are honest workers. We don''t accumulate huge amounts of experience points. You have to choose carefully about what you spend them on. As soon as you get above level 5, hardly anything here will be dangerous or challenging enough to earn you experience points. That''s it then. I reached level 6 when I was sixty. I was level 5 for over twenty years." "Curing diseases in sheep is a joke, not a special skill." "And what if there''s an outbreak of sheep rot? Or heaven forbid, foot and mouth disease?" "Then I''ll get a healer from the city." "By the time you get back, the flock would be..." The shepherd fell silent and looked around in alarm. The herding dog had straightened up and pricked up his ears. Weylan put his flute down on the grass and stood up: "What''s going on?" Before his father could answer, dark shadows emerged from the bushes at the edge of the forest. Fearful bleating sounded as the sheep also realized that something was wrong. Three shadows detached themselves from cover and glided close above the grass towards a lamb standing a little to one side. Teeth flashed in the light of the already sinking sun as the wolves became recognizable. Ryoden raised his shepherd''s staff, pulled a stone from his shoulder bag and placed it in a leather loop at the end of the staff. With a powerful two-handed swing of the staff, he hurled it at the foremost of the wolves, hitting it squarely in the forehead. Weylan flinched at the crunching sound of the skull cracking and looked at his father in surprise. Ryoden shrugged: "Protection of the herd. Gives a +5 bonus to all attacks in defense of my herd against animals. So much for supposedly useless special skills." He inserted another stone and hurled it. Weylan pulled a long leather strap from his pocket, which had a wider piece of leather in the middle. One end of the strap had a loop on it, which he slipped over his finger in a practiced fashion while gripping a knot tightly on the other end. It took him a moment to find a stone in his pouch, then he put it in and twirled the sling a few times over his head. With a jerky forward movement of his arm, he released the end of the rope with the knot and the stone shot towards the wolves. The projectile grazed one wolf on the hip, eliciting an annoyed growl from it but causing no real damage. Bellmart threw himself between the retreating herd and the wolves. The two wolves hesitated and Weylan put another stone in his sling: "Ha! You''ve picked the wrong flock. If you want one of our sheep, you''ll have to bring some friends with you." His father pointed to the edge of the forest: "I''m afraid they have." More wolves came out of the forest, shoulders swaying and teeth bared aggressively. Five. Ten. Twenty. Weylan''s hands began to shake so badly that the stone fell from the sling: "Llurd''s hairy balls!" "You''re not supposed to swear." His father''s response came automatically as he watched the ever-increasing number of wolves. "There are too many of them." "We could hole up in the tree." Weylan looked for a low branch, but the lowest one was still a good deal higher than he could jump. His father took his eyes off the wolves for the first time and also looked at the oak tree. All the other trees were far too far away, the wolves would never let them get that far. He ran up the hill. A quick movement that could only trigger a reaction. The pack charged. "Wait, boy, I''ll hoist you up!" His father''s voice cut through the tension. Weylan looked up at the branches. His father had a lapse in judgment in his eagerness to save him, but now was not the moment for discussion. Turning towards the tree, he quickly devised a makeshift ladder with his hands. "You go first!" he instructed, his voice firm amidst the turmoil. His father narrowed his eyes in annoyance, saved himself the air to curse his stubborn son and ran straight towards him. He slowed down just before him. He threw the shepherd''s crook up so that it snagged on the branch. Then he stepped into his son''s ready hands and, with a little extra momentum from Weylan, managed to reach the lowest branch. With strength unbroken by age, he pulled himself up. Weylan ran towards the wolves. The animals let out a bloodcurdling howl and accelerated even further. He gulped, turned around and raced towards the tree. Carried by his momentum, he ran over a meter up the trunk. He stretched his hands upwards and grabbed the shepherd''s crook that his father was already holding out to him. As soon as he had grabbed it firmly, his father pulled it high enough for him to reach a branch. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a movement below him and reflexively pulled his legs up. The wolf''s teeth snapped underneath him with a terrifyingly loud noise. A second wolf also jumped up, but now he was out of danger. He frantically pulled himself up and then climbed up another branch after his father. Ryoden made sure that his son was sitting safely in the tree. " Can''t you ever listen?¡± If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. Weylan inwardly sighed at his father''s lack of trust in his judgment. Gritting his teeth only slightly, he explained his logic: "If I had been up here first, I wouldn''t have been able to pull you up. You''re far heavier and stronger than me." The old shepherd thought for a moment and then nodded reluctantly. Then the two fell into silence. Down below, the wolves leapt up the tree and tried in vain to snap at them. Sharp claws furrowed the bark, but found too little grip to get any higher. Further back, the panicked bleating of a lamb stood out from the howling of the wolves. The wolves had managed to separate it from the flock and surround it. The herding dog, which had previously kept away from the wolves, barking furiously and repeatedly making a wild escape, fell silent. He turned fully towards them and planted his hind legs firmly against the ground. Another bleat sounded. The herding dog sprinted off. "No! Bellmart! Don''t! Run away!" Weylan leaned so far forward that he almost fell out of the tree. He wanted to rush to the aid of the dog he had grown up with. But his hands betrayed him by tightening around the branch. He wanted to intervene, he wanted to fight... but the more rational part of his mind knew that he had no chance of success or survival if he left the tree. "Run Bellmart! Get outta here!" The dog ignored him and grabbed the front wolf by the hind leg to pull it away from the lamb. A second wolf snapped at him, but the herding dog skillfully dodged. Then he jumped onto the back of one wolf and from there, surprisingly, onto the throat of another. The windpipe burst with a crunch and blood sprayed onto the grass. Bellmart had already disengaged and was about to jump away when a wolf bit his heel from behind. The dog''s snout hit the grass. He turned to snap back, but the wolf had already let go and retreated. When Bellmart tried to put weight on his hind paws as he jumped away, his leg buckled. The wolves circled the faithful herding dog and took turns snapping at him from all sides. The blood loss was already weakening him, he could no longer jump or run. Weylan averted his eyes. After a while, it became quiet. The fight was over. When he looked again, the wolves were already retreating with their prey. The wolves under the tree also trotted off without looking back. Weylan couldn''t believe it: "Why are they just leaving again? That''s not normal behavior for wolves, is it?" His father frowned as he watched the wolves. "Father? What''s wrong?" Weylan waited tensely for an answer. It wasn''t the first time the herd had been attacked by wolves. But never by so many. His father had told him numerous stories from his youth. Wolves had once held Ryoden up in a tree for three days until the village hunters had found him and chased the wolves away. When his father replied, he spoke slowly and hesitantly: "You''re right. Wolves are not satisfied with a single lamb. Once they start stalking someone, they don''t just give up. Normally, they would stalk us for hours, maybe even days, and hold on to this tree once their hunting instinct has been awakened." "But why are they doing that? His father began to climb down. "Father! I can still see the wolves!" "That doesn''t matter. They won''t hurt us now. Let''s get the herd back together." Weylan hesitated, then followed his father down. He didn''t take his eyes off the bushes behind which the wolves had disappeared. *** Ryoden and his son trudged along the road, herding their flock in front of them. The sun had already disappeared behind the mountains and the last rays of light were beginning to fade. "Father..." The fifteen-year-old stroked his hand nervously through his blond hair. The old man didn''t respond. "Father, what should we do now?" His father stopped and looked around. With the sky covered in clouds, it threatened to be a pitch-black night. "We should have set off earlier. Even if it meant leaving a few of the sheep behind. The path is dangerous in the dark, even in good times. Now..." He fell silent. The path sank further into darkness and the two of them stumbled over bumps. The old shepherd scanned the path in front of him with his shepherd''s crook, but found no roots or similarly low bumps. Weylan followed him and tried to avoid the obstacles that his father stumbled over. The sheep had less trouble. Normally they would have refused to walk in the dark, but after the attack they were literally lamb-happy. Weylan narrowed his eyes and let out a sigh of relief: "There''s a glimmer of light up ahead. That must be the inn on the edge of town. We''ll be there in a minute." The two of them quickened their pace. Next to the inn was a fenced-in area where they had often stowed the sheep safely when they could no longer make it home. When they opened the door to the inn, they were met with a few surprised looks. No one had expected any more guests at such a late hour. Most of the guests had already finished their last beer and were preparing to leave. There was a lot to do tomorrow. As there always is. With a salute to the crowd, Ryoden dragged himself to the nearest table with an empty seat and dropped heavily onto the chair. The other guests at the table raised their mugs of ale in greeting. He himself nodded back wearily and waved to the innkeeper to bring him a beer as well. His son moved to the back, to the table with the other young people. "Well Ryoden, long day?" The village weaver was a good customer of the shepherd, so he swallowed his bad mood and forced out a polite reply: "You could say that. I''ve been looking for sheep that have run away until sundown." "Is your dog sick? Bellmart doesn''t usually let sheep escape. And your son Weylan hasn''t fallen on his head either." "At least not as often as you." One of the other guests jokingly interjected. Ryoden ignored him. "Aye, a good dog. He was." Ryoden raised his tankard in the traditional salute to the dead and drank. The others at the table followed his example. Before anyone could ask, Ryoden continued, "Wolves. Night-black and tall. Over a dozen. Maybe as many as twenty, I haven''t had time to really count them. They descended on the herd without warning. Good Bellmart pounced on them when they jumped on one of the lambs. But he had no chance against so many. They snatched a single lamb and dragged it away. Me and Weylan managed to save ourselves by climbing a tree. The flock ran off into the sky. I found most of them again. But not all of them." The villagers around the table looked at each other worriedly. Murne, the blacksmith, said what everyone was thinking: "There haven''t been any wolves this close to the village for years. Autumn has barely begun. The woods have been full of game all year. That makes no sense." "Then you know as well as I do what that means." The crowd remained silent. No one met his gaze. The shepherd spoke reluctantly, as if he had to fight for every word: "They will tear the rest of my flock if no one takes care of them." Everyone at the table moved away from him. Murne raised his hand in horror: "Don''t say it!" "What choice do we have?" "Anything is better than that!" Ryoden looked at his jug with a blank expression. "The wolves will eat my herd. Then me. Then they will descend upon the village. It will not end. It will never end. I don''t want to wait until they eat the first children. Or do you think our doddering village watchman can stop a pack of wolves?" At the end of the restaurant, the aforementioned watchman protested quietly. When questioning glances were directed at him, he lowered his eyes and shook his head. He was already overwhelmed when a fight broke out between the young people of the village. Weylan followed the conversation, as did all the other young people in the small dining room. When he exchanged questioning glances with his peers, they responded with indifferent shrugs. The others had no idea what the adults were talking about either. Even some of the adults didn''t seem to be able to follow the conversation, but clearly didn''t dare to ask any questions. Weylan saw Trulda, the innkeeper''s foster daughter, come out of the next room with the beer barrels, four beer mugs resting on her expansive bosom. He waved to her shyly, but she didn''t even notice him, instead looking around the guest room in confusion. Silence had fallen over the room. Confused, she looked around and followed the glances to Ryoden. Before she could ask what was going on, her foster father put his hand on her shoulder and told her to wait. Weylan pushed forward and stood behind his father. He didn''t understand what was going on, but wanted to support his father. Ryoden hesitated, closed his eyes and spoke emphatically: "We should hire adventurers to take care of the wolves." Something on his forehead began to glow red, then the light lengthened into a vertical line with a dot underneath. Trulda dropped the beer mugs, which shattered with a clatter, sending splinters and beer carelessly flying. She put her hands over her mouth in horror, ignoring the mess. She turned to Weylan: "What has your father done? Why is he suddenly a Questgiver? What happened?" Weylan shrugged his shoulders helplessly; he understood just as little as she did. Questgivers, quests, adventurers... or as they were more often called in the stories: revenants. The Age of Plagues was two hundred years ago. The innkeeper raised his voice: "That''s it for today. They''ll probably show up tomorrow. Go home people, get a good night''s sleep. Today''s drinks are on me. When Ryoden has paid the adventurers, they''ll spend a lot of gold here." Weylan protested: "Gold? Father can''t afford that, we..." Ryoden pulled his pouch from his belt and dropped it on the table. The unexpected dull clink of the thud silenced his son. When Ryoden opened the pouch, silver and gold coins fell out, where there had otherwise only been a few pieces of copper. Weylan lifted one of the coins. It was perfectly smooth, with inlaid silver lines that formed a circular labyrinth. The mark of Pallandur, the god of quests. Chapter 02: Malvorik Malvorik woke up. He immediately realized that something was not normal. In fact, nothing was normal at all. He had suddenly become wide awake. He hadn''t experienced this since his 70th birthday. The veil that had clouded his mind and memories over the last few decades had been swept away. Had he tried a new spell? No. He had given up experimental thaumaturgy after he had destroyed a wall of his house during a new portal spell and almost lost his arm. He concentrated on his last memories. Lately, he had been having trouble remembering the current day of the week. Let alone the names of his six grandchildren. Now everything was very clear. He had asked the local priest of Pallandur to perform the Liturgy of Honorable Farewell on him. On his 92nd birthday, he had gathered his children and grandchildren around him. He had reconciled with Lorrik, his eldest son. Back in full possession of his mental powers for a short time, it had not been difficult for him to realize that he had become angry with him mainly out of pure old-age stubbornness. Only because he had given up his academic career in favor of a career as a battlemage. Lorrik was a practitioner, not a theorist. His magical talent was actually more suited to magical feats of strength than subtle applications. Throwing fireballs at an army of zombies suited him perfectly. He had addressed all his grandchildren by their real names for the first time, listened to stories about a walnut tree from little J?rne and admired Arnhold''s stone collection. The little ones didn''t understand why their parents kept crying. In the invitation, he had explained to his children in detail what he was planning. The liturgy of the Honorable Farewell used up his remaining life force to give him a few hours of total physical and mental health. The day was drawing to a close. Content with himself and the world and surrounded by his family, he fell asleep peacefully... and died. Malvorik was taken aback. Was he dead? He had somehow imagined life after death to be different. He looked around. A square room made of smooth stone. He couldn''t see any sources of light or shadows. But since he could see without any problems, it had to be lit somehow. He tried to hold his hand before his eyes but couldn''t move. He couldn''t move or feel his whole body at all. There was just... nothing. He tried to close his eyes, but that didn''t work either as if he had no eyelids. He turned his gaze, and that worked. He could turn his gaze in all directions. Even backward, upwards and downwards. He couldn''t find his body. The room consisted only of bare stone walls. He was a little worried about the shape of the room. The ceiling was completely straight. He had no means of comparison to estimate the size of the room, but it seemed large enough to him that this ceiling shape could become unstable. A barrel vault would be a much better structural solution. A golden dot of light appeared in the middle of the empty room, expanding into a line and then a hole in space. He noticed that he could recognize the lines of magical structure without effort, as if using a high-level analysis spell. Now that he was focusing on magical phenomena, he also saw a tightly focused stream of magic passing through the room, right through the center of his field of vision. A line of mana? He only glanced at the stream of mana, then concentrated again on the golden mana construct that was forming. He looked at the structure with interest and identified it as a complex portal spell. Primordial energy bound by holy magic. He only knew this from the textbooks. The magic of the gods themselves. A one-way portal. Judging by the aura coloration, it led from a globe into the material plane. A humanoid figure with swirling butterfly wings floated through the portal, which closed again behind her. The wings were midnight black and interwoven with an intricate pattern of golden lines that glowed faintly from within. The winged creature immediately picked up speed and began to circle him in a constantly changing path. It varied its speed, distance and height from the ground in a pattern that he could not see through. His perspective suddenly changed as he tried to follow it with his gaze. His field of vision approached one of the walls. Then he turned around and saw a shimmering reddish crystal floating in the middle of the room. Numerous facets formed a roughly round crystal with several extensions. It vaguely reminded him of a human heart. The mana line he had discovered earlier flowed in from one side of the room, through the middle of the crystal and out again on the other. The mana lines that had met in the meditation room at the university had looked similar. Only they hadn''t been so pitifully weak. Nobody would build a mage tower or even dig a tunnel in rock to get to them. As the crystal did not move, he turned his attention back to the newcomer. The creature was female and seemed very nervous. Her eyes darted back and forth as if she was trying to keep an eye on the ceiling, floor and walls at the same time. After a few more circles, she began to speak: "Don''t worry, I don''t want to hurt you. My name is Selvara and I am..." He tried to speak, but no sound rang out. Instead, he felt himself instinctively establishing a direct connection with the creature. He had used artifacts and spells for mindspeech and long-distance communication several times before, so he had no problem dealing with them: The flapping of the fairy''s wings went out of sync momentarily: "Okay... This is... unexpected." The fairy maintained her flight but unconsciously slowed down a little: "You don''t sound as mad as the other dungeon hearts my sisters have told me about. Are you alright?" "That''s my job. But how on earth do you know that?" The fairy was silent momentarily: "You can remember your past?" "Your soul should have been bathed in the sea of oblivion until all your concrete memories have been dissolved. This should give you a fresh start in your new life." "Well, you must have ended up in Golgoroth''s domain somehow. Only the god of monsters and dungeons can plant a soul in a dungeon heart." "The gods have cast you out. It cannot be otherwise. Have you made a pact with an archdemon, killed a saint or desecrated a temple?" The crystal''s thoughts dried up. As he continued, his words seemed to be directed less at the dungeon fairy and more into the far distance: "You plundered a saint''s grave?" There was genuine horror in the fairy''s voice. The fairy buried her hands in her face: "Of course. An unforgivable sin can only be committed consciously and deliberately. But the gods decreed ages ago that no one who plunders the grave of a saint may enter paradise. Well, there must have been a long discussion when Uthgarl weighed your soul on the scales of righteousness. After all, there are worse things." "It''s not as bad as you imagine. Dungeons have an important function in the world." "They give people a target to fight against together. These are places where heroes can train their powers and acquire equipment that can''t be found anywhere else. Without dungeons, the people would fall on each other even more often. The other gods would have thrown Golgoroth out of the pantheon ages ago if it didn''t serve an important purpose." "Try it on your next visit to a temple." "What do you mean, though? Dungeon hearts can''t move. Over." "I''ve never heard of that. Have you already used mana to create your dungeon? It should be an instinctive action as soon as your mana storage is full for the first time." . "Do you know how to access your status screen?" Without effort, he used the mental technique he had used earlier to manage his experience points. "You have been reborn. Like everyone else, you start all over again." Malvorik looked annoyed at the translucent document floating before him, visible only to him. Name: Malvorik Race: Dungeon Heart Character class: [None] [Note: Dungeon Master character class is only activated when the dungeon is created. Other character classes are not selectable]. Experience points: 0 Mana Pool: 10 / 10 Mana regeneration: 1 / hour (mana line strength 1) "You''re no longer a mage. Dungeons work differently. As you grow your crystal body later, you can gather more of the magical power around you. There are also methods to recharge your mana faster once your dungeon is bigger and can capture creatures. Some of your first special skills can also increase this by a few points, even if this is not a good idea in the long term. For now, though, you''ll have to take things slowly." "Do you have a problem with that? I mean, at least you weren''t a murderous sociopath like the other dungeon souls." The fairy looked at him. Her face twisted into an indecisive frown. On the one hand, a dungeon should have no problems with murder, on the other hand, she had already made friends with the idea of working with someone who had a conscience. "That will be quite a while in the future. First of all, you have to found your dungeon officially. That''s very easy. Call up the Dungeon Management Menu and click on Yes." Before the fairy could answer, he simply tried it. He gathered mana from the surrounding area and molded it into the simplest of all known magical patterns. A pattern so primitive that it didn''t even count as a proper spell. The first exercise all mages learned at the academy. The first visible success during their training. A primitive mana structure that consumed itself uncontrollably and produced light in the process. It flashed colorfully above him. "What are you doing? What was that? Were you messing with the mana line? Leave it alone! That''s the only source of mana you have at the moment. If you destroy it or direct it away from you, that''s it. Magic is everywhere, but the density is a hundred times higher directly on a line of force than even one step away from it. You''ll starve to death long before you get any of the other methods to work." "You can''t fall, dungeon hearts..." He ignored the fairy''s indignant shouts and concentrated on his memory of one of the simplest real spells he had learned as an adept. His innate ability had allowed him to manipulate mana at the age of eight. But it had taken him years of practice to understand the patterns that created effective spells. Meditation, learning the rules and patterns. Countless attempts to finally get the mana into precisely the correct form. He had lost the skills that would have allowed him to cast the spell without any effort, just by speaking the formula. But he still remembered the pattern of a few spells. Without his grimoire and the complex graphics of the spell matrices, he could only reconstruct the simplest of level 1 spells. But if he could do that... The fairy could not see what he was doing. As he no longer responded to her questions, she leaned back on the stone floor and meditated. Dungeon fairies were used to staying in an inactive dungeon for a long time. While crystal hearts enlarged their crystal, they had to silently suck mana into themselves for months. Selvara''s breathing became deeper and slower. She slowly slipped into a stasis sleep as she had been trained to do. She exhaled sharply and opened her eyes. Her breathing was fast and excited. She had forgotten something! She didn''t have a pact yet. She didn''t have access to part of his mana regeneration. Without a pact, she was in danger of starving to death and never waking up again. After a while, she calmed down again. The elixir still flowed through her veins and provided her with everything she needed. Hunger, thirst, tiredness... none of these were an issue for another week or so. Hours passed. Her eyes were almost closed, and she was about to fall asleep from boredom when the thought language of the dungeon heart echoed through her mind. He spoke the formula and felt the magic take shape. An invisible field with which he could lift small objects and carry them around. The limit was about the weight of a dagger. The spell could not manipulate, push or tear the target, but simply carry it around. It didn''t even maintain alignment, so you couldn''t even move a goblet of wine with it without it tipping over and leaking. A typical non-optimized level 1 spell. It wasn''t usually difficult to use, but the area of effect swirled around aimlessly. Despite all his efforts, he could not align it with a target. Perplexed, he looked at the whole thing. As a dungeon heart, he could see magic without analysis spells, which he liked more and more. But why couldn''t he control the spell at all? He had used it on his first successful attempt as an adept. But of course. He lacked the appropriate spell control skill. But if he was right with his idea... Spell cast. Apprenticeship completed. Character class acquired: Mage Level 1 Spell learned: Level 1 - Hand of the Novice (Layman I) Cannot increase the mana pool: Incompatible race. Cannot increase mana regeneration: Incompatible race. Skills learned: Spell Control (Apprentice I), Magic Theory (Apprentice I), Alchemy (Apprentice I) Ritual learned: Call of the Familiar Select a spell from the list... Before the list had run through entirely, he had already decided on a spell and chosen it. Spell learned: Level 1 - Stationary Zone of Silence (Layman I) The fairy looked up at him in confusion: "What just happened?" Malvorik smugly explained what he had just done. "That''s impossible! You can''t acquire a character class without leveling up!" "Great. But you do realize that all the important abilities of a dungeon depend on its level in the character class Dungeon Master. If you don''t get it when creating your dungeon now, you''ll have a boring life here. In an empty room. Without monsters, traps or access to the outside." Malvorik was silent for a moment. Selvara crossed her arms in front of her chest: "Why couldn''t I have caught a normal psychopath?" "That''s true so far. You can absorb matter and create it again, but that costs mana. Actually, this uses relatively little mana, but dungeons often move large amounts of rock. This quickly adds up. Intelligent creatures and magical monsters block this ability within a certain radius." "Well, it works about ten paces in all directions, even through rocks. It also affects everything in the direct line of sight of an intruder. Regardless of whether he is looking or not." "As a dungeon fairy, I don''t count as an intruder so that I won''t interfere with your dungeon construction. That would also be quite a hindrance. Now I''ll go ahead and finish explaining. We had to memorize the lecture. It would be nice if I could use it at least once. So, you can store things you dissolve in an extradimensional room inside you. In a normal dungeon, I would describe it as a kind of stomach, but that shouldn''t be necessary here. You know how a Bag of Holding works. You can''t store much in the beginning. Most of it has to be created around you immediately. You should create a storage room there. In the Heart Room, the area directly around you, you can reshape anything you want at no mana cost. This can only be blocked if an intruder is standing directly in your heart room. So you can always clean up your supply room. This is an innate ability of all dungeon hearts. So you should be able to do it too. Give it a try." Malvorik reached out with his mind. He could feel the fairy itself but could not influence it. The walls, on the other hand, felt malleable. Without effort, he could form a pattern into a surface. Now he needed one more piece of information. But he wasn''t sure whether the fairy would give it to him once it had understood his new abilities. "Of course. The oldest dungeon fairy receives a vision from Golgoroth with information about each new dungeon. She then passes it on when a fairy has been chosen for it. I was shown where my location will be yesterday using our best maps." "We''re just over 150 steps below the surface. So it will take you quite a while before your dungeon reaches the surface. Your sphere of influence grows with the size of your crystal. To enlarge your crystal, you just need a lot of time to gather enough mana. Each increase in size costs more." "I see. Sorry. I was prepared for a dungeon heart to know nothing about the world. We''re on the edge of the Kaali Desert, right by the Blackrock Mountains. In other words, in the no man''s land between the M''Bathi tribal area and the Kingdom of the Golden Alliance. An ideal place to set up a dungeon. A relatively well-frequented travel route is not far away. So you can open your exit there and expect to be found relatively quickly. Or you can build an oasis and use it as a trap." "About five days'' travel." "Maybe 60 miles, through the border forest, across the grass steppe and directly over the mountains." The fairy interrupted him: "This might be really interesting, but could you please set up your dungeon now so we can make a pact? Once we are pact bound, I can read your status directly and help you much better and easier." Without paying attention to her questions, he cast the spell: Now with the appropriate skill, he was able to control the simple spell precisely. He grabbed his own small crystal body and carefully carried himself along the line of force. Something he hadn''t been able to do as a novice, of course, since he weighed considerably more than five pounds back then. The fairy bolted up from her cozy reclining position in a panic, "What are you doing?" When his heart space came into contact with the rock, he was able to dissolve the stone without effort. The experience surprised him. He could feel, smell and taste the rock. As it dissolved, he understood the structure of the material with a depth and precision that he could not express in words. What he had just seen as simply stone, he now understood as a complex structure of different substances. After a few steps, he felt a pressure inside him that quickly became uncomfortable and a short distance later painful. He remembered the fairy''s explanations and let the rock behind him take shape again. The pressure eased immediately. Selvara, meanwhile, fluttered above him and nervously drew in her feet as the room behind her turned to rock. Malvorik discovered that he was able to make the rock much stronger than it was by nature. Without fissures, inclusions and cracks. The true essence of granite. However, this left him with a tunnel or frequent holes, as this material was much denser than normal rock. After a few steps, he decided that he would rather not leave a trail, so he left the rock behind him with exactly the same consistency it had before. He followed the line of force, not only because it was his source of energy, but also his only point of orientation. He did not miss any of his human characteristics. He didn''t get tired and he could effortlessly maintain his concentration almost indefinitely. As a human mage, he had been able to maintain the spell for half an hour at best, until the pattern destabilized too much, whereupon he had to cast it again. However, he was unable to hold a conversation with the fairy at the same time. After a few attempts to get a conversation going, she gave up and fluttered along with him, grumbling quietly. She was just glad that the fairy drink hadn''t made her tired. Otherwise she would have had to hope he didn''t wall her up and fly on. At the moment, she wasn''t at all sure what the chances of that were. She had briefly considered holding on to the crystal and letting it carry her along, but feared that she might push it off the line of force. The crystal was also spinning wildly on all axes, which obviously didn''t seem to bother Malvorik. After about a day, the line of force met a stronger line. Like a stream meeting a river. He followed the mana current through further crossings to the stronger one until he came to a level 6 line that had a strong affinity to fire and ore. Here he turned against the current. Finally it made sense that he had had to memorize all the important power lines of the continent as a novice. The fairy tried to start a conversation again. This time he paused to listen. "Do you have any idea where you''re tunneling to or do you just want to go for a walk? I''m sure there was a reason why your dungeon was planned exactly where we just came from." It took longer than he had expected, but then a glowing knot of magic appeared in the dissolving rock. The line on which it moved crossed a line of equal strength. An ore-affine mana line rose up from below. All three lines intersected to form a mana knot. Malvorik knew that the ore line formed another mana node with two air-affinity mana streams thirty steps above the ground. Several researchers had suspected another node deep underground based on the strength of the lines. So far, however, no one had been able to raise the enormous costs for the necessary excavations. Especially as the benefit of a second node at such a short distance was minimal. Malvorik stopped right in the middle of the mana knot and bathed in the storm of magic. Mana regeneration: 24 mana points/hour (Mana Node Strength 24) "Because... Because..." The fairy threw up her arms, speechless. Malvorik concentrated and called up the dungeon management menu. Establish dungeon Yes / No? He resolutely chose "Yes" Dungeon established Crystal heart: Size 1 Range: 10 steps Character class acquired. Dungeon Master Level 1 Skills learned: Architecture (Apprentice I), Trap building (Apprentice I), Monster Lore (Apprentice I) Malvorik mentally slapped his non-existent thighs in triumph. The gods had decreed that a Dungeon automatically got the character class Dungeon Master. Apparently, they hadn''t even considered that he might already have another character class. Two classes at level 1 on the first day of his existence. No one would be able to copy that so quickly. He could suddenly perceive the stone a little way outside his heart chamber. A spherical area of about... Well, it was probably the 10 paces indicated. A myriad of other menus were now available. He wasted no time in constructing a space around himself. Since he couldn''t store much material inside himself, he limited himself to the classic cube of five by five paces for now. Now Selvara finally had a little more space. She hadn''t shown any signs of discomfort in the narrow tunnel, but as soon as she had room to fly again, she seemed much more relaxed. Satisfied, he went through the remaining reports: Construction patterns for traps: (selection required) He leafed through the long list of blueprints for traps. Swinging knives, pitfall traps, spear throwers, blowpipes, flamethrowers, water containers, pitfall traps... Most of them were relatively simple. He was confident he could reconstruct them without a blueprint. "No. You can do that in the trap menu at any time. I''d also recommend waiting until you''ve thought about a structure and maybe even a theme for your dungeon." Construction pattern for trap triggers: (selection required) Numerous plans were also available for trap triggers. Trip wires, pressure plates, chest lids, various objects that had to be turned or touched. That looked a lot more challenging. The preview images did not reveal the exact mechanism, but he knew from the reports of adventurers that the trap triggers were often very complex. "At higher levels, a few additional variants also appear, but if you want traps to react to magic or creatures, you need a suitable feat for each." Feat learned: Possession Increased storage capacity Available monster breeds: (selection required) A long list of lower-ranking monsters followed. Carnivorous plants, rats, various insects, giant amoebas... The list went on and on. The fairy looked at her fingernails with interest. "Oh? Are you talking about me?" "Well... I, I forgive you. On the condition that we finally make a pact. It''s best if we go through the text and its meaning step by step. " "Travis... the old gossip. Now I realize how you humans know so much. Yes, the wording fits." "Dungeon fairies only need magic to live. Mana. Your dungeon monsters survive without air, water and food. If you accept me, the same goes for me. It won''t cost you a noticeable amount of mana besides your monsters." The text appeared in the air in front of Selvara in a translucent parchment. The words "Accept" and "Reject" were written side by side at the bottom in slightly lighter ink. She carefully checked the text again and tapped "Accept" with her finger. Both felt a brief tugging sensation in their heads, then a message from the world voice appeared: Pact agreement concluded. Malvorik had a strange feeling. A stone in his shoe, or a hard spot in the mattress. He concentrated on it, feeling the sensation in his mind. Then he understood. It was Selvara. He could feel exactly where she was in his dungeon. A somehow reassuring feeling. Selvara flew a quick loop and let out a cry of joy. "I finally feel complete. The other fairies always said their dungeon hearts felt greedy and aggressive, but you''re more curious and relaxed." "Well, you probably already know most of it. But let''s start with the basics. At the moment, you can only see and influence a small area. You can only influence what is in your field of vision. You can find the current range in your character sheet. You can only create things that you have already dissolved and analyzed once. For more complex objects or even living beings, you will need larger quantities or a very high quality sample. So far, your repertoire of patterns is probably limited to rock." "What do you mean?" "Wow. Silver. That''s pretty handy. Normally, you wouldn''t have gotten it until the first adventurer who dies in your dungeon. But that only works if his comrades don''t salvage his equipment. Everything you have analyzed once can also be recreated with magic. An ability that only dungeons have. Mages need level 9 spells for this and even these are much more limited in their use." "Stable matter costs ten times as much. But you can also simply rematerialize something that you previously dissolved. This costs nothing and still remains stable outside the dungeon. Of course, this is limited to the amount of matter that you have dissolved. Of course, this does not work with living creatures. Your monsters can never leave the dungeon. Exceptions to this require very high-level special skills." If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. "They actually do that a lot. But only for the remaining artifacts and treasures. The coins that are left behind when someone destroys a monster are a gift from Golgoroth. You don''t have to worry about that. Unless you want to use monster hearts, but I''ll explain that later. If you want to leave extra loot behind to attract more adventurers, you''ll need to set it when you create the monsters and invest the mana." "Sometimes Golgoroth also fills chests if a group of adventurers has particularly impressed him. But normally that''s your job." "Yes, but only if they''re dead and not inside the blockade of other intruders. The problem with living creatures is, well... There''s always a good reason why they''re dead. So you only get badly damaged cadavers for analysis. It usually takes you up to a dozen specimens before you understand the pattern well enough to recreate it as a mana construct." "Yes. Undead can be used immediately. But until you have a full analysis, they''re not very effective. Drooling, shuffling zombies that flail their hands aimlessly." "As long as they''re alive, not very good. You get character classes and levels, but no information on skills, attributes or race. You can''t analyze worn equipment. Only when someone leaves something lying around and there is no enemy in the area can you break it down and analyze it." "I''m glad I can at least confirm your knowledge. Not that I feel completely useless." "You are a level 1 Dungeon Master. This means you only have one race of monsters. However, this is also your most powerful monster at the moment, your end boss. End bosses can be significantly stronger than normal monsters. However, you only have one end boss monster. Later, you can create another slightly weaker boss monster for each floor of your dungeon. Boss monsters are great. If you choose rats, you get a single rat. However, this will be a level 5 giant rat. You could also choose a goblin warrior, but that would be more of a level 2. Goblins are level 2 monsters and the skills and equipment for a warrior consume 2 extra levels." "You''re not building an entrance at level 1 yet. Wait until you''re at least level 6. Until then, you''ll have more races, more rooms and traps. The highest level your normal monsters can have is your dungeon master level. Bosses have four levels more. You can later place the old boss at the entrance as a guardian or use it somewhere as a boss monster. Some dungeons are so attached to their first monster that they keep it in the heart room or at least in a room next to it." "Then take a Lurking Shrike." "Exactly. Just over a step and a half tall. Disproportionately long arms and fingers. For their size, they have a monstrously strong stranglehold. Once they''ve got hold of you, it''s really hard to get free. They can cling to branches with their feet and hang down to get at their opponents from unexpected directions." Malvorik chose his first monster race. "You don''t need monsters here deep underground yet. You should also create a room for it to stay in first." "Exactly. That brings us to the next point. You need to expand your sphere of influence. I bet that''s one of the things you didn''t learn at university." Malvorik let the status screen disappear from his field of vision, where he had already found the corresponding dungeon management menu. "Flatterer." She grinned involuntarily, despite her somewhat gruff tone. "There are many things that make up a dungeon. The most important are range and sphere of influence. Your reach is the maximum distance you can extend your sphere of influence. Always centered on your crystal. Your range depends on the size of your crystal. Within your range, you can charge an area with mana and make it your area of influence. Only within your sphere of influence can you see, create, transform or dissolve things. Let''s start by enlarging your crystal. In the dungeon administration menu you will find the item: "Crystal growth." "As soon as you do this, all your mana and everything you regenerate during the process is channeled into the process. You lose consciousness until then. As soon as you have accumulated enough mana, your crystal expands and you awaken again." "The monsters and traps in the dungeon still work. You just can''t control them anymore." Selvara''s wings faltered and she fell a hand''s breadth before she caught herself again: "Wow. Well... No. But thank you. As far as I know, no dungeon heart has ever suggested such a thing. The pact only makes me an advisor and prevents us from harming each other, it doesn''t give me access to your abilities." Malvorik chose an area in a corner and formed a circle one step in diameter as a deep groove in the stone floor. He then materialized all the silver he had collected so far and filled the hollow with fine silver dust. In the center of the circle, he carved the runes for friendship, contract and attraction. While he was supported by the menu for circles, squares and other geometric shapes, he had to draw the runes by hand, so to speak. This took him several attempts. Fortunately, he was able to smooth out the ground again using one of the menu functions. Then he channeled mana into the silver and activated the only ritual he could already use again: Selvara looked around indecisively, then her gaze was drawn to the circle. "What are you doing? I suddenly have a slight urge to step into that circle. But I can easily resist the call. It doesn''t seem to be a compulsion, more... an invitation?" Selvara hesitated: "No one has ever tried that before. I have no idea what effect it could have on us. Besides, familiars are just pets. Cats, toads or ravens." "Fairy creatures?" "Wow. And what would I get out of it?" "We can live up to 400 years." "Dungeon hearts are immortal, but most are destroyed before they are 10 years old." Malvorik was silent for a moment, then mentally shrugged his shoulders. In principle, that was nothing he hadn''t already known. He just hadn''t thought about the fact that it applied to him now. "And what?" Selvara looked up at his crystal for a moment, then stepped resolutely into the ring. The silver dust swirled upwards and formed a cylinder that closed under the ceiling above her. Silver light made her blink. Selvara felt the magic fill every part of her body. The light became blinding, forcing her to close her eyes. Malvorik''s crystal gaze remained unimpressed. He watched attentively as the fairy''s aura changed. He had not yet mastered any analysis spells with his first familiar and had therefore not been able to follow it. While other mages usually replaced their familiars at higher levels, he had kept his faithful dog until his death. Threads of mana detached themselves from Selvara''s aura and whipped around uncontrollably. Was this normal? Had he made a terrible mistake? The fairy''s aura weakened as more and more mana erupted from her. The fairy, which had just been hovering above the ground, fell down. More mana bled out of it. His mind raced. The ritual was primitive, he couldn''t have done anything wrong. What was different here? Circle, silver, mana, mage... All the ingredients were there. Was his aura incompatible? The ritual was designed for human mages. Not for dungeon hearts. Once again, he hadn''t thought long enough before he started experimenting. Llurd''s mind! The fairy went to her knees. Sweat appeared on her small forehead. He reached out with his mind for the mana tendrils spraying into the void and pulled them towards him. As soon as the first one touched his crystal body, they all whipped around and drove into him. His aura merged with Selvara''s. The mana stopped flowing out of her and flowed back and forth between them until a solid bond took shape. Slowly, her aura stabilized. Malvorik shifted his focus into the non-magical world and out of himself. His focus circled her. She was sweating and looked exhausted, but stood up again with trembling legs. She tilted her head as if she was listening for something. Then she took off and flew a slow circle around the crystal heart. "That was a bit scary. You could have warned me. But I''m fine now. Let''s see: I feel a slight pull that always points in your direction. Like an inner compass. I can feel the currents of magic here in the room. Like a warm wind. There are three glistening lines that go right through you. Have they always been there?" "You shine like a star from the inside out." "I''d suggest you enlarge your crystal for now. In the meantime, I can rest for a while. I''m still feeling a bit dizzy at the moment." Malvorik selected the Crystal Growth item in the corresponding menu. The world voice informed him that the growth required 100 mana points. With a regeneration of 24 mana points per hour, it would only take just over 4 hours. He confirmed the action and his field of vision shrank until he could only see the heart room. Then it went dark. The crystal heart suddenly became conscious, just as it had when it first woke up. He immediately looked around attentively. Selvara was sitting on the floor, boredly filing her fingernails with a tiny file. Before he could say anything, she looked up: "You''re awake again? Are you all right?" "Of course. You stop glowing when you''re unconscious. Besides, I can sense your feelings while you''re awake." "Yes, but hardly noticeably. Maybe a millimeter or so more in diameter. What about your visibility?" Malvorik noticed some messages from the World Voice and called them to the forefront of his vision with a thought. Crystal size increased: Size 2 Increased range: 20 steps Mana capacity increased: 20 mana points Current mana pool: 20/ 20 Mana regeneration: 26 mana points/hour "The fact that you can draw magic from a larger area also increases your regeneration speed. But you can''t draw magic from an unlimited distance, even with an even larger area of influence. So at most, this increases maybe once or twice." Without the fairy being able to see it, he was already going through all the dungeon management menus. He quickly found the right one. The menu allowed him to mark areas within his field of vision. "Are you even listening to me? I said you have to focus on one direction and then channel mana into the stone. Once it''s saturated with your magic, you can influence it." "I''ve heard about that. But unfortunately it doesn''t really make sense. The other dungeons could never use it for anything useful..." Malvorik interrupted her: "That... is interesting. But you still need to take in larger areas, not just the rooms you want to build." "So you get a lot of dead areas where you can''t do anything. You don''t even notice when enemies dig in there. You can''t cross claimed areas without noticing." "Do that." Selvara smiled. She had been warned about this at length. All dungeon hearts had an instinctive need to spread out and dig rooms. It was her job to intervene here, but for now, let the crystal have its fun. The crystal heart defined an area next to the heart room and a small cuboid in between that would serve as a corridor. Then he pumped the indicated amount of mana into it. A process that took an annoyingly long time. Malvorik realized, however, that he didn''t have to actively maintain it, so he could focus his attention on something else in the meantime. The thought broke off nervously. "Yes?" "Why should we? We''re only with dungeon hearts. No one else gets to see us. It will be years before you are safe enough for me to return to the fairy realm for a while. Before that, I''ll dress up a bit, of course, if you have suitable material for clothes. But if not, it doesn''t matter." "Why do you ask? Does it bother you?" "What have you got now?" The fairy looked around and noticed a passageway forming out of the heart room. She smiled: "The passage looks good. Make it a little higher though. It''s bad style to build corridors where people can''t walk upright. The recommendation is at least two steps wide and three steps high. You should build the rooms at least four steps high. Anything with a floor area of less than five by five steps doesn''t count as a room." "Expanding your dungeon gives you experience points. At least for a while. Most Dungeon Hearts use this to increase their Dungeon Master class up to level 5. The number of experience points decreases with each level. At level 6, construction work no longer gives XP." Selvara looked uncertainly at her hands as she wiggled her fingers, counting. Then she looked up uncertainly: "Twenty percent... Yes, could fit." The floor beneath the crystal was given a few deep notches with which Malvorik sketched out a plan of the next rooms he wanted to hollow out. Selvara watched with interest. "Wait a minute, there are two small rooms that lead off directly from here. One connected by a zig-zag corridor. Two dead ends and a corridor that leads to the actual dungeon. The heart room is usually at the very end of the dungeon. After that, rooms hardly make any sense. What goes in there?" "For me?" Selvara stared at the sketch, uncomprehending. Malvorik only now noticed the fairy''s open mouth and wide eyes in his swing. "Dungeon hearts don''t usually have an understanding for that sort of thing." She flew up and gently placed a hand on the crystal. "Thank you." The dungeon heart set about defining rooms in the corresponding menu and then filling them with magic to claim the areas for itself. As soon as a room was completely claimed, he could feel it like a part of his body. The stone dissolved under his will and disappeared. This time, however, without appearing in his astral storage room. Simply dissolving the stone did not cost any more astral energy, but as far as he understood the build menu, he would have to spend mana again for later changes. He needed one hour for every 25 cubic steps of stone, which in turn earned him 6.25 XP. One for every four cubic steps he enlarged the dungeon. He needed no sleep. His concentration was unshakeable. He never got bored as long as he was working. There was nothing to distract him either... He noticed a rhythmic knocking and interrupted his work to look around. Everything was empty and quiet in the new rooms. He shifted his mental focus back to the heart room. Sitting on the floor was a visibly annoyed fairy who was listlessly hitting the floor with one of his silver ingots. Judging by the state of the ingot, she had been doing this for quite some time. Selvara carelessly dropped the silver ingot and jumped up: "Malvorik! At last! I thought you couldn''t hear me at all. You''ve been digging up rooms non-stop for almost seven days with no rhyme or reason. You were completely unresponsive!" "I screamed until my throat hurt. For the last few hours, I''ve tried hammering. It''s not unusual for dungeon hearts to focus so hard on something that they forget everything around them. But you really are the pinnacle!" "All right, then. Let''s agree that when I''m hammering around with metal, you take a break and come over." "That fast? That can''t be possible. It should take months." Malvorik made notches in the wall and used them to sketch out his calculations. At 100 XP you reach level 2, from level 2 the XP gain is reduced by 20%. Level 3 is reached at 200 XP, which corresponds to 225 XP due to the deduction of 20% from 100 XP. Level 4 comes at 300 XP, but with a deduction of 40% from 200 XP, this corresponds to 391 XP. Level 5 comes at 500 XP, with a deduction of 80% from 300 XP, this corresponds to 1391 XP. "Most people start out as psychopaths. But you''re right. That doesn''t make it any better. Mragoth, known as the gluttonous heart, simply ate up his entire surroundings. When he was found, he was floating in the middle of a giant empty sphere, the top of which was a hole in the floor of a steppe. He was surrounded by flying swords and undead pigeons." "He ate them too." "Adventurers dropped a large boulder straight down through the hole. Smashed it in the air." Selvara stared at the crystal: "You level up 8 levels in 7 days. Not even the legendary power levelers of the revenants have managed that. That gives you 4 special skills as a dungeon master and 4 as a mage. That can''t be allowed. The gods will punish you!" She looked around, expecting a bolt of lightning to come out of the ceiling and shatter the crystal. But nothing happened. "Dungeon hearts have no physical attributes. You only have intelligence, willpower and charisma. Charisma starts at ten and stays there except for rewards from the World Voice. The only stats that can be increased are therefore intelligence and willpower. Your points are automatically distributed evenly between them. The starting value for both is normally twelve. Golgarath probably didn''t trust Dungeon Hearts to distribute this responsibly themselves." The crystal lit up in shimmering shades of red. He was silent for a moment. Then the play of colors calmed down again. < Everything is fine. We can carry on.> "Hey, wait a minute, what are your stats?" The dungeon heart engraved the values slowly and carefully into the wall. He was not at all satisfied with his handwriting. In front of his students at the blackboard, he would have been ashamed of such a shaky scrawl on the floor. Name: Malvorik Race: Dungeon Heart Character class: Dungeon Master (Level 5) Strength: - Dexterity: - Intelligence: 20 Willpower: 16 Constitution: - Charisma: 12 "Intelligence 20? The normal maximum for mortal races? Is today Llurd''s day?" Selvara shook her head and rolled her eyes. "A dungeon with the mind of a scholar. That will be exciting. Well then, can I still be of service to your erudition with my humble mind?" "You can only learn one feat per level. Don''t you want to spend that on something more important?" The fairy blinked and was silent for a while. She wiped something glittering out of one eye with her finger. She replied in a completely matter-of-fact tone, but smiled: "Take the Mirror of Thought. Should be available by now." Malvorik selected the feat and realized that he had not selected one at the first level. Then he studied the details of its use. One wall of the heart room was completely covered with a mirror in which he displayed his status screen with a long list of feats. Selvara really blossomed now that her knowledge was finally needed: "Some are mutually exclusive. Especially the dungeon classifications. These are packages that give you a few thematically matching monsters. Or with which all your monsters get certain abilities. You can either become a chimera dungeon or an undead dungeon. Not an undead chimera dungeon. Once you choose one from this group, the others are locked." Malvorik looked through the list. Elemental Affinity gave all his creatures special abilities and a high resistance to one of the five elements. Chimerology gave him the ability to mix the natural characteristics of creatures and even transfer magical abilities from one monster to another. Ruler of the Undead allowed him to raise all enemies that had fallen in his dungeon as undead. Other classifications let him create certain types of monsters in his dungeon that were otherwise difficult to obtain: slimes, crystal creatures, elementals, golems or constructs. The list was long, but he had been interested in chimerology since his training. Except that it wasn''t taught at any academy. Like the creation of the undead, chimerology was considered the domain of mad black magicians. So the choice was clear to him. He concentrated on the relevant line and chose the special skill. He could hardly wait to perform his enhancements as a magician. He knew his way around here. He invested the last 500 XP to raise Mage to level 5. Before he could call up the selection menu, he was distracted by a flash of light in the heart room. He shifted his focus of attention to the side of the room where a golden light had just flashed. Was he going to get any more visits from dungeon fairies? Instead of a portal opening, a person in a golden robe appeared out of the light, hovering half a step above the ground. His face was unrecognizable as it was covered by a golden aureole. He held his hands clasped behind his back. Selvara threw herself on the ground and bowed deeply, which irritated Malvorik. The newcomer began to speak in a piercingly stern voice: "Gotcha! Did you think a 4 level increase in two character classes would go unnoticed? You can expect to be banned for life if you don''t immediately explain exactly what cheat you''re using..." he fell silent and his posture gave Malvorik the impression that he was looking around the room. "You''re both NPCs. What are you doing now?" Malvorik started to speak, but the man''s hand shot forward and raised an admonishing finger. The dungeon heart felt its control over the dungeon being severed. He could no longer change anything, no longer cast spells, no longer speak. Selvara was no help either as she knelt on the ground, whimpering. He watched impassively as the gold conqueror stared into space in front of him. He kept turning his head, as Malvorik was used to doing with mages who had called up several status screens and were studying the contents. He seemed to be talking more to himself than to the two people present. "There''s no dungeon planned here at all... I see... Yes, that works... That shouldn''t work... There must be a rule against that..." The admonishing finger lowered and the newcomer clasped his hand behind his back again. He thought for a moment, then straightened up even more stiffly and let his voice thunder through the room again. Still stern, but a little friendlier: "Behold, I am Hans, sent by Steve, the god of the game''s balance. Praise Him! I see you have taken advantage of the permitted rules of world law to pretend to have completed training as a mage. However, since you actually underwent this training in your previous life, I will turn a blind eye. The XP gain from dungeon expansion is intended for the initial period until a dungeon is opened. Your interpretation of the rules is not intended, but RAW is allowed. Since there is no reason to fear that there will ever be another case similar to your soul, which was rejected by the gods and yet not purified, I see no reason to intervene here. You are in a unique situation. And you certainly won''t be bored, because a new era has dawned. New dungeons have appeared all over the world! New dangers and new quests! A threat will arise that only the mightiest heroes can face. Heroes who will practice and hone their skills in dungeons like yours. Take your place in the world order!" He turned around and the light around his head shone brightly as his body became translucent. Before he disappeared, he added a casual: "Praise Steve!" Silence descended over the room as the two took almost a minute to recover. Selvara shook her head and stood up on shaky feet: "Has a moderator just blessed your dungeon?" "I never thought I would actually meet a moderator. "The beginning of a new plague. And we''re supposed to train the revenants?" "Except coming back from the dead." Malvorik hesitated. When he answered, his thoughts sounded very thoughtful: "What are you thinking?" "Healers are lousy fighters. From what I''ve learned, they''re only effective in a group. However, a group with a good healer is much more dangerous. Hence dungeon rule number 17: kill the healers first." "One step at a time. Let''s take care of your increases first and then we''ll expand the dungeon. You can''t just build empty rooms and expect that the first homeless person won''t march through and take your crystal." "Only as long as you are alive. If you are smashed to pieces or killed in a ritual, the crystal becomes mobile. You must know about the many soul crystals in magical artifacts. They are said to be very popular, especially at the tip of wands." "Some of the special skills are knowledge packs. You simply don''t need these special skills because you already have knowledge of architecture, trap building, magic and much more thanks to the memories from your previous life. You can''t get any of the other classifications with chimera building. Which reassures me, because I could hardly imagine anything worse than a dungeon full of undead or slime creatures. Well, maybe clockwork steam engine constructs. A fairy from one of those dungeons once gave a talk at our house. It''s a never-ending din. Not to mention the stench of burnt coal, sulphur and hot metal." "The dungeon lasted ten years. In the middle of an important trade route. Then revenants bred hundreds of rust rats and chased them into the dungeon. A dungeon in which practically everything was susceptible to rust magic. Behind the monsters, they stormed into the dungeon and... I''d rather not tell you the details. It was a massacre." "So let''s move on. One of the biggest weaknesses of dungeons is the time when they increase their crystal. There are some useful special skills for this. Above all Automatism I and II . With automatism I, cleaning, maintenance and light repairs in the dungeon happen automatically. You no longer have to concentrate on them at all. With automatism II, traps are automatically made ready again after being triggered and killed monsters are regenerated. So the most important functions continue to run unabated." Selvara nodded: "That''s right. That can increase your growth time considerably. But you won''t run out of monsters in the middle and adventurers will simply wander through an empty dungeon between triggered traps. Of course, you also get mana by killing adventurers. If you get more mana than you have to spend on new monsters, it goes much faster." "Well, water sources allow you to build wells, rivers and water traps." "Maybe Esoteric trap triggers ? You can figure out mechanical traps yourself, but these are magical triggers. For example, to trigger traps when certain spells are used in a room. Or if more than a certain amount of magic is used in a room." "These are cubes. About the size of a human fist. When the trigger condition is met, they emit a telekinetic effect in a certain direction. This can then activate other trigger mechanisms. Throwing levers or opening bolts." The fairy shrugged, "Yeah? How that works exactly... no idea." Malvorik selected the featand studied the instructions. There was no further information on the function. So he chose a trap trigger with the maximum adjustable absorption capacity of magical scattered radiation and created it in the middle of the heart room. Since he didn''t have enough mana, only a glowing outline appeared, into which his entire mana regeneration flowed. Tests showed that he could interrupt and resume this at any time, but only as long as he didn''t do anything that consumed mana. As soon as he used mana for other purposes, the world voice warned him, the mana he had used so far would disappear. "Wait!... Too late. You created the trigger as real matter. That costs unnecessary mana. It''s enough to create traps as mana constructs. They''ll never leave your dungeon. Carrying it away from here and installing it later is quite cumbersome. Better just cancel it." Selvara described further advantages and disadvantages of special skills and pointed out some options that he would only have to choose from later. They rambled on a few times while Malvorik told stories from his time at the academy and Selvara told anecdotes from the lives of famous dungeons in return. After a few hours, the esoteric trigger took shape. A marble cube decorated with inlaid bronze symbols. One side showed several concentric circles and, according to the instructions, emitted the telekinetic impulse. Selvara tried to lift it up, but stumbled after a few steps and dropped it again with a bright thud. "Sorry about that. No chance of getting it to where he needs to be." The cube dissolved into small glittering sparks, like everything else that was dissolved by the dungeon.> Selvara held her hand in front of her face: "What are you doing now? You already have the construction sketch and can create it. So why are you analyzing it again?" The construction sketch of the trap release became visible on the mirror wall. A cube with various options for setting the triggering conditions. However, the sketch did not contain any information on how the cube itself was constructed. Next to it appeared a much more complex sketch of a marble cube with various symbols, a magic matrix under the side with the concentric symbols and a round stone made of a different material right in the middle of the cube. Malvorik also displayed the messages from the world voice that appeared. Material analysis completed: Marble 100% Material analysis completed: Bronze 100% Material analysis completed: Mana stone 100% Spell matrix analysis completed: Spell learned: Telekinetic Shockwave (Level 1) Malvorik made a stylized grinning face appear on the mirror. "What is it?" "Well, someone will probably have to increase their crystal size before they can use phenomenal cosmic powers. How unexpected." "To be honest, I''m quite impressed. Mana stone artifacts are very valuable. That''s why adventurers are extremely reluctant to leave them behind. Sometimes they simply leave a normal sword, armor or clothing behind with a corpse. But his companions always take powerful magical artifacts with them. This means that dungeons usually only get their hands on Manastone when an entire group of high-level adventurers has been completely wiped out." "Well... it would be nice if you could set up my room first." Malvorik made the stone furnishings grow out of the ground. "You should also complete your increases beforehand. It''s always possible that someone will enter the dungeon while you''re unconscious. Just because you''re still underground doesn''t mean that no one can find you. Stone worms, iron ants, earth elementals, dwarves, gray gnomes, crystallids... The list of creatures digging through the earth is pretty long. Then you certainly don''t want to have to level up a few more times before you can take action." Name: Malvorik Race: Dungeon Heart Crystal size: 2 Range: 20 steps Manapool: 20 MP Mana regeneration: 26 MP/ hour Character classes: - Dungeon Master (Level 5) - Mage (Level 5) Experience points: 1000 Construction sketches for traps: - Pit trap Design sketches for trap triggers: - Standard trigger - Pressure plate Esoteric trap triggers: - Magical activity of a certain strength - Spells of a certain class - Specific spell Monster breeds: - Lurking strangler Feats: - Possession - Mirror of thoughts - Chimera building - Automatism I - Automatism II - Esoteric trap triggers Patterns: Mana stone, granite, marble, bronze, slate, silver Spells: Level 1 - Hand of the adept - Telekinetic shockwave "Would be a good time. Draw a circle on the ground. Put the rune for the monster you want to summon in the center. Since your shrike isn''t very big, you can just do it here in the heart room. Otherwise, in the room where the monster is to be used later." "Just concentrate on getting a Lurking Shrike to appear there. Golgoroth doesn''t expect dungeon hearts to have artistic skills." In one corner of the heart room, a circle formed in the floor and the stone simply disappeared, leaving a ring behind. Malvorik focused on it and a menu with a single selection point appeared. Not a difficult choice. A rune appeared. From the right angle, the lines resembled a stylized figure with long arms. "Good, now you have two options. You can either channel mana directly into the rune and make your monster appear, or you can create a monster heart first." She looked up at the crystal expectantly. "You''ve seen this before too?" "Well then, I can now reveal the secret. Monster hearts contain the monster''s memories and personality. Monsters with such a heart coin gain experience over time and level up without costing the dungeon anything. Over time, they can even reach a higher level than the dungeon, but this is risky as they then also gain free will and can break out or refuse to work. It is therefore recommended that you only give heart coins to monsters that are at least two levels below the dungeon maximum. There is also a risk that they will develop phobias from being killed again and again. If one is repeatedly killed with fire, it could develop a fear of fire or something similar." Malvorik thought for a while, then decided: "That doesn''t work. Monsters don''t get smarter or more talkative that way. At higher levels, you usually get a few monsters that are intelligent enough for conversation. I''m assuming goblins or kobolds aren''t what you had in mind." After a few explanations, Malvorik began to create a monster heart. His mana pool emptied completely, and a shadow fell over his vision. As Selvara had warned him, the 50 MP cost more than doubled his maximum supply. Like a crystal augmentation, it knocked him unconscious for a while. Less than two hours later, he was back and a silver coin lay in the center of the spawn circle. One side showed the rune of his only monster so far. The other side was smooth. "Maybe we''ll think about it together for a while. You should also decide on the structure and theme of your dungeon first and then choose a suitable name." Malvorik agreed and then channeled mana into the rune on the ground. In return, shadows formed in the circle, which bubbled up briefly and then left behind a humanoid figure with short white fur. The Lurking Shrike carefully stroked the ground with his hand. His fur took on the same grey color. Then it rose on its short legs, waddled over to the entrance of the room and crouched down beside it. Its small eyes stood out of its head on volcano-shaped cones and peered independently in different directions. Selvara swallowed. It wasn''t exactly the prettiest of monsters. At least it didn''t have a slimy surface or tentacles. She feigned enthusiasm: "Your first monster! Yeah!" "That''s fine. You don''t actually create them. The mana summons the monster from the domain of Golgoroth. The god of dungeons and monsters probably needs a lot more magic to create them." "That''s strange. I''ve never heard of shrikes being able to do that. Besides, they usually have short, dark fur. I should actually know the characteristics of the beginner monsters very well." "Are you at the end of your tricks yet?" He scrolled back to the messages he hadn''t been able to read earlier. Character class increased: Mage to level 5 Cannot increase mana capacity: Incompatible race. Cannot increase mana regeneration: incompatible race. Select spell from list. One spell per level... Malvorik quickly chose from the selection of spells he had known for decades. Spell learned: Level 1 - Stationary Zone of Darkness (Layman I) Spell learned: Level 1 - Unstable invisibility (Layman I) Spell learned: Level 2 - Self-transformation (Layman I) Spell learned: Level 2 - Shock grip (Layman I) Select featfrom list. One featper level... Here Malvorik chose a little more slowly and went through the list again carefully. He could still learn as many spells as he wanted. He could only acquire special skills by increasing his level. Feat learned: Artifact crafting (weapons and armor) Feat learned: Artifact Crafting (Minor Artifacts) Feat learned: Brew alchemical elixirs Feat learned: Magic theory spell research He also displayed the messages on the mirror wall. Selvara could hardly keep up with the reading: "Wait! What''s all this?" "How exactly are you going to brew potions without hands?" "As a Dungeon Master, you automatically have the possession ability. This allows you to take over a monster directly as if it were your own body." "You mean so that your only defense is a single goblin?" "And what do you want with a spell like self-transformation? According to the description here, it only works on the mage himself." Selvara flew up excitedly and looked around cautiously. Nothing happened. Error: Incompatible target "Shock grip? I''ve never heard of that spell. What does it do exactly?" Malvorik called up the description on the mirror. Shock grip (level 2): Attack spell. Damage type: Lightning - Elemental (Air). Range: Touch. Spell duration: 8 heartbeats. Damage: 2W6. Cost: 10 mana "Then why are you using such a useless spell? I''ve heard that even beginner mages can throw small fireballs." "I think now is the right time to start growing. I''ll take a nap until then. Compared to other dungeons, you''re done really quickly. I''ll hardly notice you''ve been away." Chapter 03: Sewers below Mulnirsheim The ceiling of the sewer tunnel arched in a shallow curve above the passageway. A foul-smelling liquid flowed in a deep channel about a step wide in the middle of the floor. Elevated walkways lined both sides. Two men traversed the sewers, hunched over and cautious. Their mining helmets glowed from within, magically illuminating the darkness like lanterns. An enormous improvement over the old oil lamps. It had taken weeks of negotiations to acquire the expensive magical equipment from the academy. Ultimately, the sewer workers had gone on strike. Not without first sealing off the drains of the mage academy, of course. The two prodded the water with long poles, searching for debris that had settled on the bottom and could eventually block the channel. The younger of the two, barely in his twenties, pondered as he ran his hand thoughtfully along the canal wall: "Hey, Arnheld, why are the tunnels down here constructed so much better? The upper level isn''t bad, but the clay bricks are already crumbling in places. This wall is constructed almost seamlessly from small stone blocks." "Do I look like I studied architecture?" "You did start your apprenticeship as a builder. I mean, before..." "Before I started drinking. You can say it. No one works in the sewers if they have a chance at a better job." "Hey, I wanted to work here. Someone has to keep the sewer system running. For the common good!" "Sure. It has nothing to do with the fact that you''ve angered practically every guild. Anyway, I can answer your question. This level still belongs to Muln¡¯Nathan, the mighty fortress city that once stood here. Until it was destroyed during the Demon Wars. Mulnirshome was built centuries later on the ruins. Down here, they mostly had to shovel out rubble and dirt and had the perfect foundation for a sewer system. Without it, we''d have open channels in the streets at best, and we''d be collecting our sewage in barrels to transport it out of the city. The penny-pinchers in the city council would never have afforded such a huge project." "Like in Dornhain?" "When have you been in Dornhain?" "For my sister''s wedding. Of course, it had to rain then. Four days on that damn mud road. It would have been too much to ask for one of the old Kathurian roads along the way. Since moving so slowly, we traveled until nightfall until the next inn appeared." Albus paused in his story and groaned. "Damn it. So much for a timely end to the workday." "What''s..." Arnheld fell silent as he also recognized the problem. The water level was noticeably rising in the slightly sloping channel. The worker took a piece of somewhat glowing chalk from his pocket and made a note on the wall. Then, he marked the water level with a line directly above the wastewater and placed his staff in the water. The workers'' staff served not only to poke around in the wastewater for blockages and defend themselves against smugglers, crazy homeless people, and the occasional creatures in the sewers but also had etched rings at regular intervals. Arnheld read the water level on the staff and also noted it on the wall, along with the date. "It must be something huge. You can almost see the wastewater rising. We need to take care of this immediately before we need potions for underwater breathing to reach the blockage." This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report. "Gods forbid. I went through that once. It took two weeks to get the taste out of my mouth. At least it wasn''t so bad that they wouldn''t let me into any taverns because I smelled like a clogged toilet during a diarrhea epidemic." The two hurried a bit faster. Just a hundred steps further, the problem was visible. They stopped. Arnheld scratched his head in confusion. "And here I thought I had seen everything down here. Including the three dead pigs and the stuffed crocodile last summer." The wastewater was already backing up to the edge of the channel. The cause was clear to see. A wall made of seamless gray stone reached just above the surface of the walkable ledge. Water was already sloshing over the walkway. Albus cautiously put his foot on the wet surface and took a few steps along the wall: "This can''t be. Across the passage and about five steps wide. I was here three weeks ago, and it wasn''t here. It makes no sense at all." Arnheld also climbed onto the wall. He went about halfway and stamped firmly a few times: "Madness. A thin wall would have sufficed for a dam. This is rivaling the city wall." "Nonsense. The city wall is even thicker. What''s this doing here? But more importantly, how did it get here?" "Even more important is, how do we get rid of it?" Albus looked at the stone, puzzled. Where the dam connected with the wall, no transition was visible. He examined the walls of the canal. Everything seemed normal here. Or... He took off his glowing helmet and handed it to his colleague. Then he leaned close to the wall: "Something is glowing here..." He ran his hand over it and looked at his fingertips, now faintly phosphoresced in the darkness. He wiped his fingers on his pants: "Some kind of algae or moss. I''ll have to ask the guild master if there''s a way to cultivate it. It would be handy if we could illuminate the entire sewer system with it." "With our luck, it would only attract monsters. Or spread toxic spores in the air." Albus nodded thoughtfully: "You''re right about that too. Now give me the stonemason''s tools from the backpack." His leather backpack contained the tools the two usually used for minor sewer repairs. When he turned around, Arnheld took out a hammer and a long chisel and handed both to his older colleague: "If you can do anything with that, I''ll sign you up for the Ulgather Pioneers. They always need someone who can quickly tear down a city wall." "I don''t want to tear it down, just take a sample. This appeared so quickly; it must be magical. If I show up at the mage academy without a piece of it, it''ll be an eternal debate until one of the mages comes down here. Without magic, we won''t be able to move this huge stone out of the way. It was probably one of those completely drunk adepts again. Like the story with the spiderwebs two years ago. At least we could just burn those." Albus knelt about in the middle of the stone, where the water was already flowing over it ankle-deep. "Don''t you want to try it at the edge?" "No. Then, the stone will fall into the water as soon as I chip it off. I don''t feel like fishing around for it. Besides, this obstacle could be hollow." Arnheld set the chisel and began hammering vigorously on it. After a few blows, he set the chisel down and felt over the spot. Albus stood beside him, looking over his shoulder, but he couldn''t see anything through the murky water: "And? Is it hollow? Have you broken through yet?" "Just a fine scratch. This stuff is harder than granite. It doesn''t sound hollow in the least. I..." He fell silent as the ground beneath them suddenly dissolved, and they fell helplessly downward. Followed by a torrent of wastewater. They waved their arms briefly, then struck the hard stone floor. The floor turned out to be mirror-smooth and sloping, so they took some of their momentum and slid down the steep passage. After a few dozen meters, the passage ended in a hole in the floor. The two tried to hold onto something, but there was nothing on the seamless walls and the smooth floor. Arnheld threw himself flat on the ground and literally tried to brake with his face. However, carried by the rush of water that had entered the passage with them, it didn''t work. Only their helmets illuminated the surroundings as they fell through a large room and struck again. This time on a straight floor of solid stone. A leg broke with the crunch of a rotten twig. Then silence descended on the dazed workers, who now lay under the steadily falling water. Chapter 04: Weylan Everyone in the village had been expecting it since the day before, so the plague bell was rung with only moderate enthusiasm when the spawnpoint lit up. A young man in chain mail, armed with a sword and shield, appeared on the platform from one moment to the next. He looked around, stretched as if after a long journey in a carriage and ran his hand through his bright orange hair. He looked around with wide eyes and an almost manic grin, then stepped down to the front. He bent down, wiped his hand over the cobblestones and rubbed some dirt between his fingers. "Awesome. Even with the smell. And the colors..." He stood up and jumped up and down on the spot a few times. He drew his sword and waved it in the air, paying no attention to the spectators, who carefully took a few steps back. An elf in a white robe appeared behind him. He stroked his long ears with his hand and then grinned as if he had found them for the first time. He leaned on a man-sized staff with inlaid copper runes to stride demonstratively and gracefully from the spawnpoint. With a sweeping gesture, he pointed the staff to the sky and shouted: "Firebolt!" The runes and the red ruby at the tip lit up, and a fist-sized ball of fire appeared above the tip and flew away upwards. The sword wielder sheathed his weapon again and raised his right hand openly upwards. The elf struck it with the flat of his own hand in a strange gesture. More adventurers appeared. Men and women in leather clothing, armor or robes jumped off the platform. The villagers watched as they ran around, jumping, swinging their swords, and wildly casting spells. Some performed a strange dance on the spot. Others took only a few steps, then bowed their heads and remained completely motionless for a few minutes before joining in the peculiar behavior. Weylan looked on in disbelief: "Father, what are they doing? Are they drunk or something?" "Noobs." "What?" "They are noobs. That''s what young and inexperienced revenants are called. They''re practicing their skills. They''re still weak and clumsy now, but wait until they''ve risen a few levels. They''ll be hunting through the village like locusts in a few days. Harassing our women, searching the houses for something to steal and plundering the cellars. Not to mention our beer supplies. We have no fighters apart from the village guard and a few hunters, none above level 6. Non-fighter classes don''t stand a chance against warrior classes of the same level. Maybe we should have put up with the wolves after all. I''m such a fool." Weylan patted him on the back encouragingly and then walked inconspicuously closer to the first two revenants to listen to them. The two completely ignored him and the other citizens. The warrior put away his sword, which he had just waved around again, and turned to his companion: "Well, what did you take with the bonus for your old character?" The elf mage stroked his long hair: "Well, handsome and charismatic. No one will ignore me this time." "That''s what you spent your bonus points on? Fluff benefits? You''re incorrigible." "I think I''ll have fun with it. Remember that otherwise, it''s practically impossible to have any other advantages besides magic talent. There''s a reason why most mages are old bearded gnomes or just plain unattractive." The warrior patted the elf on the back with a laugh: "As long as you have fun with it." "So, what did you take? Your old paladin had reached an even higher level than mine before the last instance ended." "A bonus of plus two to all attributes, higher quality starting equipment and..." He looked around and then pulled something out of a pocket¡ªa finger-length staff with an octagonal cross-section made of a pale blue crystal. The elf whistled melodically through his teeth, "Wow. A skill crystal? What''s on it?" "Sword fighting at journeyman level. I remember far too well how annoying it was to swing a sword around like a complete idiot. I''m simply completely untalented in real life. That''s why it always takes me ages to level up. This time, I''m the best swordsman on the server for the first few weeks." He held up the crystal and let the sunlight refract in it. Then he pressed one end against his forehead and waited a moment. The crystal flashed, then faded and became dull. The warrior''s eyes shone momentarily in the same pale blue light. A blink later, the glow disappeared. He stared into space as he checked his character sheet, grinned and carelessly tossed the crystal aside onto the street. When it hit the ground, it shattered into dust, scattering in the wind. "What did you do with all that gold? You must have had tons of equipment. Your old paladin armor alone was priceless back then." "The exchange rate you can take over into the new instance is only 1 to 10. I took over part of it as currency but exchanged most of it for skill crystals." "Do you need so many? Why didn''t you use them to buy the skills directly? It''s much more expensive than skill crystals." The warrior grinned smugly: "Then you must not have looked closely at the advertisements for the new instance." "What do you mean?" "The army charging towards the wall? The short scene after the basic character classes are introduced?" "That part of the video was three seconds long at most. Some warriors attacking a city wall. Nothing special." "I did a lot of quests in the south. I recognized the attackers right away. They were desert warriors. In the last frame, you can see three different standards in slow motion. From completely different tribes." The elf raised his eyebrow in confusion: "So?" "They would never work together. There were already fears among the NPCs that the desert tribes would one day unite to conquer the southern realms." "Okay, I still don''t understand the connection. Do you mean a war increases the price of skill crystals? That could be the case. But is it worth it?" "War raises the price of almost everything. But the only source of Cerebrum crystals... the only source in the whole world... are the caves around the Chromatic Salt Lake, in the middle of the desert." The elf stared at him open-mouthed for a moment: "Shit! I mean... at the... armpit sweat of the elf goddess! Prices are going to skyrocket if that''s true. Couldn''t you have told me that before?" "I only understood the connection during character creation when I looked at the desert warrior as a character class. There was no outside contact possible until I was finished. You know how it is. My original shopping list looked completely different." He shrugged apologetically. "So, let''s finally get going. I already know where we''re starting from." He rudely pointed directly at Ryoden''s forehead and walked towards him. "Greetings, citizens. I am OrcSlayer the Mighty, and I have heard that your village needs the help of true heroes." The elf bowed: "Greetings to you, citizen. I am Legolias Firebrand. How can we help you?" "Greetings, heroic adventurers. I am Ryoden, the shepherd. We are a peaceful, remote village. But now wolves have started attacking my flock. They have killed my faithful herding dog. When they''ve finished with the sheep, they''ll surely attack the village unless you can stop them. Go out and kill at least five wolves. For every ten wolf ears, I can reward you with five silver coins." "Five silver, that''s fine. We''ll both take care of it. We''ll have a quick look around and then be back here in an hour to leave. It''s best just to wait here." Quest: Protect the herd accepted The two adventurers walked away, discussing their strategy eagerly, without saying goodbye. Weylan looked after them. When they disappeared from sight, he turned to his father: "These revenants cause more problems than they solve. Let me choose Hunter as my class and give me the quest." "Do not try the gods! Don''t start this nonsense again. If we''re lucky, it''ll stay with the wolves. If no higher-level quests show up, the revenants will soon find somewhere else to adventure. Either our wolf problem will disappear, or we''ll become a training ground for noobs." "Why do we have to put our fate in the hands of strangers? Most people in the village have already hunted and killed something. They could become hunters the next time they level up. We might even get a knight or warrior to train us." "No! Where there are warriors, there are also quests for warriors. Golgoroth might even send us one of his dungeons. You''ll become a shepherd, and that''s that." Weylan wanted to disagree, but he knew his father too well. He wouldn''t change his mind. Weylan was in no mood for a pointless argument. He slumped his shoulders and was about to walk away when his father put his hand on his shoulder: "But there''s no reason why we shepherds shouldn''t defend ourselves. Ask Juttgar, the carpenter, if you can borrow one of his crossbows and buy a few bolts. I''ll pay him later." Weylan hesitated. "Father? I don''t understand..." "I have no desire to be eaten just because these noobs are more concerned with hitting trees with their fists at the wrong moment than hunting for wolves." "Punching trees with your fist? Do they practice some exotic martial arts?" "The bard who performs at the inn has talked about it before. During the last plague, some Respawners explained it to a bard. It''s a joke among Respawners, referring to a game about the craft of mining." Weylan''s face was covered in a broad grin. He embraced his father and hugged him tightly: "You won''t regret this. We''ll show these revenants what a real shepherd can do." Another figure appeared at the spawnpoint. A small, hunchbacked man who immediately began eagerly scattering flowers from a basket, leaving a path of colorful blossoms in his wake. Two more hunchbacks appeared behind him, carrying large paper fans on man-sized poles. The two stepped apart to the left and right, turned towards the center of the spawnpoint and raised their fans. Golden sparks appeared in the air and formed into a tall figure. A woman in magnificent robes walked majestically out of the shower of sparks. Long, curly, golden hair blew in a wind that no one else could see. The two fan bearers shielded her flawless skin from the sun with their fans. Walking on blossoms, she strode from the spawnpoint. She snapped her fingers and the first hunchback dropped his basket and raced towards Ryoden and his son in a strange hopping stride. "Are you the masters of this town?" Ryoden laughed: "No, my lord. I am just a simple shepherd." "Then get him. Quickly! You are the first in the presence of High Mistress Princess Federova." He cast a quick glance over his hunched shoulder at his mistress and added quietly, barely audibly: "She''s in a bad mood. You really should hurry." Ryoden nodded to Weylan: "Get Master Helming." His son nodded and sprinted off. The princess did not wait but marched forward, still shielded by the fanbearers. Ryoden noticed impressed that wherever the petals landed on the ground, dust and mud disappeared from the ground. He wondered if this was a magical property of the flowers themselves or if they had been enchanted. He shrugged his shoulders as he walked. It didn''t really matter. She stopped at the edge of the open space and looked around in irritation. She beckoned to Ryoden, who politely hurried forward: "Mistress?" One of the hunchbacks shouted at him from the side and hissed: "Your Highness! It''s Your Highness." Federova ignored him: "You, farmer! What are you doing here?" "Your Highness?" Ryoden clearly didn''t understand what she meant. "Why isn''t the spawn point in the city''s center, where it belongs? Why is it on the edge, surrounded by burnt-out ruins? So I have to walk halfway across the city to get to your town hall. I suppose at least that''s where it belongs. In the center of the city, on a market square." "The town hall is a few hundred steps straight out. As you correctly guessed, right by the marketplace. The marketplace used to be here at the spawn point, but during the last plague, there was some fighting and a fire. After that, it was decided to build the town on the other side instead of here again." "Plague? What do you mean?" Ryoden hesitated. Of course he could hardly explain to a revenant that any sensible local considered the revenants themselves to be the worst plague. "I meant the plague when Ruud the Awakener, Emperor of the Necromancers, showed up. You may remember..." "Oh, that." She waved it off disdainfully. "That rip-off of a zombie apocalypse was by far the most uncreative world event." Ryoden nodded, trying not to let on that he had no idea what she was talking about. Fortunately, his son came running up at that moment with the village mayor. The otherwise rather leisurely, beer-bellied man slowed down, panting, and bowed deeply. Whether out of politeness or just to catch his breath was hard to tell. "Your Highness, I am Helming, the village headman. Welcome to our humble village." "Stand up straight. I hate talking to the back of people''s heads." Helming hastily stood up again: "How can we serve you?" She answered loudly and majestically so that she could be heard for miles around: "An excellent question. I am Federova the First. The first quest of a new age has emerged here. Destiny will take root here and change the world. I wish to be part of it. I will watch the new generation of heroes and, if they are worthy, grant them my favor. As an emissary of High King Magnus Cariolus, I require suitable accommodation." "I''ll have my best rooms cleared out for you." "My entourage will arrive in a few minutes and take care of it. Just get out of their way. Clear the town hall for me and the inn for my entourage. That should be just about enough. Oh... and one more thing." She beckoned to one of her hunchbacked servants, who eagerly pulled out a scroll container, opened it and handed the village prince a document. Golden curved letters glittered in the sun, and an impressive seal with the royal coat of arms adorned the bottom edge. Federova did not give Helming time to read it: "By order of the High King, this village and its district are subject to my unrestricted rule with immediate effect. Inform the other inhabitants of this." The village schoolmaster stood open-mouthed as she marched past him. More servants, warriors in plate armor and mages in dazzling robes appeared at the spawn point and followed her. Weylan looked after them, shaking his head, and went off to borrow the crossbow from the carpenter. * * * The revenants showed up over an hour late without apologizing. Shortly afterward, father and son marched off to the sheep pasture accompanied by the two adventurers OrcSlayer and Legolias Firelighter. Weylan had a quiver of bolts strapped to his belt and carried his crossbow across his chest. He walked behind the revenants and looked enviously at their equipment. Each piece had a matching suspension or belt. When they were out of the village, he turned to the mage, who seemed a little less scary: "Excuse me, but aren''t there too few of you? In the legends, revenants always travel in large groups. Usually, five of them. A mage, two warriors, a ranger and a thief." "Revenants? Oh, because we come back after we die." The elf laughed and then continued good-humoredly: "Nice. I like that. We''re part of the beta testers... er... I mean the vanguard of adventurers. Most of the... revenants..." he couldn''t suppress a chuckle "...will come later. The first quests will still be quite harmless, so even individual adventurers can pass them. There''s another quest coming soon at the Border Forest, which is for a full raid-sized group, but I didn''t get any more space. I''m curious to see how the world event develops. We don''t know anything about the new storyline yet." "I don''t understand anything..." "We... revenants... haven''t been in this world for a long time. It has evolved since then. Further than we expected. Time passes faster here than in our world. When one day passes in my world, it''s four here. What we hadn''t expected, however, was the fact that time can pass even faster when none of us are present. Almost two hundred years have passed here. Empires have fallen and been founded anew. You have researched new types of magic. New dungeons have appeared, and some old ones have been destroyed. We members of the Vanguard will check that everything is still in order. Then, the others will come and start solving your problems. So you don''t need to worry. We''ll be leveled up enough to protect you when the World Event picks up speed." The mage paused and looked around. His pointed elven ears twitched. "What is it?" Weylan listened and now noticed quick footsteps approaching them from behind. Shortly afterward, a young woman with dark red curls came into view. A knee-high leather dress, which he had never seen on her before, swayed with every step. She swung a thick walking stick in her hand as she walked. Weylan immediately sprinted off and ran towards her: "Trulda? What''s the matter? Has something happened in the village?" She slowed down and came to a halt in front of him. Her breathing didn''t quicken despite her hurried pace a moment ago: "You could say that. That good-for-nothing, arrogant, gold-wasting, straw-haired... Argh!" She struck the walking stick against an innocent young tree by the side of the path. "That noblewoman with the stupid name Federova the First. Not only has she taken over the town hall, but she''s also taken over the entire inn and thrown everyone out to accommodate her entourage of hunchbacks, lickspittles and thugs." "But you work there, don''t you?" "Not anymore. She put a bag of gold in the innkeeper''s hand and then had him thrown out. And me right after him. She has her maids and servants." "That''s nasty. Did he at least give you some of the gold?" "One month''s salary in advance. But that''s of little use to me. The village only has one inn." The elf had strolled behind Weylan, but with his keen ears, he heard the conversation without a problem: "Why exactly are you leaving the village? Now that there are wolves around?" "I''ve decided to become an adventurer, at least until I find a new job again. Somewhere far away from all this hustle and bustle." "You just decided that..." The corners of the elf mage''s mouth twitched as he tried to remain serious. The others had now joined them. The warrior whistled indecently through his teeth: "Hello! Is it Oktoberfest here?" While the elf put his hand to his face and rolled his eyes, the other OrcSlayers looked on uncomprehendingly. Trulda put her hands on her hips and looked at him suspiciously: "What are you talking about?" "Your dirndl. Nice neckline, by the way. The loading area certainly helps when carrying beer mugs." Trulda whirled her walking stick around without swinging or giving any other warning. The stick hit the warrior full on the shin. He jumped back in surprise, then hopped on one leg and held the sore spot. "Hey, no need to get aggressive!" "The dress belonged to that stupid noblewoman. She just threw it away. A total waste. The upper part is made of some fabric that is far too fine, and the skirt is made of suede. Thin but sturdy. Also equipped with sizing, self-cleaning and self-repairing magic." OrcSlayer rubbed his leg but now looked up from examining his wound, "The enchantments are affordable, but not exactly cheap. That thing looks great. Why did she throw it away?" "She discussed with a mage who arrived shortly after her. If I understood correctly, the two of them had been traveling in the capital for a few days beforehand and knew each other. He had been commissioned to enchant such a dress for her. However, it should have included a bag of holding. Everyone knows the spell from the legends. Every revenant used to have one in the stories. A container that is bigger on the inside than the outside is probably the most useful thing you can have on the road. The noble snipe had probably imagined a bag on the front or side. The magician found a different concept funnier." Weylan looked her up and down: "I can''t see any bags." Trulda smirked and reached her hand into her cleavage. Under the confused looks of the men, her hand disappeared into a shimmering area and reappeared with a whole loaf of bread. Legolias groaned: "A cleavage of holding. That was Sarkhold, the artifact mage, wasn''t it?" Trulda nodded: "That''s how he introduced himself. Do you know him?" She grinned as she unashamedly pushed the bread back into her cleavage. The visual effect of it folding up at the last moment made Weylan feel slightly dizzy. The elf mage was not impressed: "Years ago, in a previous life, he once sold me a singing sword for a reasonable price. I didn''t sleep for nights until I also bought a sword sheath with a silence spell from him. For an absolutely extortionate price. He probably traded his bonus points for a start at a higher level. He must have, if he can make artifacts like that again. Sarkhold knows the complex artifact rules like no other, but he has a terrible sense of humor. "In any case, the noble snipe didn''t find him funny. She threw the dress out of the window and had the magician thrown into the cesspit. A complete waste. I mean the dress." The elf magician laughed: "Cesspit! She''s found the right one. He deserves it for such a stupid joke." OrcSlayer grinned: "This noblewoman seems to be quite a scarecrow. Came in here like a locust. Would like to know how she can afford so many bot servants." The laughter disappeared from the elf''s face as he suddenly became serious: "You do know she''s a perm, right?" This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version. "What, seriously?" "Only Perms get titles of nobility from earls and up this time. She is a princess." The warrior lost his usually almost omnipresent snide grin for a moment. He looked concerned: "That''s right. I had forgotten." Weylan looked from one to the other, "What are you talking about?" The elf mage waved him off: "Not that important. Or rather, only important for people from our world." "You''re an elf, not a human." "Not in my world, we..." He broke off and turned his head jerkily towards the edge of the forest. His pointed ears twitched, listening. When Weylan wanted to ask something, he raised a finger warningly. The warrior immediately reached for the shield he was carrying on his back and fastened it to his arm. "Eyes of the quest!" Legolias spoke the formula and made an energetic gesture. Dark sparks shot out of his hand and grew into fist-sized orbs in a heartbeat. Floating eyes stared lidless ahead, now floating away into the forest. Some close to the ground, others at treetop level. Black spots danced across the elf mage''s eyes as he struggled to mentally process the sensory impressions from a dozen angles. Then his eyes widened: "Wolves! There''s a whole pack lurking in the undergrowth at the edge of the forest!" He pushed Weylan behind him and raised his mage staff threateningly towards the edge of the forest. A loud howl from many throats tore the air, and wolves charged towards them on a broad front. The small group only had a few breaths to prepare. OrcSlayer unsheathed his sword and stood in a wide-legged fighting stance. Ryoden took a step back so that he stood behind the two revenants with his son and Trulda, holding his shepherd''s staff in front of him with both hands in a defensive stance. Trulda gripped the walking staff with both hands at one end and waited for an opponent to come within range. Weylan hastily put the cocking lever on the crossbow he had been awkwardly carrying in his arm and tried to cock it. As he did not engage the lever properly, it slipped out and scratched the crossbow stock. Cursing, he tried again. He put all his weight on the lever and managed to tighten the string and snap it into place. He fetched a bolt from a hip quiver and inserted it. As he raised the crossbow, OrcSlayer struck the first wolf with a sweeping blow. The wolf ducked under the blow and leaped past the warrior straight towards Weylan. Weylan''s gaze was drawn to the ever-growing teeth. Then the wolf jumped. The shepherd''s son raised his crossbow and pulled the trigger in panic. The bolt shot away, but the hairy gray body continued to fly towards him unflinchingly. Then it hit him in the chest and knocked him over. Weylan closed his eyes to avoid seeing the teeth that were about to rip his throat open. When he was still alive after three breaths, he opened his eyes again and looked directly into the wolf''s fixed and lifeless pupils. The crossbow bolt protruded from the wolf''s forehead like the horn of a mad unicorn. Opponent defeated: Wolf (common): 20 XP Skill learned: Crossbow (Apprentice I) Weylan stared in disbelief at the message from the world voice. He had never received experience points before. Now he was already a fifth of the way to his first level up. And he hadn''t even chosen a character class yet. What would happen if he leveled up before he had decided? Would the World Voice select a class for him? Or would ascension simply be paused until he was 17 and could choose his class? No matter what else would happen, at least he would finally learn some combat skills. If he were halfway talented at using them, he would start at apprentice level instead of starting as a layman without a master. A loud wolf howl drew his attention back to the still-raging battle. OrcSlayer dodged the next wolf and stabbed the blade straight into its spine. He paid no attention to the wolf falling lifelessly to the ground behind him and whirled his sword around to deliver a deep cut to the next attacker. Another wolf ducked under the blow and snatched at his leg. The warrior skillfully shifted his weight and kicked the wolf full in the snout with his heavy leather boot. The wolf jumped back a few steps, yelping. Legolias still held his open hand in front towards some more wolves: "Firebolt!" A glowing red bullet shot out of his palm at a wolf. It tore a crater in the flesh, then the wolf''s entire fur burst into flames. The wolf went down with a strangled howl. "Firebolt!" The next wolf ducked under the projectile and then jumped forward just above the ground. OrcSlayer was attacked by three wolves at once and was now in real trouble. He fended off one bite by holding his sword across the path. The wolf bit into the blade and stubbornly held on even though the blade cut deep into his sensitive cheeks. He fended off a second wolf with a kick. He only avoided the third wolf''s throat bite with a daring evasive maneuver, stubbornly keeping his sword in his hand, along with the wolf hanging from it. The warrior cursed: "Plague and lag! That''s far too many wolves for a beginner''s quest! The quest system is completely buggered! I''ll file a complaint!" The elven mage conjured a firebolt but was already showing clear signs of tension. His breathing became faster, his skin pale and dark circles formed under his eyes. All signs that his mana was quickly running out. "That''s not a bug. That''s just two wolves per adventurer. The system counts the two NPCs as heroes. Just not our Questgiver." OrcSlayer cursed as the firebolt passed close to his face after a lunge. When he noticed the wolf that the fireball drove back and prevented from jumping at him from the side, he was somewhat reconciled. Weylan followed the conversation with only half his attention as he drew his crossbow again. Five of the original eight wolves were still alive, one of them wounded. Three were circling the warrior; the other two were trying to get to the remaining adventurers. He hissed at the mage: "Why did you stop casting spells? You can take a break later!" "I''m almost out of mana. I can save twenty percent of the cost of every spell with the magic staff, but even that won''t last forever. I can barely cast one more firebolt, and then I''m out. My skills are completely focused on magic. I don''t stand a chance in close combat." He chased away a wolf with his staff and hissed at the warrior: "OrcSlayer! Stop playing and kill the creatures already!" "I''d love to, but they keep dodging. As long as there are three of them, they have bonuses to attack and dodge. I can''t handle that at level 1." He ducked under a leap aimed at his throat and held the shield above him to keep the claws away from his face. Another wolf took advantage of the distraction to bite his boot from behind. The leather prevented him from ripping out the tendon, but the teeth still dug into the flesh. Weylan took advantage of a moment in which the wolves retreated to draw his crossbow again. He put another bolt in. He did not notice the wolf, which turned around in a flash and ran towards him. The elf mage fired a firebolt at the other wolf but missed. As the wolf was about to pounce on Weylan, Trulda rushed forward and thundered her walking stick at his head with both hands. The mighty leap turned into an unsteady hop. He hissed at Trulda and turned to face his attacker. Weylan raised the crossbow, aimed at the wolf''s side from just three paces away and fired. The wolf had just started to move so that the bolt hit its stomach instead of its chest. Howling wildly, the wolf flinched and made a move to flee. However, he had made the mistake of taking his eyes off Trulda. The walking stick hit him again on the skull. This time, the skull bone broke with a wet crack. The wolf twitched once more, then toppled over to one side. Another message appeared in front of Weylan: Opponent defeated: Wolf (common): 10 XP (assisted) Skill increased: Crossbow (Apprentice II) Trulda stared ahead of her for a moment. Weylan assumed that she had also received a message. The elven mage was pale and swayed slightly as he leaned heavily on his staff. Ryoden placed a stone in the leather loop of his staff sling, whirled it around and gave a wolf a good hit in the side. The elf looked up, startled: "No! Stop that! If you attack, the system will count you... Too late." Wolf howls sounded from the forest, and two more wolves were charging out of the undergrowth. Weylan didn''t take his eyes off the wolves as he spoke: "Well, Pop, it''s not so easy to stand idly by until a problem takes care of itself." Ryoden growled wordlessly and continued to fire at the wolves around OrcSlayer. Weylan and Trulda were briefly distracted by the appearance of other enemies, which the wolf took advantage of to pounce on the mage. He managed to hold his staff so that the teeth closed around the staff and not his throat. He fell backward to the ground, groaning under the weight. The mage braced himself desperately with both hands against the staff, which the wolf held clutched between its hands in its mouth. Saliva sprayed into his face as the wolf tried to bite through the staff and get at the tempting flesh of his throat. Its paws slashed the mage''s robe in the process. The damage from the short claws was minor but would soon add up. Weylan bent down and dropped the crossbow to the ground from a small height, then drew his dagger and rushed to help the mage. Ryoden managed to hit one of the two new wolves with the sling before they could get close. He looked a little dizzy from the hit to the head but kept running. Trulda stood next to him to receive the two newcomers with her walking staff. Weylan plunged his dagger straight into the wolf''s side, where he suspected the heart was. The wolf was entirely focused on the mage and didn''t even see him coming. The dagger pierced through the fur. Weylan felt the blade catch briefly on a rib, but then it slipped past and dug deep into the intestines. Critical hit! Damage x2 Sneak attack! Damage x2 Opponent defeated: Wolf (common): 20 XP Skill learned: Knife fighting (Apprentice I) Skill learned: Sneak attack (Apprentice I) Weylan pulled out the dagger, wiped the blood off the fur, and looked around. The mage struggled to push himself out from under the dead wolf, but it didn''t look like he would be able to contribute much to the fight. The warrior was still busy and already had several bloody scratches. His three opponents had also each taken a hit but were all still able to fight. Weylan''s father and the alewife whirled around with shepherd''s crook and walking staff, keeping their two attackers at a distance with difficulty. He immediately felt the urge to assist his father, but he found it more effective to free the warrior from his stalemate. Undisturbed by enemies for the moment, Weylan put the dagger back in his belt sheath and hurriedly drew his crossbow. Then he moved closer to the warrior whirling around blade and shield. When he was within a few steps and raised the crossbow, one of the wolves noticed him and started to pounce on him. Weylan didn''t trust himself to hit another wolf that jumped at him. The last time had been pure luck. Instead, he aimed at a wolf that was slowly creeping around OrcSlayer, looking for a gap in its cover. The bolt hit him full in the side. Howling, the wolf turned and fled. With only one opponent left, the warrior immediately went on the offensive. The shepherd''s son threw the crossbow to the side, pulled out the dagger and roared a wordless battle cry at the wolf. The wolf ducked under the clumsy dagger blow and bit at the unprotected leg of the shepherd boy. Weylan dodged with a less martial and much higher-pitched cry. He thrust wildly with the dagger at the passing wolf but only scraped the thick fur. The wolf wheeled around and snatched at his hand. Weylan jerked his hand back and immediately thrust back again. The blade sank into the wolf''s eye with a sickening smacking sound. The mouth opened into a howl, but only a pitiful gasp sounded before the wolf sank to the ground. Critical hit! Damage x2 Opponent defeated: Wolf (common): 20 XP Skill increased: Knife fighting (Apprentice II) Weylan stared at his blade. It was as if his hand had almost moved on its own when he stabbed. Was that what it meant to use a skill? And he had received the full experience points, even though the wolf was already wounded. Did damage from finished duels no longer count? And practically just heartbeats later? With difficulty, he pulled himself together again and pulled his sling out of his pocket. The crossbow simply took too long. He put in a stone, twirled the sling briefly over his head and then shot at one of the two wolves that were leaping around his father and Trulda. The wolf gave a short yelp as it was hit on the hip but was otherwise not distracted. Weylan put in another stone when he was shoved aside. OrcSlayer had finished off the last wolf and was now running towards the last two wolves. Weylan stuffed the sling into his pocket and hurried to the crossbow. While he was still loading it, the tide turned. The mage stayed away from the fight, but the other three now circled the wolves. By the time they realized in their bloodlust that they were at a disadvantage, it was too late. OrcSlayer decapitated one with a brutal blow. The other tried to bite him in the arm but took a shield to the face. While he was still dazed, Trulda bludgeoned him to the ground. This was closely followed by a blow from Ryoden''s shepherd''s crook. Weylan looked around carefully. There were no wolves to be seen anywhere. But where was the injured wolf that had fled earlier... He narrowed his eyes. At the edge of the forest, in a thick bush, he had seen a slight glint. Wolf eyes in the shadows. He got to his knees, raised the crossbow and took careful aim. Then he pulled the trigger. The bolt whizzed through the air and disappeared into the bushes. Lucky hit! Maximum damage! Opponent defeated: Wolf (common): 20 XP Skill increased: Crossbow (Apprentice III) The warrior looked up in surprise: "Hey, I just got another XP for an assist. Did you just get another one, or did he bleed to death?" Weylan raised his hand: "I killed another one in the forest." The warrior just nodded. Then, he made sure that his companion was all right. "I''m out of breath and haven''t even regenerated enough mana to cast a level 1 spell. Let''s go back to the village. I''m no good for anything today." "Man, I hate the regeneration rate of novices. They should actually take a few of you with them. Then you could just throw the empty ones in the bushes." "Thank you. I like you too." The mage crossed his arms in front of his chest and turned away. "Is anyone hurt?" Trulda ignored the banter and examined everyone for wounds. The warrior demonstratively last. The group spent a while bandaging all the wounds, then made their way back. The warrior looked dissatisfied: "I almost died on the first day, and I hardly collected any XP for it. 10 XP per wolf is a cheek." Legolias nodded in agreement, but Weylan looked at the warrior in amazement: "When I killed them on my own, I always got 20 XP." The warrior waved it off: "I don''t care what NPCs get." The elven mage beckoned Weylan to fall back a little with him and let the warrior march ahead. Then he gave him a friendly smile: "You don''t have a character class yet, do you?" "No." "That''s what I thought. Then, you get the full 100% bonus for superior opponents. Normally, that''s 20% per level of the opponent above yours. It is normally capped at max. 100% bonus. Without character, class, and skills, you are, of course, at a much greater disadvantage. Did you also get some skills?" "Yes, and even increased a few times. Is it always that quick?" "At the beginning, yes. Skills only increase if the application is a challenge for your current abilities and is still successful. In the beginning, this applies to practically everything. The increase goes from layman to apprentice, journeyman, master, grandmaster and legendary. You need ten increases to advance to the next level. To increase your skill as a Grand Master, you have to kill individual fireflies at night with your crossbow. While a hydra is attacking you." "Then why did I get knife fighting right away on Apprentice?" The mage raised an eyebrow: "You started as an apprentice instead of a layman? That usually only happens with the skills you get for your chosen character class. Either you have an innate talent, or the system thinks you''ve already shown talent at apprentice level. That used to be pretty damn rare, even with SCs. Then, consider taking a fighter class that''s skill-based. Thief, swordsman or mana adept. Supposedly, there are also a few secret character classes this time that you can only get if you fulfill the prerequisites." "Just like you can only become a hunter if you have already hunted an animal without help?" "Hunter? I didn''t even have that to choose from when I created the character. Wow. Hey OrcSlayer! Shepherd boy seems to know at least one of the secret character classes!" "I don''t care. I remain a warrior, as always." Weylan looked at him in confusion: "But there are lots of versions of that in the legends." "What?" "Well, for example, temple warriors, two-handed wielders, hammerers, knights, paladins or bulwarks." "What the lag is a bulwark?" "They wear insanely heavy armor. Shifting mountains of steel that hold castle gates and bridges against superior forces in the legends." Orcslayer waved his hand unimpressed: "Tanks. Take a lot, but don''t dish out much. There''s a choice of paladins. They''re annoying because you have to adhere super strictly to all the rules of chivalry. You can''t even intimidate or beat up a merchant if he demands unreasonable prices. Speaking of prices..." He pointed his finger at Ryoden so that it was close to the tip of his nose: "We haven''t gotten the reward for the quest yet." Ryoden stopped, startled, but quickly regained his composure: "What? Right." He detached his pouch from his belt and reached in to take out the monetary part of the reward. Apart from a few copper coins, however, he found nothing in it. "What the..." He fell silent and then started again: "I''m sorry. It''s my first time doing this." He cleared his throat and then formally announced, "You have passed your quest. Now receive your reward." The two adventurers looked down and waited, then looked impatiently at Ryoden as he continued to search in vain for silver coins in his pouch. Weylan frowned thoughtfully for a moment, then grinned: "I think you''ve forgotten the wording of the quest. Wasn''t there something about wolf ears?" Legolias clapped his hand over his face. Then he turned around without a word and walked back, followed by the rest of the group. Half an hour later, they had pulled all the wolves into a heap. OrcSlayer stood in front of Ryoden and pointed with his thumb: "Should we still cut off the ears, or does that count?" His question was answered by a message from the voice of the world. Quest: Protect the herd successfully completed. Success rate: 10 out of 5 required wolves killed. Reward: 100 XP, divided by 5 participants. Weylan also saw his own gain in experience points increase by 20 points. Ryoden reached into his pouch and counted out ten silver coins. OrcSlayer practically snatched them out of his hand. "100 XP divided by five. What do NPCs need experience points for anyway? What a rip-off." He beckoned Legolias to him: "Come on, let''s do it again. This time we''ll go alone. The minimum number of opponents is five. You just keep two wolves off my back and kill one with magic. Then I''ll kill one more before they can really encircle me, and that''ll be it for the wolves." Ryoden shook his head: "I can only give the quest once a day." OrcSlayer grabbed him by the collar, which the shepherd allowed, intimidated by the warrior''s anger: "Once a day? What are we going to do for the rest of the day? There''s nothing to do here in this filthy village in the middle of the wilderness!" Legolias tried to reassure him: "I''m sure there are still a few hidden social quests. Let''s explore the village in peace and then log off for today." The warrior took a step back from Ryoden and drew his sword in a flash. Before the surprised shepherd could react, he stepped forward in a lunge and plunged the blade into his heart. Unhindered by any armor, the blade protruded a hand''s breadth from his back. OrcSlayer turned the sword to enlarge the wound and then pulled it out with a swing. He whirled the blade around. Drops of blood broke loose, and one hit Weylan''s cheek. A gush of blood came out of Ryoden''s mouth before he collapsed like a doll whose strings had been cut. Sneak attack: Damage x2 Critical hit: Damage x2 Ryoden dies. Questgiver status inherited by heir. New Questgiver: Weylan Weylan stared at the body uncomprehendingly. Only unconsciously did his hand feel for the warm moisture on his cheek. This couldn''t have happened. It had to be a mistake! OrcSlayer now grabbed him by the collar with his left hand while holding the blade to his neck with his right: "So, you will now give the quest to Legolias and me. Then you NPCs sneak back to the village until we''re done." Legolias looked at him, stunned. His staff fell from his hands as he bent down to check on the fallen shepherd: "OrcSlayer! What have you done!" The warrior spat past Weylan on the ground: "Pah. A new Questgiver can assign the quest again. If the old one respawns tomorrow, I apologize." "This is a full simulation RPG server, you idiot! It doesn''t respawn! You just killed a sentient AI personality!" The warrior shrugged his shoulders: "Never mind. There''s still enough of that around here." The menu for assigning quests appeared in front of Weylan. While everything else was clouded by the tears in his eyes and the world around him became blurred, the menu remained clearly legible. He concentrated on it and changed the settings without even having to think about it. In an emotionless voice, he began to speak: "I have a mission for any hero who wishes to accept it." A glowing exclamation mark appeared on his forehead, bathing his face in an eerie light. OrcSlayer let go of him, sheathed the sword and pumped his hand in the air: "Yeah! I knew that would work." Weylan blinked the tears from his eyes and continued: "Avenge the murder of the shepherd Ryoden." Blood for blood: Avenge the unprovoked murder of the shepherd Ryoden. Quest objective: Kill OrcSlayer or hand him over to the relevant authorities Reward: 50 XP and five gold pieces for each participant Except in front of the stunned warrior, a message appeared in front of everyone present with the choice to accept or decline the quest. Weylan accepted it and was informed that Trulda had done the same. Legolias refused and looked wide-eyed at the messages that appeared before him: "What? You can''t accept your own quest!" The warrior looked from one to the other in confusion: "What are you talking about? This isn''t the quest I wanted. I didn''t get a quest message either. Don''t talk nonsense; just give me the wolf hunt quest again." Weylan didn''t even look at him: "Wolves are attacking the village''s flock of sheep. Kill at least five of the wolves to earn a reward." "Sure, I''ll do it!" Quest: Protect the herd accepted Weylan calmly took the crossbow from his back, cocked it and inserted a bolt. Meanwhile, OrcSlayer checked his wounds, grumbled something about the far too slow regeneration and stomped off again in the direction of the flock of sheep. "Come on Legolias, we only have a few hours of daylight left." "Wait! Haven''t you been paying attention? The boy just called out a quest on you." The warrior waved him off. "That makes no sense at all. There are no quests against players. That was just a stupid line." "No, really! There was..." Before Legolias could continue, they both heard quick footsteps approaching from behind. "And he''s already coming after me to apologize. Well, I''ll forgive him this once." OrcSlayer stopped and put on a condescending smile. A facial expression he always used when he praised his neighbor''s stupid dog for a trick. At least as long as his mother was around and insisted on being nice. Weylan had stopped as soon as the warrior started to turn around. As he faced him, the warrior looked at the crossbow he had drawn from a few steps away. It clicked, and the bolt flew straight into his unprotected neck. On the way out, it hit his spine, which shattered with a crack. Sneak attack: Damage x2 Critical hit: Damage x2 Skill increased: Crossbow (Apprentice IV) Crippling attack: OrcSlayer is incapacitated. Magical healing is required. Weylan pushed the crossbow into Trulda''s hand and drew his dagger. The elven mage raised his hands defensively and took a step away from his companion lying on the ground: "Leave me out of this. He brought this on himself." Weylan nodded to the elf and walked to the ground next to the motionless warrior. OrcSlayer''s eyes followed him, but although his breathing quickened, he could not utter a word. "I could do all sorts of things to you now. But that won''t bring my father back either. I just want to tell you one thing..." He fell silent as the warrior''s eyes broke and became lifeless. Then the body in the armor dissolved, sparkling. What remained was a collapsing suit of chain mail, clothing and weapons. OrcSlayer defeated (fighter, level 3): 60 XP Logout in battle. Maximum amount of loot unlocked. Legolias looked on impassively: "He has logged out. He dies automatically in the middle of the fight. You can loot the equipment if you want. He''ll hunt you down anyway. It won''t make any difference. OrcSlayer is damn vindictive. You should make sure you get away. He can''t respawn for the next 24 hours, which gives you a head start. Use it." He was about to walk away when he saw Weylan lift the chainmail and reveal more items underneath. A gold pouch and a vial engraved with a glowing symbol. The elf whistled through his teeth, "The bastard didn''t even mention that he bought a restorative elixir. Must have been afraid I''d expect him to use it on me in an emergency." He turned away again when Weylan stopped him: "Wait! What does the potion do? Can it heal my father?" "A restorative elixir heals all wounds, diseases, poisons and status effects. Your father is dead. As soon as the body disappears, it''s over." "My father is not a revenant! His body won''t just dissolve into light and respawn! I''ll try it." He rushed over to the corpse and knelt on the ground next to him. The elf rolled his eyes, "Cut the nonsense! He''s dead. It''s tragic, but it can''t be helped. Don''t waste the potion! The elixir requires an alchemist with level 20 and alchemy at legendary skill level. Plus, there are several insanely rare and expensive ingredients. Even if you get ripped off like all the NPCs in town, you can buy your entire village with it. OrcSlayer has traded the equivalent of a dragon hoard from his previous life for this. Everything he didn''t invest in crystals or the rest of his equipment. I was wondering why he didn''t at least buy a small enchantment for his sword." Weylan looked indecisively at the inconspicuous vial in his hand. The elf continued: "If you waste this on a doomed attempt, you''ll lose a fortune. This is your chance to finance a better life. Far away from here." "Has anyone ever used it on a non-revenant?" "Wasting a restoration potion on an NPC? I''d have to read up on the forums, but I''ll bet my ears no one has ever tried that." Trulda looked from one to the other. Then her eyes lost focus, as if she was looking at her status. Weylan lifted his father''s head and opened his mouth: "If I don''t at least try, I''ll spend the rest of my life wondering if it might have worked. Maybe it will!" Legolias opened his mouth and then closed it again. He nodded thoughtfully. Then he watched as Weylan flicked away the wax seal with his thumbnail and pulled out the cork. As air reached it, the liquid began to glow silver. A fresh smell became perceptible all around. Like fresh mountain air blowing across a summer meadow. Without further hesitation, Weylan emptied the liquid into his father''s mouth. First it ran down his throat, then it pooled without a swallowing reflex, filling his mouth and drooling down the sides to drip into the grass. Legolias shook his head sadly and set off for good. After a few steps, he fell into a long run. The two looked after him. Trulda was the first to break the silence: "We should bury your father." A soft, wet cough made them both flinch in fright. Weylan looked down to where he still held his father''s head. Silver light shone from Ryoden''s eyes, glowing liquid sprayed from his mouth, then the remaining elixir vanished as Ryoden''s throat resumed its function and he swallowed. Silver light erupted from the chest and back of the wound, then the flesh closed smacking. A silver wave traveled through the body from the heart. Scratches and bruises disappeared. There was silence for a moment, then Ryoden threw up his hands defensively: "Don''t! I didn''t give you anything..." He looked around in confusion: "For a moment, I thought that crazy revenant had attacked me." Weylan pushed his father down into a tight hug. He waved his arms around, looking for balance, but then returned the hug somewhat indecisively. "It''s all right. It''s okay... What happened?" "How do you feel?" "Excellent." The shepherd straightened up and stretched. His eyes fell on the blood-stained hole in his shirt. He stuck a finger through it and wiggled it. Then he pulled the shirt up and felt over the flawless skin under the hole. "Son, I think you should explain to me now what I''ve missed." After a lengthy explanation, the shepherd stood somewhat lost between his son and Trulda. "Well, I guess there''s not much left for us. I''ll fake my death for a few weeks and live in the summer hut by hunting and fishing. You will report back to the village what this revenant has done. He''s dangerous as hell. Who knows what else he''ll do. Then find someone to look after our herd and make sure you get away." Weylan looked at him with a lost expression: "But... where should I go?" Trulda put her arm on his shoulders: "We should go to the village first and sell this revenant''s equipment. Get new equipment and then leave, preferably to Mulnirsheim. Strangers immediately attract attention in the villages, and in the town, we have a chance to go underground. It''s best to leave a letter asking the other villagers to look after the sheep while you''re away." His father looked at her in surprise: "Have you ever been to the city?" "No. But I grew up with the wandering people. We met a lot of travelers from the city along the way." Ryoden nodded: "Then that''s the best solution. You tell everyone that I was murdered. It''s not a lie, after all. Since your mother died, I''ve had little contact with the other villagers. Most of the time, we''re out with the herd. So it won''t hit anyone too hard. You two get going as quickly as possible. Sell as much of the equipment as you can, and don''t forget... Well, you''re old enough. You know what you need to take with you." Weylan looked down at the pile of chainmail and other equipment. "Isn''t that stealing?" The shepherd hugged him wordlessly. Pride resonated in his voice: "I guess I didn''t do everything wrong in your upbringing after all. But this time, it''s all right. Anyone who defeats an opponent is entitled to the spoils. That''s not stealing, it''s your right." Weylan nodded somewhat reluctantly and then began to pack the warrior''s equipment into a compact package. The three of them piled up a man-sized area of earth and stuck Ryoden''s shepherd''s crook firmly into the ground at the end so that it was clearly visible. "Seeing your own grave is a bit... weird. Promise me you''ll try harder if I''m really in there." Weylan swallowed hard and just nodded. Trulda put her hand on his shoulder: "We have to get going." He hugged his father goodbye once more, took the bundle of loot on his shoulder and stomped off. Chapter 05: Selvara Selvara had spent a few relaxing weeks in the fairy world while her dungeon heart had increased in size by several levels. The other fairies had greeted her enthusiastically and congratulated her on surviving the dangerous early days with her dungeon. Her friends had been a little angry at first when she refused to reveal the name and location of her dungeon. But after the eldest fairy had reminded everyone that one of the most important duties of a dungeon fairy was to keep the secrets of her dungeon, they stopped complaining. At least she had been able to report that her dungeon used a chimera theme. After that, the others had suggested enough ideas for chimeras to keep a dungeon busy until the legendary twenty-fifth level. Unfortunately, most of them required animals as a component, which they didn''t have on hand. Of course, she didn''t reveal that, as it would have provided clues to Malvorik''s location. Selvara''s mysterious dungeon was by no means the only topic. The fairy world was in a frenzy. More dungeons had been created in the last few months than in the previous two centuries. She therefore only met the fairies, who had just returned to report and recover a little. As the period during which her dungeon heart was inactive for the growth phase drew to a close, she said goodbye and opened a portal back to her dungeon. The portal opened in the heart room, where she immediately saw from the glow of the crystal that Malvorik was already awake and active. As always, a map of the dungeon could be seen on a mirrored wall. She snorted, fluttered over to the crystal and tapped on it: "This can''t be true. I leave you alone once and you build again without any sense or reason. There are new rooms and corridors going up again! You can''t keep hollowing out the terrain without creating traps and monsters. If this continues, there will be a completely unprotected path to the surface. You''re far enough up to come across mineshafts. You''re building up to your maximum visibility, that''s dangerous!" "You wouldn''t believe where dungeons have popped up if they hadn''t listened to their fairy. Truldaqua, the water dungeon, for example." "But that was never the intention. He dug his way under a lake without realizing it. The water then came in over such a large area that he couldn''t close the hole with his existing astral energy. By the time it had regenerated enough, it had filled up. All his monsters drowned. He used up the next few increases completely to get special skills with which he could create underwater traps. Pitfall traps are no longer effective. Neither were crossbow traps and poison arrows. Then he had to wait until he could choose new monster races that live underwater." Bright lights sparkled in surprise in the facets of the crystal heart. Selvara leaned back and made a self-satisfied gesture: "Of course. In what specifically?" "You see. Told you." The dungeon fairy sat down smugly on the floor beneath the dungeon crystal and crossed her arms, "Now remove your tunnel and repair the channel with the exact same type of stone that was used to build the rest. Make sure you use the same pattern." He was undoing the overlapping tunnel walls and was just about to begin the makeshift sealing of the hole again before he set about the finishing touches when his building skills suddenly failed him. Intruders! Dungeon construction blocked He shifted his view into the corridor, where two sources of light had now appeared. In addition, a waterfall flowed directly into his labyrinth. He tried frantically to dissolve the water, but was unsuccessful. With a casual thought, he transferred his vision to the mirror wall. "Send up the Lurker! You have to take care of the intruders! Forget the water ingress. It''s not that bad, you can dry it off afterwards." While the Lurking Shrike ran off on its short legs and the knuckles of its large hands, the two watched helplessly as the two intruders struggled to their feet. The large empty room was poorly lit by the glowing helmets of the two. The walls were too far away to step out of the shadows. A steady stream of water poured down from the dozen-step-high ceiling and splashed onto the stone floor, forming an ever-larger puddle. The younger intruder leaned heavily on his staff, trying hard not to strain his left leg. The older one tore the rucksack off his back and rummaged around in it. Then he took out a bundle of rope with a throwing hook. "Don''t panic." Said the panicked fairy fluttering around the room: "One is injured. Your Lurker has a chance to finish them off. You still have the choice of a second monster race. Take one, any one, create one and send it off!" "That''s right. You can only call Lurking Shrikes as normal monsters once you have selected a second monster race. You can then define your new monster as a boss and create several Lurking Shrikes. However, none of this helps us at the moment. Perhaps this moderator has left behind a nasty curse after all." He fell silent and the crystal darkened as he gloomily watched the intruders. Albus now threw his grappling hook up for the second time and managed to anchor it at the top. There were enough gaps in the bricks to find a foothold. His colleague watched him, still leaning heavily on his staff. After a few initial anxious glances, he paid only casual attention to his surroundings. As a result, he did not see the hairy creature approaching him quickly from behind. The sound of footsteps splashing in the water was drowned out by the roar of the falling water. As Albus triumphantly turned to Arnheld with the rope securely in place, he saw the attacker behind him and shouted a warning. The Lurker grabbed the turning sewer worker and closed both long-fingered hands tightly around his neck. His cry was stifled by gasps. He lost his grip on his staff and fell to the ground under the onslaught. Malvorik had not yet been able to test his new spells and now looked disappointedly at the image of the mirror wall, where the area around the battle had turned slightly gray, but was not filled with the expected complete darkness. "What do you mean?" "It has become dark. You forget that you are a dungeon heart. Inside your dungeon, you have perfect darkvision. Apart from the intruders and your crystal, there are no light sources here at all. See how the guy with the staff reacts!" Albus held his wand in a fighting stance, obviously knowing what he was doing. He not only used it to poke around in the sewers, but was also quite prepared to defend himself against the giant rats and occasional criminals roaming the sewers. Now, however, he just looked unfocused into the void and swung his staff aimlessly around in wide sweeps. The wrestling match between the dungeon monster and Arnheld could barely be heard over the rushing water and he obviously didn''t want to accidentally slay his colleague. The Lurker had wrapped his short legs around the canal worker''s lower body and was holding on tightly. With his injured leg on the wet and therefore slippery floor, he had no chance of getting up or shaking him off. The hands of the lurking strangler, which were made for this task, remained firmly closed around his neck. His movements were already beginning to weaken when he gave up trying to pull his hands away from his neck and instead reached into his belt to draw his dagger. The short blade dug into the strangler''s side. His fur and muscles protected him from the blows, but he had nothing to offer against the steel. One hand detached itself from the neck and followed the shoulder in the darkness to the forearm, where he held his opponent. The other hand was enough to continue cutting off the air supply through the neck. The free fist struck the monster without aim, becoming weaker and weaker, which it stubbornly ignored. Malvorik''s crystal lit up hopefully as Arnheld''s movements slackened and he went limp. The Lurker let out a triumphant growl. In the next moment, the oak staff thundered against the Lurker''s skull, sweeping him from his victim. Albus had abandoned all caution and swept through the room with sweeping blind swings. Now that his hit had given him a target, he continued to strike. The Lurker remained lying on the ground, blinking dazedly. Once, twice, the wand passed through the air above him as Albus slowly approached. "No, but you could take possession of the Lurker and control it. Have I explained that in more detail? Probably not. It usually only comes up in the second year. When a normal dungeon heart starts to understand simple sentences." She ruffled her long hair. "You''re messing up the whole training plan I learned." "Exactly! So, here''s how it works..." He interrupted her: "Crap. Maybe there''s a reason why Golgoroth usually uses psychopathic killers after all." The strangler crouched up and tried to get close to his opponent, but was almost immediately hit in the arm. The two watched in the mirror as the strangler took another heavy blow that sent two teeth flying off in a high arc. Blood seeped from the burst lip and disappeared down the neck, into the thin fur. One thought was enough to lift the darkness that hindered his Lurker more than the intruder. Albus flinched for a moment, blinded. Albus whirled the wand around in the middle as something pulled on his boot. Not so strong that it would normally have done anything, but on the slippery stone floor it was enough to throw him off balance. Reflexively, he braced the staff backwards at an angle to catch himself. The spell knocked the tip of the staff aside. Once again, the smooth floor aided the effect. The canal worker fell to the ground, flailing wildly with the staff. Splashing, he tried to get to his feet again, but the strangler threw himself at him with his full weight and took him in a chokehold. The wand was no longer of any use to Albus in direct hand-to-hand combat. He dropped it and tried to get his hands off his neck. In vain. He punched the Lurker in the face, in the sides, kicked it in the crotch with his knee. Nothing elicited so much as a grunt from the monster. Here it was in its element. The blows became weaker, the wriggling of the legs stopped. The strangler did not let up until the last bit of life had been drained from his victim. Only then did he open his hands, stand up and let out a muffled roar of victory. The only sound the monster had made so far. Bonus! First victory in the dungeon: 100 XP Opponent defeated: Simple worker level 2: 10 XP: 60% = 4 XP Simple worker level 5: 25 XP Undistributed XP: 129 Missing points to the next level: Dungeon Master 300 / Mage 300 Prey Analyzed: 2x helmet (enchanted with permanent light) Artifact analysis successful: This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.Spell learned: Permanent light (level 2) 2x simple clothing, 2x leather boots (waist-high, waterproof), 2x simple stick, stonemason''s tool, shovel, throwing hook, rope, climbing hook "Have you actually got rid of the water ingress yet?" Mana capacity (current: 0/ maximum: 40/ temporary: 129) "You just discovered a temporary mana supply, didn''t you?" The dungeon fairy sounded smug to see him surprised. "For every point of experience, you also get one point of temporary mana once the battle is over. Even beyond your usual maximum limit. The temporary mana evaporates again after an hour. So you should use it up quickly." The dungeon heart turned its attention to the hole from which the brackish, stinking broth was still flowing. On the mirrored wall, he created a precise sketch of the dungeon from glowing lines in alignment dot perspective. The dungeon fairy looked at the sketch with interest: "What are those strange worms growing out of the top?" "Wait a minute! You can''t just take over the existing tunnels!" "No, I mean, that''s not how it works. You take over an area and create your own tunnels. You don''t just take over existing areas.> "The dead and abandoned city of Manavgatt." "Quicker into trouble, you mean." The crystal flashed indignantly: "What do you have? More intruders?" "You have opened your dungeon to visitors. From now on, you can no longer close it permanently. Create a ladder or spiral staircase up the side of the tunnel. Then build a hidden door and close the tunnel. The entrance may be hidden and secured, but it must be able to be opened by level 1 heroes." Malvorik nodded mentally and set to work. "I don''t know much about mages. Only that they pose a great danger to dungeons. Do you also specialize?" The glowing helmets of the three sewer workers provided the only light after the white glow went out with the death of the mage. Smoke, dust and steam made it difficult to see, the attack by the shrill rat chimera had deprived them of their hearing and the three of them had hardly any grip standing on the slippery floor in the sewage. Without the mage, they fell victim to the onslaught of rats one by one. The dungeon heart fell silent as the battle in the magic mirror drew to a close. Although questions and comments were on the tip of his tongue, it felt wrong to interrupt the intruders'' demise. Even though he recognized the need to kill them, it felt wrong. These were not adventurers who had entered a dungeon and knew what they were doing. They were just workers going about their business. "What do you mean?" "Most people spend almost three years slowly expanding their sphere of influence, building rooms and training monsters. All of this slowly but surely earns experience points. They will also be at least level 5 when they build their first entrance. Which then leads into a carefully graded labyrinth of traps and enemies." "I wouldn''t put it like that... as long as you''re listening." Opponent defeated: 1x worker level 4: 20 XP -20%= 16 XP Opponent defeated: 2x fighter (street brawler) level 4: 80 XP - 20%= 64 XP Opponent defeated: Mage (Psychic) Level 6: 120 XP Total XP: 200 Loot: 3x helmet with glow spell, 3x simple leather clothing, high-quality leather clothing, 4x leather boots (waist-high, waterproof), 3x heavy dagger, 3x battle staff, Magic wand with rock crystal (focus for clairvoyance magic) Artifact analysis successful: Level 3 Enchantment learned: Permanent Light Level advancement: Dungeon Master Level 6 New monster breed ready for selection Additional trap type ready for selection Feat ready for selection "Would you seriously expect that from a dungeon of your level?" Malvorik sent a serene laugh at the mental connection. Selvara stroked her chin thoughtfully: "So far, you have the Shrill Rats with their sonic attack and the Lurking Shrike. The rats are very weak and only stand a chance in large numbers. And only against low-level opponents without heavy armor and only on difficult terrain with limited visibility. The Lurker is only effective from ambush. So you still need either a ranged fighter or an armored melee fighter. You''re right about that. Show me the list on the mirror." She looked carefully at the list that appeared. "As a chimera dungeon, you have to take a combo creature. But they''re very mana-intensive very quickly. How about something goblin-based? Humanoid, but very cheap." "You can''t choose humans or any of the other intelligent races." "Well..." Selvara hesitated. Nowhere in her syllabus did her dungeon question the guidelines. She herself had never thought about that point either, "That''s true... Funny... There was a list of races that dungeons couldn''t choose as monsters. Not even about special skills. You could ally with humans, of course, or bribe an elven archmage or orcish necromancer to work for you, but you can''t create those races as monsters of their own. In our oldest writing in the faerie archives, the list had a funny heading. Whenever the subject comes up, the old elves always pull it out and show it to everyone. I think they hope that someone will eventually find the term somewhere else and find out what it means." "Player races. As if these races were playing a big game. They were the most common races: Elves, Humans, Dwarves, Orcs, Anubians, Harefolk, and Sea People." "That''s probably just a coincidence. Now pick something." She pointed to the list of monster breeds that had appeared on the mirrored wall. "I wish I could sort through the whole thing or remove the unsuitable ones." She tapped the word goblins in annoyance. The word disappeared. < How did you do that?> "Why? Wasn''t that you?" Selvara tapped on a few other names. Nothing happened. She thought for a moment, tapped on a name again and concentrated on removing it. It disappeared. "I can influence the list. How is that possible? Dungeon fairies can survive in dungeons through their pact, but cannot directly influence the dungeon or the dungeon heart." "Don''t make it so exciting!" Selvara swiped over the list, hesitantly at first and then with increasing determination. After a few changes, she no longer touched the surface, but only made vague gestures. Names wiped away as if flung aside. A happy smile stretched across her face. Then she clasped her hands behind her back and just concentrated. Monster races disappeared and reorganized themselves. Malvorik also removed names and added notes on their positive characteristics to others. "Too expensive. You''d have to be almost full to call him." . "But then you could only ever summon your most powerful monster when you have almost all your reserves full. That''s pretty dangerous." "Can I finally have a look at the new floor? You''ve been working on it for days without letting me near it." "You did what? How high is that now?" He created a spawn circle and the coin for the matching monster heart. A three-step tall mountain of muscle with the head of a bull appeared in the room. It stood there calmly, not really alive yet. "Weapons?" One-step-long iron bars appeared in both of the Minotaur''s hands. "Three arrows and he''s dead." Iron formed plate armor around the boss. As the dungeon heart made him take a step forward, the giant stumbled and began to stagger. Rings appeared on the floor and intertwined with each other. It took Malvorik a few attempts to get the pattern where the rings lay smoothly across the surface. Then he needed more attempts to reconstruct the patterns needed for the moving parts. It had been twenty years from his point of view, but he had already worked intensively on the construction of chain mail. At that time, he had had an idea to enchant chain mail more effectively, but the attempt had failed miserably. So he stuck with the very mana-intensive method of casting the spell on all the individual parts at the same time. "Looks like any other chain mail." The fairy watched with interest as the mesh of steel rings was placed over the minotaur until it followed its shape perfectly up to its hips. Numerous adjustments were necessary until he could move unhindered. A helmet then appeared around the bull''s skull, with matching holes for the horns. The helmet disappeared, then the head began to deform. The horns became smaller and the skull took on the shape of a giant rat''s head. But the changes did not stop there. A wave ran through the body. The posture changed. The upper body leaned forward more, the legs became even thicker and more muscular, especially at the hips. The hooves were replaced by paws and at the end Malvorik added a long, muscular rat tail. "The paws would be kind of cute if you left out the sharp claws." "Are you sticking with the iron bars? Wouldn''t hammers be better? Fighting with hammers or axes is no easier than with swords. That''s a common misconception. Both require different but complex techniques. But if he hits with it with his enormous strength, it will definitely do damage. A sword could fail against heavy armor if it doesn''t hit a weak spot precisely. A hammer blow, on the other hand, will be noticed even in heavy plate armor." Two war hammers appeared in the hands of the boss opponent. The fairy laughed and clapped her hands over her head: "The hammerheads are far too big. It''s a minotaur... rat... thing... but not a giant." "The weapons are always completely exaggerated in Bard pictures. Leave the handles and reduce the heads to a quarter." He confirmed a question from the world voice and the rat minotaur came to life. He let the hammers whirl around, then spread his arms out jerkily, opened his mouth and let out his war roar: "Squi-Mooo!" It began with a loud, shrill squeak and then turned into a deep moo. Selvara and the crystal looked at each other. "Can you still change that?" "That will take a little getting used to." Chapter 08: Salladar The spawnpoint lit up and a warrior in gleaming polished plate armor appeared. He held his helmet in the crook of his arm, his sacred two-handed sword resting in a magical back scabbard. He twirled his golden mane of hair and brushed it back. When he realized that no one was watching him, he grimaced in annoyance and unceremoniously jumped off the platform. He looked around. As when he had last arrived, the spawnpoint was in the middle of the forest on the upper third of a kilometer-long slope, from the plateau of Kaldur down to the S''Babbi steppe. Tree houses and hunter stands were hidden high up in the trees all around, but at the moment he couldn''t see any inhabitants. The usual cooking fires in the nearby clearing were also absent. Frowning, he jogged along the path. Down the slope, the sound of fighting became audible. He sped up and after a few minutes arrived at a group of heroes standing around a table set up on a flat spot, discussing. The table was shaded by a five-meter-high elm tree that spread its branches like an umbrella over the assembled group. Farther down the slope flashes of spells could be seen and the sound of battle became even louder. A mage in a white robe looked up and recognized him: "Salladar! Good that you''re back. We can use every man, and a paladin twice as much." The paladin took off his helmet, twirled his hair around and back and then stepped up to the table to take a look at the map and the numerous wooden figures placed on it: "What''s the situation?" "It¡¯s utter shit." Salladar blinked in surprise. The usually so serious mage had never expressed himself so vulgarly. "Master Hodar!" "It''s true." The mage pointed disparagingly at the map: "This is no fun anymore. We have a full raid group of player-heroes here. Plus the support of the Lady of the Forest..." he pointed to a Hamadryad standing at the end of the table. Salladar bowed: "You honor us with your presence, Queen of the Forest." The Hamadryad towered over the heroes around her by at least a head. Her hair was streaked with ivy and leaves, her skin patterned and the shade of oiled walnut wood. A hoop of gold-colored wood adorned her forehead. She nodded wearily at the paladin. Cracks and wrinkles crisscrossed her once flawless face. Some of the leaves in her hair were wilted and brittle. What was happening to the forest was also affecting the Hamadryad: "Save your formalities. The forest will fall before the sun sets." Everyone followed her gaze to the sky, where the sun was high above the treetops. "Surely you are exaggerating. Heroes, your dryads, the elves of the Forest Kingdom and the mighty beasts of your realm, can''t just fall." The Hamadryad wiped her hand through the air above the table. An illusion appeared, showing a view of the forest from treetop level. At the bottom of the valley, the forest merged almost seamlessly into a stony desert. Salladar knew from stories he had been told by bards at the inn before his first arrival in the forest that the forest could only exist through the magic of a few nature-affine power nodes. Countless figures in blood-red robes and armor entered the forest. The wooden barriers and thickets of magical thornbush, that had secured the border until just a day ago, were burnt, chopped up and full of wide passages. Further up, elves, mages and assorted warriors huddled in trees and behind improvised cover, firing magic and bows incessantly. But with little success. The paladin narrowed his eyes. His tactics skill helped him to quickly analyze the situation: "They form groups of three warriors with tower shields, two ranged fighters with bows in cloth armor and a mage or cleric. I can''t quite make them out. They''re mostly limited to defensive magic. Shields against magic and arrows." The Forest Queen nodded: "Well spotted. They are all mages/clerics." "What? How did they get the system to accept so many multiclass builds? Almost no one manages to get a second class." "Normally yes, but here... Master Hodar, tell him." The mage hesitated and swallowed. Then he began in a low, uncertain voice: "The barbarians of the Storm Mountain Guild changed sides this morning." "What, all of them? That was almost twenty players... er... heroes. Including our highest-level fighters. Most of them were level 8 barbarians. The Storm Mountain guild has been at it since the beta opened. They''ve been storming through dungeons day and night to level up. What happened?" "They received a visit from a hooded figure during the night. After a brief discussion, their leader Donnerhau Flammenzorn agreed to a meeting. The two spent an hour in his tent, then the others were called in. Towards morning, they all gathered in the large square and announced that the barbarians had been chosen by a god. One of the Forgotten Gods from the Dark Ages is on his way back. Anyone who joined him received five bonus cleric levels. Completely independent of the normal classes. With no XP deduction for multiple classes of different levels. From the few occasions we''ve been able to analyze the mages in combat, they all have it. The ranged fighters and shield bearers only have a tiny mana pool, but even they can occasionally cast a spell." "Then they just walked away? Damn." "Worse. They declared holy war on the other gods and then all went berserk on our clerics. Twenty barbarians against just a dozen unprepared clerics. They were dead before we knew what was going on. We managed to take out two of the barbarians on the run, but the rest got away. They don''t seem to be fighting on this front here. At least no one has seen them since." ¡°So, our clerics are still in time-out?¡± "Yes. All gone. Earliest respawn time is tomorrow, shortly after sunrise. We won''t have a single healer by then. Most of the elves have already fallen, plus half the forest beasts." The paladin grimaced: "And tomorrow morning is Monday." While the heroes at the table all nodded in understanding, the Hamadryad frowned: "What does that mean?" "Forgive me, this has to do with our way of life in our world. Many of us can only reach your world two days a week. The other five days we have to work for a living or complete our education in our world." "But most of you have been here for far longer than two days." "Two days in your world. Time here runs four times faster than in our world. Two days with us are therefore eight days here." "Then you will leave us tomorrow?" "Tonight, most of us will leave this world and not return for another twenty days or so. Forgive us. When we rushed to your aid a week ago, we didn''t think this battle would last this long." "I can''t blame you for that. When you stepped out of the spawnpoint here, I was convinced that you would wipe our enemies off the face of the world in a matter of days." She sat down on a tree stump next to the table and seemed to collapse: "Then my people are lost. The forest will fall." All eyes focused on the paladin, who was famous in the group for his strategic skills. Salladar looked at the map table, now back to normal, and studied the arrangement of the pieces. He shook his head regretfully: "We can''t win. In your illusion, the situation looked even worse than it is depicted on our strategic map. I see only one option left: we heroes throw ourselves at the enemy to stop them. That will give your people enough time to flee." The Hamadryad nodded wearily. She had expected nothing less: "I cannot leave the forest, as you are well aware. I will fight and fall by your side. Our sacrifice will weaken the followers of the New God to such an extent that they will not be able to pursue my forest elves and the other forest dwellers, nor attack any other territory in the coming months." The heroes were already picking up their weapons, which were leaning against trees nearby, when she continued: "One more thing... Save my daughter Ulmenglanz." "Your attackers will certainly recognize and destroy the dryad trees." "I will create an offshoot that can be transported in a pot. My elven craftsmen are already working on a stretcher for this purpose. Four bearers, who will take turns, will be able to carry it without much difficulty. Ulmenglanz herself will take care of the offshoot and keep it alive. And it her." The branches above the table began to tremble, then they retreated into the trunk, which also contracted. Hands went to weapons, as the dryad took on her human form next to the table: "Mother! I will not flee!" "Yes, you will." The queen''s voice brooked no argument. "Our forest may fall, but my family will not perish. You will take our traditions and memories to safety. Take the seed box from the temple. With these seeds, the forest will grow anew and you shall become its queen." Salladar rubbed his chin thoughtfully: "Why don''t you flee this way yourselves? Our death is not permanent, but yours is. Even if we lose a whole level every time, we are happy to make the sacrifice." Grumbling sounded all around. His companions didn''t quite agree with him. It was becoming increasingly difficult to level up at higher levels. Most of them had only managed to gain one or two levels during the week, despite the almost constant fighting. Salladar himself was the highest leveled of the players at level 9, so he made the biggest sacrifice. That, and the knowledge that they would have a place here in a heroic and epic story, convinced them to join in. The Last Stand of the Forest Queen would remain in the annals of the world for all time. If they rose another level before they died, the loss would be acceptable. One of the heroes, TurnipDerBunte, a bard who had been sitting silently at the table, suddenly looked up: "Wait, did the Hamadryad just say temple? There is no temple here in the forest." The queen turned to him and silence fell over the clearing. Then she nodded slowly and deliberately: "There is no point in keeping this secret any longer. Here in the forest lies the hidden last temple of Fliedabarr, the god of the dryads." Salladar frowned: "I''ve never heard of the god or a temple here in the border forest." The queen looked at him resignedly: "That''s why I called it the hidden temple. It is the last temple of Fliedabarr. If it falls to the followers of another deity or is destroyed, then our god will perish." Salladar used his Knowledge skill for Religious Knowledge, but got no result. His talent score was too low to provide any information about this obscure god. The bard jumped up and down excitedly: "I know! I''ve read all about him because I originally wanted to become a cleric. Fliedabarr has hardly any spells useful to adventurers. He spends most of his Divine Power on growing his sacred groves. He has very little of it. In the records, he only had a few followers. Most who are interested in a god of nature worship Borrk, Lord of the Woods. A balanced spell list with animal control, protection spells and healing magic. Borrk is known to regularly assist his followers with major miracles." Ulmenglanz stormed over to him. Dry leaves whirled up from the ground around her. Her eyes flashed as she looked down at the slightly smaller bard from above: "Borrk? That upstart and braggart. He sucks up to his acolytes unabashedly. But does he care about the wild forests, the protection of animals and the balance of nature? Not a seed''s breadth. Lots of talk about nature, but he does nothing. Of course, he has divine power in abundance to do useless favors for his followers." The paladin raised his hands reassuringly: "For now, we should concentrate on the more pressing problems." He pointed to a hero wearing the traditional robes of the druids: "Esche, you get the seed box from the temple." Then his gaze wandered to a motley group consisting of a half-elf, a half-orc and a bard almost two and a half meters tall, whose race he could not classify. Behind her leg appeared a green-skinned runt, whom he had been introduced to as a half-goblin, and a beer-bellied halfling in fur clothing: "You five are a well-coordinated group..." The bard interrupted him with a deep, yet recognizably feminine voice: "It''s all right. We''re entertaining around the campfire, but too chaotic in a battle. You want to get rid of us." "I wanted to put it nicer, but yes. I never know what you guys are going to come up with next. Cutting down trees was a great tactic last week, but you really should have checked to see if there were any scouts hidden up top first. Most importantly, you''re all lightly equipped and quick off-road. You collect a few more of the rangers over at the camp and accompany princess Ulmenglanz." The bard assumed a snappy stance and saluted. Then earth splashed up as she turned to the others on the spot and thundered out: "Half-brothers! Rally, turn right and march!" Salladar looked at the bard''s unmistakably feminine features with a raised eyebrow: "Half-brothers?" The half-goblin grinned cheekily at him from below: "We voted fairly on the name of our team." Princess Ulmenglanz had listened to the brief dialog with interest and was about to object to the plan, but her mother snapped at her: "You will not sacrifice the forest for your pride. Save the seed box. Save the forest. Escaping will be dangerous enough, for surely our enemies have scouts behind our lines. You''ll get enough fights and glory along the way." Her expression softened: "Farewell, daughter. I am proud of you." Then she wheeled around and strutted off towards the battle with her head held high. As she walked, she raised her arms to her sides in a majestic pose. The air around her began to shimmer and with each step, waves of green light pulsed across the ground in concentric waves. A soft crackling and popping sound made the heroes look around anxiously, as the source was at first unrecognizable. A tremor ran through the trees. On half a dozen of the large oaks that the Dryad Queen passed, branches began to sway slightly back and forth. The ground around the trees began to move. Arm-thick roots were pushing earth aside and wriggling out of the ground. Salladar took a worried step back, for if these giant trees were to topple, the surroundings would become very unhealthy. The trees swayed slightly back and forth, but instead of falling, the roots broke out of the ground in a wide radius, bracing themselves and lifting the trees out of the ground. The ground shook as they uprooted themselves and followed the dryad. The heroes watched the giant tree creatures open-mouthed as they deftly weaved their way through the dense forest, finding a path with earth-shaking steps without leaving a trail of devastation in their wake. TurnipDerBunte put the general mood into words: "Why hasn''t she done that yet?" The dryad princess spoke softly and sadly: "She is sacrificing the life force of the forest itself for this. Now that all is lost, she can do this. None of these trees will survive the next hour. This whole clearing will become a gray and lifeless place before a moon has passed." As Salladar followed her gaze, he too could see that the grass was wilting and turning brown all around him. The leaves on the trees and bushes were also becoming lighter, as if an early autumn was spreading in fast motion. Ulmenglanz took one last look across the clearing, then waved the heroes assigned to her over and marched off. Esche the druid bowed and whispered something in her ear after asking for permission very submissively. Salladar couldn''t see the look on her face from behind, but she nodded to the druid, whereupon he sprinted off and disappeared into the undergrowth. TurnipDerBunte adjusted his leather armor, checked that all the daggers were safely in their sheaths and then nodded: "I''m ready. One more joke to boost morale and then we''re off." The others finished their preparations and then turned to him, waiting. Some were already grinning in anticipation. The bard lifted his mandolin from his shoulder, played a few chords and then asked: "Why is a hamadryad never found in a steam bath?" A general shrug of the shoulders and questioning looks answered him. "Because then it would be a hammam dryad!" The bard ended with a loud chord and looked around expectantly. Hands were placed on faces and some of the heroes groaned and writhed in feigned pain. "Well, come on... Hammam? Turkish steam bath? You know that, don''t you?" Salladar summed up the general mood: "That, TurnipDerBunte, was the worst joke I''ve ever heard." The bard grimaced in offense: "Come on, it wasn''t that bad..." Contrary to the usual behavior of the world voice, the following message was displayed to everyone present: Attribute change for TurnipDerBunte: Charisma -1 Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit. Salladar whistled through his teeth: "Wow. That joke was so bad that even the voice of the world punished him. I''ve never heard of anything like it." TurnipDerBunte stood up triumphantly: "Once again, you see how unique I am! Let someone else try to replicate that. Come on, into battle! I''ll write a mocking song about the last one to finish off an opponent!" The heroes grabbed their weapons and marched down the slope. Salladar sprinted to the front. He reached for his mighty two-handed sword, which protruded over his shoulder. The magical back scabbard folded out to its full length so that he could draw the long blade comfortably. He swung the sword towards the sky. His voice thundered through the forest: "Pallandur, god of quests and heroes, behold these heroes who fight in your name. See these heroes answering your call, fulfilling your quest. Give us your blessing!" Golden light spread from the blade, filling all his allies with courage and confidence and granting them a +2 bonus to attack, parry and damage rolls. At his orders, groups of six heroes formed, as the forest was too dense to maintain larger formations. They also made faster progress this way. The paladin beckoned the mage Hodar, the bard and three spear throwers to him and then put on his helmet. Barely ten minutes later, the first opponents came into view. The small groups wandered openly through the terrain. Protected by magical domes and shields, they did not bother with cover. The archers fired at anything that moved, while the mages and clerics threw fireballs and jets of flame at the trees and bushes behind which the defenders were entrenched. The heroes came into view just in time to see the Dryad Queen''s attack. Six huge oaks fanned out into a broad front, swaying towards the enemy with branches swinging far and wide. Some groups of invaders broke apart and were targeted by ranged fighters. Most of the enemy, however, stood their ground and began firing incendiary arrows and fire spells at the trees. The dryad stood back a little and raised her arms again in an imploring gesture. She stood there for a moment with her arms spread wide, as if she wanted to embrace her opponents. She swung her arms forward and the entire forest glowed golden. Wind swept her hair forward. A golden shimmer in the air swept like a wave across the entire width of the battlefield from the forest towards her opponents. Salladar narrowed his eyes. It wasn''t a wave of light, but rather... dust? Hodar the Mage cast an analysis spell: "That''s magically charged flower pollen. Many NPCs in this world are born with an allergy to something as a disadvantage. No matter what they are allergic to, this stuff will trigger a reaction. Yet it doesn''t count as an attack for most protection spells. Insidious. Remind me never to mess with a dryad." The cloud of pollen swept over the enemies and many paused for a moment. Especially as the dust swept through the magic domes without any problems. Krigesti fighters shrugged their shoulders and were about to go on the offensive against the giant trees again when the first began to cough. Others began to scratch frantically. A few simply fell to the ground, gasping and holding their throats. The effect did not last long, but it was enough to allow the tree giants to reach their opponents relatively unharmed. Branches crashed thunderously against the protective domes, which lit up brightly... and disintegrated after a few blows. Now invaders were flying left and right through the area. The fighters who had been holding the front line got up from their cover and went on the offensive. Salladar and his group renewed their battle cry and charged out of the forest. The paladin raised his two-handed sword and took aim at an enemy group whose dome was being attacked by a giant tree. He lashed out with his blade and waited for the moment when the dome collapsed: "Hodar, when the shield falls, take out the melee fighters with the tower shields." He turned to the three spearmen on his team: "You take care of the ranged fighters. I''ll take care of the mage." The shield spell flickered under another branch blow. "Watch out! Just one or two more blows and it will disintegrate." The giant tree lunged and leaned forward. Salladar prepared to charge forward, expecting a particularly powerful blow from the tree. Instead, the mighty oak leaned further and further. The branches swung aimlessly. Then it fell forward. The mage grabbed him by the arm and yanked him backwards. Confused, the paladin kicked his feet and pushed himself the last few meters before the tree trunk hit him where he had just been standing. Salladar looked around the battlefield. Giant trees were falling to the ground everywhere. The storm of pollen died down. "Where is the queen? I don''t see her anywhere." One of the spear throwers pointed his spear diagonally forward: "The dryad was just over there! Then she suddenly fell over!" As the general of the group, Salladar was able to access a map using his Tactics skill. A glance showed him the position of the Dryad Queen and the other six-man squads. Another skill allowed him to shout commands in a voice that was clearly audible to all his allies, even in the midst of the noise of battle: "Squad Three, Squad Seven: Secure the area around the Dryad against further attacks. Group Eight, check what''s wrong with her and heal her if possible. Could be a debuff or curse. Try antidote elixir and healing potions. I''ll reimburse you for the cost later, so don''t skimp. If the queen can intervene in the fight again, that would be a huge tactical advantage." He turned his attention back to his opponents. The Krigesti groups had stopped and dug in, for a moment as surprised as the defenders of the forest. Then the invaders thundered their swords against the shields and the mages raised their banners. The group in front of them had not carried a banner before, but now their mage raised one too. Salladar paused in amazement: "Where did they suddenly get that long pole. We can¡¯t have missed them carry it around!" Master Hodar laughed: "Ever since the latest update, NPCs seem to be equipped with extra-dimensional containers. The classic Bags of Holding, you know? It''s a recent addition; I don''t recall them having those in the earlier versions. Now, they''re practically standard issue for NPCs, just like they are for us heroes. Quite the development, I must say. Seems like it''s the first purchase on everyone''s list these days The paladin tried to keep an eye on the whole area at the same time, nodding absently to himself: "We never complained to the traveling merchants when they had far more goods on them than they could realistically carry. So they''ve had them for a long time, only now they''re more open about it." Salladar tried to recognize the banners more clearly. The coats of arms were shield-shaped and showed the same symbol everywhere as before: A black spiral with a silver flame in the center. It looked as if the spiral was drawing everything in the vicinity into the flames. A devouring vortex. A sign he had never seen before this quest. The shield was not a banner or cloth like other groups usually used, but made of sturdy sheet metal. It really made an impression. The silver flame in particular was studded with semi-precious stones or shards of glass so that it sparkled in the sun. A ball of flame hurtled towards him. He casually swung his two-handed sword right into the trajectory of the combat spell. The blade flashed silver and the spell was flung aside into the terrain. The Krigesti were already resuming their attack. As always, without a recognizable signal. No one blew a horn, no drums beat and no one shouted orders. No attacker spoke a single word. It was just eery. Were the banners possibly magical artifacts for communication? Before he could ask the mage to try an analysis spell, a shrill howl sounded from the steppe behind the attackers. Dog-like creatures with sand-colored fur swept out from behind hills. Desert wolves. Behind them appeared men in sand-colored robes carrying staves as tall as a man. Salladar had never seen these attackers himself, but recognized them as beastmasters from stories in the forum. Beastmasters slowed down the attack considerably, as they could not run as fast as their animals, even with their special abilities. The only player he knew who had chosen this character class complained about it at every opportunity. He also lost control of his animals at barely two hundred meters. The beasts then sat down comfortably or walked back to him. Salladar expected the beastmasters to start running. But they only moved forward at a leisurely pace, while desert wolves continued to charge at full speed on a broad front. The paladin was torn from his thoughts when the Krigesti group''s magic shield dissolved in front of him and a melee fighter rushed towards him with his tower shield. Nothing more could be seen of him than the shield he held in front of him. Salladar leapt towards him, narrowly avoiding a crossbow bolt. The shield attack left no opening for a direct attack, but the warrior blocked his own field of vision with the shield. A typical rookie mistake. Salladar dodged to the left at the last moment and swung his two-handed sword to hit the attacker''s shield arm behind the shield. The shield turned and easily fended him off. He cursed. His opponent was left-handed! A searing pain shot up his right side. He could not look down far enough to see the point of impact as his field of vision was severely restricted by the heavy helmet with its small viewing slits. A wisp of smoke rose from his armor. The Krigesti mage had hit him hard. Salladar relied on the rather long spell cooldown and ignored the mage. With a fighter right next to him, he had no choice. He also assumed that the rest of his party would engage in battle right behind him. The Krigesti warrior slowed down and struck with a war hammer. Salladar had hoped for an attacker with a sword. His armor was almost invincible against sword blows. A hit with the warhammer in the wrong place would be painful even through the armor. He threw his upper body back and went down on his left knee. The blow whizzed past his side at an angle. In one fluid motion, he swung the two-handed sword around and caught his opponent''s overstretched arm. The cut went down to the bone, severing tendons and muscles. With a cry of pain, the Krigesti dropped the warhammer. The paladin took one hand from his two-handed sword and gripped the edge of the shield. A maneuver that would not work in the real world, but his character had increased his physical strength to far beyond normal human capabilities during character creation and his enhancements. With his feat of strength skill, he increased it even further for a moment and simply yanked the shield aside. Wielding it with one hand, he rammed the tip of the sword under the chin just above the armor into the neck of the completely surprised warrior. In the next action, he turned the warrior between himself and the crossbowman, who was already firing at him again. A bolt hit the dying man in the back and finished him off. Three spears flew over him, forcing the mage to use his magic for his own protection instead of throwing more fireballs. His comrades had finally found a position from which they could throw their spears without hitting him. He grabbed the warrior''s corpse by the collar with his left hand and stormed towards the crossbowman, using him as a shield. The latter dropped the unloaded crossbow in panic and reached for his short sword. Salladar threw the corpse at him and parried the mage''s spell in the next moment. Together with his comrades, he made short work of the group and then looked around the battlefield. Battles raged everywhere in small groups. The intervention of the Dryad Queen and her tree creatures had given them a brief advantage, but the Krigesti were already beginning to regroup everywhere. Salladar was looking for a leader. A commander. Or some kind of command structure. But he still couldn''t see anyone giving orders. Even within the battle groups, he had never heard any commands. Did the Krigesti have communication artifacts to coordinate with? He tried to remember if they had ever found artifacts on the fallen enemies. He paused. He couldn''t remember any dead enemies being searched so far. They hadn''t gotten their hands on any opponents at all. Neither dead nor alive. Unusual. On the other hand, they had been fighting a positional battle so far, keeping their opponents at a distance. Most of them had been killed in ranged combat or with magic. But quite a few had also fallen in assaults. Where had the bodies gone? So far, he hadn''t noticed them in the chaos. But had they really taken all their fallen with them when they retreated? Or had the defenders just not paid attention and buried the bodies with their own victims? On their side, only the NPC elves didn''t disappear immediately, only to reappear at the spawnpoint a day later. The Krigesti consisted, at least as far as he had seen so far, almost exclusively of humans. With a few desert elven mages and the odd lizardman. Several groups of heroes had already overtaken him and attacked enemies further away. His tactics skill alerted him to the fact that some of the foremost defenders were... disappearing. Not only was the counterattack stalling, something was killing his comrades faster than ever before during this siege. He raised his two-handed sword and gathered the fighters around him. Then he marched forward attentively. Two groups of opponents, still holding their tried and tested formation with a magical protective dome, retreated in front of them in order. He was taken aback. This had never happened before. These fanatics had never retreated before. Just two hundred meters further down the gentle slope, shadows came into view just above the ground. Many shadows. Many sand-colored shadows. He cursed. The desert wolves had arrived. "Form a defense formation! Get ready to fend off the wolves! Shield bearers, watch out for ranged fighters trying to get us while we''re distracted." Men and women with spears formed a ring around the mages, while Salladar took the lead in the formation. His two-handed sword was almost as good as the thrusting spears in terms of range. The mage Hodar turned to one of the spearmen: "Grab that tower shield there and cover me." Thus reasonably protected, he cast two spells. A slightly shimmering dome formed over Salladar and his group. The paladin nodded to him: "Very nice. I thought you couldn''t cast protection spells anymore." "Of course I know protection spells! But ours don''t last nearly as long as Krigesti''s. Or as good. It really pisses me off that they can mix divine and arcane magic like that. Divine magic is much more effective with protection spells. But arcane magic is better at attacking." As if to prove this, he gestured in the direction of a group of shield bearers shielding two mages running behind them. He pointed to the group with his staff and hand: "Power of earth and water!" A muddy brown ball came out of the end of his staff, flew through the air and hit the ground right in front of the opponents. The ground splattered at the point of impact, but the whole thing looked rather puny. Salladar looked at him with a raised eyebrow, but the mage just held up his clenched fist with a grin and then unfurled his fingers every second: "One... Two..." The attackers had just crossed the point of impact when the ground exploded beneath them. Mud and chunks of stone crashed against the shield bearers from behind, sweeping the mages backwards off their feet. Where the Krigesti fell, they immediately sank knee-deep into a magical mud that quickly solidified again. A few spears and arrows quickly finished off the defenseless formation. Salladar whistled, impressed: "You already have combo attacks?" "I caught up with your level this morning. This time I''ve given myself a suitable advantage for working faster in the magic workshop. The whole thing took all the special skills I could choose when leveling. But now I can combine two elements of arcane magic. Delayed Exploding Mudball. Level 4 elemental combat spell with water and earth." "You still need a sensible name for it." A wolf came out from behind a nearby tree and jumped at Salladar. He wasn¡¯t surprised. He held his blade in the middle of the expected trajectory and prepared to lunge through the shield. The wolf tensed his legs to leap... and then threw himself flat to the ground. Magical energy crashed against the protective dome without warning. It glowed brightly for a moment, obstructing outward vision, then the protective spell dissolved into glowing sparks. More wolves jumped out from hiding places that Salladar had not noticed. Suddenly unprotected, he could only dodge one attack. A second wolf bit into his blade as he tried to hit it while jumping. Now the wolf that had thrown itself to the ground in front of him jumped after all. Salladar was hardly worried. His armor would easily protect him from animal teeth. The weight of the animal made him stagger back a step. He couldn''t lift his sword while the other wolf was hanging from it. Something jumped against his side. When he turned around, he saw another wolf trying to gnaw through the armor. He ignored it and slammed his armored fist against the muzzle of the wolf still holding his sword in its mouth, "Let go!" "Sally! The wolf is trying to get at the straps of your armor!" Hodar''s shout made the paladin turn around quickly. At least he tried to. But the wolves had already encircled him too much. He could barely move. The wolf was too close to him, so he couldn''t see it through his helmet. How was the animal supposed to reach the straps with its snout... He felt a tugging and quickly turned his upper body. A glance at his map showed him that the other opponents were advancing again. Nicely organized, while the formations of the defenders were thrown into complete disarray by the wolves. He took a deep breath: "Everyone, stand firm! The inhabitants of the forest are counting on us. We may waver, but we will not give way as long as one of us still draws breath! Tactics: Forest thunder in five! ... Four... Three..." For a moment, the hail of spells, arrows, spears and bolts used to keep the enemy at bay died down. The Krigesti groups stood still in confusion. Only the desert wolves and opponents who were already in close combat were still fighting. The Krigesti groups hesitantly started moving again, as if in response to an inaudible signal, just as the short countdown ended. A wave of magic and projectiles swept across the battlefield as each mage used his strongest combat spell and each ranged fighter switched to magic arrows or used limited-use special skills. Explosions kicked up dust and dirt. All the bushes and trees in the border area went up in flames. Flashes of flame vaporized a small pond. Fog and smoke filled the battlefield in one fell swoop. Zones of light and darkness were summoned. Even Salladar''s map became useless, as it only gathered information from his allies. Anything that none of his allies saw did not appear on the map. The Krigesti saw just as little. All the groups retreated in order until they had a clear field of vision in front of them again. More explosions flashed in the wall of smoke, steam and illusions. The Krigesti waited. A minute passed, then two. Without any new spells, the battlefield became visible again. The archers strung their bows and waited for targets to become visible... to no avail. The front offered no targets. Not a single enemy was visible. Hodar patted Salladar on the back encouragingly: "For a moment I thought the maneuver wouldn''t work with the wolves. It would have been a real shame. If the Krigesti had attacked instead of retreating, they would have got us badly. After the volley, all our spellcasters are practically empty. I have just enough mana left for a single flame spell. Fortunately, most of the wolves were still just inside or in front of the fire zone and we were able to extinguish the rest quickly enough." The paladin nodded as his gaze swept critically over the new line of defense. The defenders had retreated two hundred meters up the slope and entrenched themselves behind prepared barricades. The last NPCs had retreated as arranged and followed their families. "Where is the Hamadryad?" "Also on the way. A messenger came by earlier. He reported that she is conscious again. But completely distraught. She''s moaning unintelligible things about the temple in the forest. I''ve sent a scout out to check it out. But you can see a column of smoke in that direction. I can guess what he''ll find." "Smoke... Yes, I see it. Crap. Then a few opponents got through after all." "Is the plan still in place?" Salladar nodded: "We''ll hold the second line of defense to the last man. I''ve set the capital as my next spawnpoint. However, I won''t be online until the earliest respawn. We''re taking an exam at the end of the week, which I still have to prepare for. I''ll be back in the tank on Saturday at the earliest." "By then they''ll have burned down the forest. Or whatever they''re up to here. Opponents who don''t say a word make me nervous. They''re not quite normal." "They must be using some kind of telepathy. Or their voices are too high or too low to hear. Remind me to get a monster trainer or druid to bring appropriate animals." The mage looked thoughtfully at the slowly dissolving visual barrier. "You''d almost think they were a player faction. With a chat system, they could communicate inaudibly and it would explain why we''re not finding any bodies." "Can''t be. Then we would get other system messages when we kill one. No chats are allowed outside of the Tactics skill functions either. Besides, I''ve never seen a corpse disintegrate. I paid extra attention with the last group. One of the shield bearers stuffed the fallen warrior into a bag. If they have such big bags of holding, we needn''t be surprised that they don''t run out of provisions. Before we fall, I''ll try to loot another one." "Too bad we can''t continue to accompany the fugitives. By the time I get back, everything will be over here. I wonder if anyone will survive. If the Krigesti were able to burn down the temple, they may have blocked the escape routes too." The mage spotted the first opponent peering through a cloud of smoke and struck him down with a flash of flame. Then he looked back towards the path where their allied NPCs had disappeared: "Maybe we should go after them and give them another escort?" Salladar waved it off: "The quest is as good as lost. As the leader, I''ll be punished for it. I''ll lose a whole level! If there''s a serious ambush back there, we''ll both get killed and lose another one for the respawn. Without the chance to defeat a few more opponents beforehand. If there aren''t any, they don''t need us, if there are, we just go down with them. I''d rather fight here at the front and level up again. Maybe we can put the Krigesti to flight or create a situation in which a retreat looks honorable." He smacked his forehead: "Well, and I''m also the raid leader right now. I can''t run away at all! Nobody else here has a tactical skill high enough to give commands across the entire front line." Hodar nodded reluctantly and gave the fugitives one last look: "You''re right. Then let''s organize a glorious last stand." "To all groups: Use magic sparingly until our mages are halfway recovered. Archers: Fire at everything in sight. Melee fighters: Only attack enemies that have overcome your barricade. This is the last sensible place to hold out. If we retreat from here, we will be overrun. So make sure this is a last stand that we will remember proudly for years to come!" Chapter 09: Jezebel An hour before that... As Salladar left the war council to follow the Dryad Queen, he didn''t notice that two of the heroes remained behind. A man and a woman, both in robes. However, the cut and color were vastly different. His robe was loose-fitting, attempting unsuccessfully to conceal his beer belly. The hood pulled low cast shadows over his unremarkable face. Hers, on the other hand, clung tightly to her slender yet curvaceous figure. His was woven from white fabric, but where the other mages of the hero group wore radiant white, his robe was yellowed and dull. As though stitched together from the remains of ancient mummies. Her robe, in contrast, gleamed silkily in the light of the fire braziers, shimmering between midnight black and the gray of cold ashes. An interesting contrast to her thin, light brown fur. In a bored motion, she ran her hand over her head. When her hand reached her ears, she hesitated briefly, looking puzzled. She completed the motion, pushing her tall ears back. As her ears sprung back up, she started to move. The man in the faded robe reached for her shoulder to hold her back. She reflexively grabbed his forearm with both hands, leaning forward and narrowly suppressed the urge to throw the possible attacker over her shoulder. Then she quickly let go. "Apologies, Mr. Kr¨¹ger. I haven''t fully mastered the skill-driven reflexes of this body yet." He waved it off casually. "You''ll get there." He unabashedly ran his gaze up and down her body. "When I suggested you choose a character class with bonuses to dexterity, I was actually thinking more of elves than rabbit folk." She didn''t flinch. When her boss informed her that she would be accompanying him on trips more often in the future, she hadn''t expected a trip into virtual reality. After learning the "destination," she had assumed he wanted her for very different "services." The fact that he actually only needed someone to serve as his bodyguard and right hand surprised her. Consequently, she optimized her avatar differently during character creation. Fortunately, she had assessed her boss correctly enough to optimize her character for his alleged task. A sleepless night of research in gaming forums had provided her with enough information on the internal game rules and character creation rules. "Rabbit folk possess a +2 bonus to dexterity, akin to elves. However, in addition to this, rabbit folk also enjoy a +2 bonus to evasion and a 20% enhancement to their jumping prowess." "Have you also studied the culture of your people?" ¡°Why bother? According to server statistics, there are only a few players who choose rabbit folk. Probably because it''s a pacifist race." "Exactly. You are a pariah among your people simply by choosing a fighter class." She shrugged disinterestedly. "I''m not bothered by the aversion of fictional characters in the least." He tapped his eyebrow and looked at her ring piercings placed in the same spot. She raised her hands. Rings gleamed on eight of her fingers. "I chose Ring Master and Piercing Gaze as advantages. With piercings, I bypass the limit on the number of rings. I believe one of the original programmers wasn''t paying attention to the definition of rings." "Piercing Gaze is a disadvantage, not an advantage." His voice sounded more questioning than reproachful. "I don''t see the frightened reaction of NPCs as a disadvantage. I''ve already compensated for the restriction on night vision due to permanently constricted pupils with a cheap magical ring." She tapped one of the three piercings in her eyebrows. "The other two are currently just decoration; I''ll replace them with something useful at the next opportunity. Currently, I''ve already maxed out my budget." He looked questioningly at the simple silver rings on her fingers. She raised her hands again. "Two rings each with a +5% bonus to damage, accuracy, and attack speed. Normally, you can only wear one artifact with the same effect, but thanks to Ring Master, I can use two identical rings. Plus, I get a 20% bonus to the effect of rings." She brought her hands back, folded them behind her back, and involuntarily rocked back and forth slightly. Frowning, she looked down at her bare feet. Umbramar had long noticed that she often came to work wearing different shoes. He could imagine that she was annoyed that she couldn''t buy shoes in VR. However, she didn''t need to worry about protection. Her feet had thick calluses that allowed her to walk on broken glass. She interrupted his thoughts. "I must admit, when you mentioned that I should accompany you on trips, I didn''t expect virtual reality." He merely nodded. What was the point of having an executive secretary if you didn''t have her with you in your free time? She looked around. The other player heroes were already out of sight. "Excuse me, Mr. Kr¨¹ger, but shouldn''t we follow the rest of the group?" "Please don''t call me that. In VR, my name is Umbramar. We''ll be on a first-name basis from now on. That''s common among players." She only nodded. She had worked in a company where using first names was common, even though it seemed inappropriate to her. He motioned for her to follow him and went in a completely different direction from the other heroes. Shrugging, she followed him. After fifteen minutes, dense thorn bushes blocked the way. Jezebel stopped him. "Wait, we can''t get through here. Where are we actually going?" Umbramar headed purposefully towards the shrubbery and raised his staff. Sickly light flickered from the skull, and a path opened up. She followed him. Interested, she examined the bushes at the edge of the tunnel. The branches were pulled aside by ropes, which thickened at irregular intervals as they converged. "What exactly are these ropes? And how do you control them? That seems like a useful trick." She ran her hand over a rope, trying to categorize the strange surface. The fibers were arranged lengthwise instead of interwoven. As they contracted, they became thicker. "These are muscles from zombies." Jezebel looked at the sinew, furrowing her brow, then slowly withdrew her hand. As soon as she was through the thorn hedge, Umbramar waved, and the tunnel closed behind them once again. On the other side, a hollow hidden by the hedge stretched out, in the center of which rose a fifty-meter-diameter circle of trees. The trunks stood so close together that one could only squeeze through sideways. Higher up, the branches intertwined into a dense canopy. Jezebel bent down and slowly ran her hand through the grass. Everything here seemed more alive than in the rest of the forest, indeed the rest of the world she had seen so far. The grass was greener and juicier. The songbirds flying through the branches sounded more melodious. Everything practically radiated with health. The air smelled aromatic, of herbs and mountain air. Moreover, there was a sense of grandeur over the clearing that she couldn''t quite place. Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings. Around the ring of trees, a dozen warriors in simple leather armor were busy piling wood from several donkey carts around the trees. A tall old man hurried towards them. He had long white hair and a matching beard that hung down to his belly. He was dressed in a simple brown robe held together by a vine above the hip. His face was brown and weather-beaten, full of wrinkles... and currently slightly flushed with anger. "You! You''re the leader of these vandals! They should be erecting barriers around the temple, not just tossing the wood about. It would be more sensible to build it directly from the wagons instead of scattering it wildly!" Umbramar bowed deeply. "Forgive me, Archdruid Hasel, I am a priest-mage, not a carpenter." Golden sparks lit up around his head. Jezebel sharply inhaled as Umbramar discreetly forwarded her his system messages. It was a truth spell. She had read about such magic in the forum. She knew that such magic was only available for high level casters. This meant the druid was at least level 9, which was very high for npcs. It was fortunate that truth spells were only available to spellcasters specializing in life magic. The rare druids and healers, that is. If everyone could use truth spells everywhere, it would be detrimental to her style. Intrigues and character assassination would be almost impossible. The necromancer priest straightened up again and drew a circle deep into the ground around himself with his staff. He dug deep into the healthy topsoil. Then he calmly took a bottle from his shoulder bag and poured a thick black liquid from it into the depression. He stepped cautiously out of the circle and nodded to the druid. "We don''t have much time until the attackers reach us. Please step into this circle so I can cast a spell on you." The druid made no move to step forward but instead narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "What''s the purpose of this?" "I don''t have enough time to explain the spell to you in detail. It will help me fulfill my quest. The defense of the temple depends on you. If you don''t hurry, the invaders will conquer the temple. I will use the majority of my magic for this purpose. That should show you how important it is to me." Golden sparks danced merrily around him, testifying to the truth of his words. The archdruid nodded and stepped into the circle. Umbramar walked around him muttering under his breath and then stood directly in front of the archdruid. He thrust his staff into the ground beside him, so that it remained upright. Then he drew a dagger of blackened steel from a belt sheath and cut his left palm with a swift motion. He let the blood drip freely unto the circle and circled the druid again while muttering a spell. When he stood behind him for the second time, he raised his left hand high to the sky and then clenched it into a fist abruptly. Like a marionette with its strings cut, the archdruid collapsed to his knees. With trembling arms, he struggled to keep his upper body from toppling forward. His skin grew pale, the wrinkles deeper. The slight groan with which he collapsed was enough to dislodge a few hairs from his beard, which silently fell to the ground. Rustling sounded around them in the bushes. Elk, owls, huge wild boars, and agile foxes stormed onto the clearing. The animals looked around searchingly. Hasel lifted his hands to a pleading gesture, while he futilely tried to form words with a shriveling and drying tongue. His hands met an invisible barrier at the level of the now glowing circle. Umbramar stood behind him, drew back with the dagger, and then rammed it into the back of the helpless archdruid. Black flames erupted from his eyes, mouth, and ears, then he collapsed completely. The animals twitched and then looked around confused. Foxes and owls darted away in alarm, and the elk, looking somewhat uncertain, began to graze. The wild boars probed the ground briefly and then also set off, leaving behind numerous low tunnels through the thorn bushes. Enemy killed: Archdruid, Level 14: 280 XP Umbramar looked satisfied at the message. Then he waved one of the warriors over to him. "You, VorpalBlade, how far along are you?" "The wood has been completely unloaded. We lingered with the last pieces until you arrived, Master." "Good. Execute plan Winterstorm." "Yes, sir!" With a few gestures, he signaled the others to retrieve bottles from hidden compartments in the wagons and throw them onto the pile of wood that now completely surrounded the wooden temple. Other warriors opened barrels and took out torches, which they ignited at a small campfire securely enclosed by stones and distributed around. Soft applause made him turn around. Jezebel grinned at him. "Impressive. You completely caught the guy off guard." "That''s the downside of constantly using truth spells. You stop paying attention to the exact words. Wait a moment, I have something important to take care of." He turned to the corpse, straightened up, cleared his throat, and then declaimed loudly: "Now, Archdruid, your naive connection to nature has betrayed you. Separated from the life force of the forest that kept your aging body alive, you are nothing but a withering relic. Once you are eliminated, I will consign the temple to the flames. I will Destroy it, in the name of Nistrul, the Guardian of the Gates to the Underworld, my Lord!" Jezebel raised an eyebrow. "Shouldn''t you give such a speech before you destroy your opponent?" Umbramar looked at her with exaggerated surprise. "That would be illogical. Then he could still do something about it. I have, of course, studied the Evil Overlord rules." "Why even make a speech then?" Without a word, he transmitted to her a view of his last message: Role-play Bonus (Classic Villain Speech): +20 XP "Every little bit helps. But now help me distribute the Inferno Elixirs. Even without the power of the archdruid, this grove is magically protected against fire. Without a magical accelerant, this won''t work." "Where did you get all these helpers from?" "From the Noob Starter Zone near Ostenbach. That''s where the players who got beta access but can''t afford a more expensive starter zone spawn. They also don''t have decent equipment. They can spend three weeks there hunting meadow slimes and rats just to reach level 5 and earn enough gold from hunting rewards to buy acceptable equipment. Or they can take an official quest from the Church of Nistrul. A cool secret mission. Fifty gold pieces per head and the XP for a high-level quest." "Wait, I haven''t..." Quest Offer: Do you want to accept the quest "Winterstorm in the Druid Grove"? Reward: 50 gold pieces, 500 XP. Warning: Decreased reputation with all druids and forest beings. "I accept." Umbramar smiled. "You haven''t even read the victory conditions yet." "The temple must be destroyed?" "That''s one thing. In addition, the three last priests of Fliedabarr must die. That''s the Forest Queen, her dryad daughter, and the archdruid." "The Forest Queen is currently fighting on her own, the archdruid is dead. But the princess is on the run. That''s going to be complicated." "Not really. Three dozen of those noobs are waiting on the only reasonable escape route. They don''t stand a chance." "Where are the three guys supposed to pick up this seed box?" "They should be appearing any moment now. Without my entrance, they have to take a detour completely around the grove." He rubbed his greasy hands expectantly. A man in leather clothing looked up from his work of retrieving the last torches from a container. "Do you mean the seed box the druid picked up? He was here just before you." "What?!" The eyes in Umbramar''s staff skull lit up bright red. While he could keep his facial expression under control, he unconsciously channeled mana into his staff. "A tanned guy with dark green hair. He stepped directly out of the tree over there. I immediately looked it up in the forum. That must have been the spell Tree Step. Level 3, only for druids. So, he must be at least level 6. He was in a hurry. That was one of the reasons why the archdruid was so angry. He practically snatched the box from him and didn''t even listen to the speech about its history and importance. Not to mention showing appropriate respect for the head of his order." "In which direction did he go?" "Directly back into that tree over there. He used two level 3 spells in quick succession. He won''t be casting anything for some time, I guess." The necromancer priest looked at him with an impassive expression. The eyes of his mage staff flickered ominously. He turned to the temple. "Burn everything down!" Chapter 10: Weylan Trulda and Weylan trudged along the forest path with an occasional stumble. The sun was just above the horizon, bathing the landscape in reddish light. The moon and stars were already shining, but the branches of the trees overhung the path in many places, casting deep shadows across the ground. Weylan kept his head down as he walked and occasionally kicked at stones. Trulda gave him an encouraging poke in the side: "Well, you always wanted to go on adventures. Isn''t this great?" He shook his head slightly: "No, not like that. I wanted a slightly more adventurous character class. That''s it. Hunter or ranger or something. With the emergence of the wolves, I even toyed with the idea of training in a proper fighter class. But I wanted to start my adventures from home. Where I know my way around and where my friends and family are." He stopped and looked back down the path, "Now, I may never be able to go there again. At least not as long as the plague lasts. Or someone finds a way to eliminate revenants for good." "Maybe he just forgets about you." "And how do I know that then? This maniac could just decide to come by in a few years." Trulda nodded reluctantly. They walked on quietly for a while, then talked about a few old stories from village life. As the sun drew ever closer to the horizon, Trulda slowly became quieter and quieter and eventually, the conversation petered out. Trulda kept looking around nervously or at the sun. The two walked on silently for a while. As the shadows grew longer, she began to sing softly to herself: "Hello darkness, my old friend..." Weylan listened for a while, fascinated until he could no longer hold back: "I never heard that song. Sounds a bit depressing." She broke off and swallowed: "Sorry... I mean... I''m sorry. I don''t like the dark. Just makes me nervous when I can''t see anything around me." "What does the text mean?" "My mother often played it on the guitar while my father sang along. It''s by two revenant bards called Simon and Garfunkel. The lyrics are about loneliness and how darkness can sometimes be a safe haven. Or something like that. It''s quite poetic." "You don''t feel well when it''s dark?" She only made a vague gesture. "You grew up with the Traveling People, didn''t you? Weren''t you always out at night?" She shook her head slightly: "Not at all. We set up camp at night. Wagons don''t drive if we can''t see the way clearly. It''s far too dangerous. We had campfires, lamps and three illusion mages who created light globes around us. I didn''t see a pitch-black night until I got to your village. You could really at least put some big oil lamps at the main crossroads." Weylan was about to reply when he saw light in the distance: "Looks like they don''t like darkness either." A few minutes later, they came over a hill and could look down at the source of the light. The village in the background was quite dark, but a crowd of almost a hundred people had gathered in the field in front of it, most of them carrying torches. A whole sea of lights surrounded a platform set up in the middle of the clearing: piled wood and a pole on top. Trulda pulled him down onto his knees so that they were not visible against the starry sky. Weylan thought that was very unlikely. In his opinion, no one down there had any functioning night vision with all the torches. The innkeeper nudged him and pointed to his forehead: "The Questgiver''s mark has lit up again," she whispered to him excitedly. He now noticed a message at the edge of his field of vision. He concentrated on it until it enlarged and became legible: Create a new quest? Yes/ No? He selected Yes and quickly read through the texts that appeared. Trulda waited impatiently until his eyes stopped darting back and forth: "The villagers caught a woman trying to perform a magical ritual in the cornfield. A circle of poisonous flowers, a slaughtered rabbit and chicken bones. She claimed it was to be a fertility ritual for the field, but a tuft of long blonde hair was also found. Now, the villagers believe that she wanted to bewitch one of the women in the village. They want to burn her as a witch for it." "Wow. You get all this information just like that?" "That''s nothing we couldn''t have learned from the villagers in five minutes. I can''t tell if she''s really guilty here. Let me tinker with the quest for a moment... There!" Quest: Witch fire. Save the witch from being burned without trial and prove her guilt or innocence. Reward: Free board and lodging for two days, travel provisions for another week and 60 XP Trulda accepted the quest, waited until the Questgiver symbol on Weylan''s forehead went out and then got up to walk down the hill to the place of execution. * * * The two of them wandered down openly and were soon greeted by villagers. One man gripped his pitchfork tighter and peered tensely over their shoulders. When he saw no one else for miles around, he relaxed again: "Hello there! What''s keeping travelers busy at this late hour? Welcome! I''ll take you to the inn if you can pay. If not, then to my barn." Weylan bowed politely: "Thank you. We can pay." The man led them a few steps into the village, where a man with gray hair at his temples approached them. He had visibly pulled out his best sunny day shirt and radiated an air of importance unbecoming of the tiny village: "Travelers! Hendrik, what do you think you''re doing greeting travelers with a pitchfork in your hand!" Hendrik looked at his pitchfork as if he had only just noticed it. He hastily leaned it against a tree. "I am Jorge, the village chief. Please excuse me if Hendrik has frightened you. Everyone here is a little nervous right now. First, there was talk of fighting at the Shield Forest in the south, and now there''s the matter of the witch." Weylan nodded to him in understanding: "Only understandable. The last traveling bard who came by also told us that there are fights between the tribes in the desert." "He was obviously telling you nonsense. The tribes are no longer fighting each other. They have joined forces and are attacking the surrounding kingdoms." "Wait... We are one of the surrounding kingdoms." "Now you understand." The man accompanied them to the inn and opened the door invitingly: "Come in! As well as village chief, I''m also the landlord here. Sometimes, I''m also the cook. So I can tell you that there is still a delicious stew." Weylan nodded gratefully: "That''s good. We should definitely eat something before the smell of burning meat spoils our appetite." "Ah! You mean the pyre? We won''t light it until noon tomorrow. Don''t worry. People are just far too excited to sleep. We''ve never had a witch in our village." "A witch? I suppose a wicked witch. The character class itself is not forbidden." The man folded his arms resolutely: "We do. Magicians are bad, but at least they''re trained in an academy. Who knows where witches get their knowledge from? And what dark rituals have been passed down through the generations? We don''t tolerate witches here." Weylan raised his hands defensively: "Hey, don''t worry, we don''t believe in dark magic either. I just meant that you wouldn''t burn someone in such a peaceful, nice village for simply choosing the wrong spellcasting class." The man relaxed: "I''m sorry, I''m also a bit too excited to think clearly." Weylan shook his hand: "I''m Weylan." Trulda bowed politely and then shook the village chief''s hand as well: "I am Trulda. My sincere condolences." Jorge looked at her, puzzled: "Why condolences?" "Well, village chief. No power to really do anything, but always to blame if something goes wrong." The man laughed: "Yes, that describes it well. Thank you." His face immediately became serious again. He looked around the square, frowning: "Especially with trouble like this. I''ll be glad when we''ve got this over with tomorrow. I wanted to hang the witch quickly and painlessly, but the village elders wouldn''t hear of it. The punishment should deter anyone else from learning the dark arts of magic." Trulda shrugged her shoulders as if the subject wasn''t that important to her. "You can tell us what''s going on over dinner." A little later, the three of them were sitting with many other villagers in the inn, which was still bustling despite the late hour. The village chief was not a particularly imaginative storyteller, so they did not get much more information out of the first tale than they already had about the quest. "Then the elders got together and made a judgment. Now, here we are." He raised his tankard and pointed at the surroundings. Trulda looked at him indignantly: "That was damn quick for a death sentence." The village chief immediately turned red in the face: "What?!? Young brat, are you trying to accuse me of not giving it enough thought before passing judgment? We elders have known everyone here in the village since they were born. Every rumor, every outrage. We can put two and two together. This witch explains several strange events and misadventures of recent years. Most of them involved villagers who didn''t like Loreanna." The young alewife didn''t flinch at his anger in the slightest: "And why didn''t anyone notice for years? Maybe because no one in the village liked this Loreanna?" "Exactly. After her husband Ludger died of a sudden fever, she didn''t become any more popular. That had always been suspicious. Ludger was a tree of a guy. Someone like that doesn''t just fall ill and die. Many suspected her of having poisoned her husband, but the healer we brought in from the city couldn''t detect any poison. He didn''t check the body for witchcraft, though." Weylan used a calming tone of voice to steer the conversation back onto a calmer track: "Then you must have had a reason to suspect that she wanted to get rid of her husband. Did they have a fight?" In fact, the village chief immediately became quieter, but mainly because he seemed uncomfortable with the answer. Around the three of them, some of the villagers had scooted closer during Jorge''s story and were now listening unabashedly. Weylan assumed that they hadn''t heard anything new but were interested in how strangers reacted to the story. After all, it would be the most crucial topic of conversation for the next few years. A dramatic tale to tell travelers and guests. Jorge collected himself and looked around a little nervously: "There have been... incidents. Loreanna never complained about her husband, but she often had... accidents. Falls. But no one was ever there. She was just often seen with bruises and often didn''t show up for weeks at the bathing lake for the women to swim together. The neighbors would occasionally hear her arguing, but usually only briefly. Then it was quiet again." Weylan spared himself the question of whether the village chief had spoken to Ludger. No villager would simply accuse someone of beating his wife. His thoughts were racing. How could he get Jorge to think seriously about whether Loreanna was guilty? No one would listen to two minors from the neighboring village. Unless... He sighed, shook his head and said quietly, more to himself: "I just hope this doesn''t end up like the village of Redshire." Jorge put down the beer mug he was about to raise to his mouth: "What do the Redshirians have to do with this?" "You''re not talking to them. Are you?" "Of course not. You can''t trust people from Redshire." "Why?" Weylan raised his hand apologetically, indicating that he was trying to get at something with his question. The village chief looked at him suspiciously but replied: "Three honorable old people were murdered in Redshire to save feoffment. An unbelievable disgrace! To be granted the land of the elderly in exchange for their continued support and maintenance during their lifetime is a sacred contract. Instead of providing for them, they killed them and dumped them all in the bog. Not even a decent burial! I don''t think they''re any better off now that they''re cut off from all trade. Serves them right." He was about to spit, but his eyes met those of the innkeeper, who had wheeled around at the first sucking sound at the other end of the dining room. Jorge swallowed demonstratively. Weylan spoke slowly, appearing even more uncertain than he actually was under so much attention: "My father said they told everyone that the three of them died of the summer flu. They were only dumped in the bog because their heirs were too lazy to dig proper graves." The bystanders made their displeasure loud: "Shame." "You would have recognized the skin spots from the summer flu immediately." Weylan actually raised his hand a little shakily to retake the floor: "Whether it''s true or not. They dumped the bodies before anyone from a neighboring village could see them. No one who could testify to their story. If it were true, they can never prove it now." Jorge nodded slowly: "I understand what you''re getting at. Even if we are convinced of the witch''s guilt, the other villages might see it differently afterward. Then we''ll be the village that murdered a harmless herb woman. That is a good point and well made. That must not happen." He rubbed his chin thoughtfully while the bystanders looked at each other worriedly: "But what to do..." Trulda had understood what Weylan was getting at: "You could hold another trial. In front of the whole village and all the guests. I can see the baskets of at least two peddlers here in the inn. We could both testify that everything was right." The suggestion immediately met with general approval, even if the elders clearly didn''t like having to justify their decision to everyone again. On the other hand, they were sure of their decision and agreed after some grumbling. Jorge turned to the innkeeper: "Rodulf, get your fat ass over here. We still need rooms for the two of them." The small and highly skinny man rushed over: "How am I supposed to do this? The whole inn is full. Even the stable is full of men who are so drunk their wives have thrown them out. I don''t have any rooms left!" "These honorable guests will help us tomorrow to review our verdict in front of all citizens as witnesses." "You want to hold the trial again?" Jorge looked at him indignantly: "Didn''t you listen?" "Some of us have to work!" The village chief waved his arms: "Yes, we''ll repeat the trial again in front of witnesses!" "And then the witch is burned?" "Exactly." The village chief did not see the look Trulda and Weylan gave each other. The landlord wrung his thin hands: "That doesn''t change the fact that I''m full to the brim." "You must have a spare bed somewhere." The innkeeper raised his hands over his head in resignation: "All right! Then my barmaid will sleep in my bedroom tonight, and I''ll sleep on the floor. My old lady will be so thrilled." He shooed the village headman away and led his unwelcome guests up a narrow staircase through a crowded taproom to the second floor. He opened the door to a room that could have been mistaken for a large cupboard. Just enough for a bed and a closet. Trulda looked inside and then quickly turned to the innkeeper: "There''s only a tiny bed! We''re not a... We can''t..." She didn''t have the words to continue. The landlord looked at her in confusion: "You''re both still underage, aren''t you?" "Yes, yes, but..." "Then nothing can happen. Good night." The innkeeper shoved the two of them inside, closed the door and then went back downstairs. The tiny room was lit by a small window high on the wall and a single candle in a jar. Trulda crawled over the bed, sat lengthwise on it and leaned against the wall: "He''s not serious, is he?" Weylan raised an eyebrow: "We are minors." "Yes, but that hasn''t stopped anyone yet." The eyebrow was raised a little higher: "Yes, it usually does. You don''t need to worry." "Listen, I like you, but I''m not going to sleep in a bed with you and your pubescent hormones!" "What are... never mind. Tell me, haven''t your parents ever had that conversation with you?" "What kind of conversation?" "Well... you know..." "I''m seventeen, damn it. I know about the flowers and the bees." "What have..." He raised his hands: "I think we''re talking past each other. Did your parents tell you what happens when two minors..." He blushed and made a very vague hand gesture. She folded her arms under her chest, causing them to move impressively: "Go on. This looks like it''s going to be interesting." "So..." "Yes?" He waved his hands helplessly. Then he sighed: "I just can''t believe your parents didn''t explain that to you." Before she could object, he continued: "I''ll just demonstrate." He also crawled onto the bed and grabbed her cleavage in a flash. Before she could unfold her hands and smack him, purple flashes lit up around his hand. His whole body was illuminated. An invisible force lifted him up, then he flew a full two meters backward but braked abruptly in front of the door so that he only bounced moderately against it. Youth protection violation! If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. Trulda looked at him with her mouth open. Her eyes wandered back and forth between the teenager rubbing his hand with clenched teeth and her cleavage. "But you''ve touched me before, haven''t you?" "Not like that. It depends on what you want to achieve. Not necessarily how and what you touch." She pulled her feet up, and he sat down on the bed in the vacated space. He continued, "If you''re stuck in a swamp, I can easily pull you out by gripping you on your bare..." He coughed but then pulled himself together, "... breasts. No problem. But if I start using the situation to grope you... Bam!" Towards the end, he spoke faster and faster and then fell silent. She couldn''t see precisely whether he was blushing in the dim light. She just looked at him for a moment, then giggled: "Man, I really should have read the small print." "The small print?" She shrugged her shoulders: "A saying of the revenants when you don''t know the rules because you''ve never asked or been told. That explains why no one ever grabbed my butt in the tavern like they always do to the poor barmaid in the bards'' stories." "That''s more because anyone who behaves that badly wouldn''t have had any fun in the village. We''re not barbarians after all." The corners of her mouth twitched. "No, you¡¯re not." "I don''t have any indecent disadvantages either. I think." "You think?" "Well, who knows what I was born with?" She looked at him piercingly for a moment: "Seriously? You''ve never taken a look at your character sheet?" "You mean the status screen? Of course. How else am I supposed to manage my skills and choose a character class?" "No, I mean the other side. Attributes, advantages, disadvantages, race..." "My father always thought it would be bad for character to put its qualities into values or to view them in this way." "And that really stopped you?" "Well... He didn''t tell me how to get to it. The few times I tried, I couldn''t figure out how to do it." "That''s really simple, if you know how. Imagine that you want to turn the status screen around. As if it had an axis in the middle. Then you think: Character sheet." She only saw that he was suddenly staring into space in front of him, but the look clearly showed that he had followed her instructions immediately. His eyes wandered back and forth as he read the test visible only to himself: "Man, that''s embarrassing. I should have figured it out myself." "Not really. These functions are explicitly not intended for the inhabitants of this world, but only for revenants. Before a revenant with an absurdly high teaching skill managed to explain it to a merchant, nobody could. Since then, it''s easy to learn, but until someone shows you, you can''t find the functions. Your father really should have explained that." He nodded, but paid more attention to the text that appeared: Name: Weylan Race: Human Character class: Assassin (Level 1) Strength: 12 Dexterity: 14 Intelligence: 10 Willpower: 10 Constitution: 12 Charisma: 10 He skipped the rest and read his characteristics out loud. He scrunched up his face: "Charisma ten? Sounds pretty low. No wonder I had so few friends." "Don''t let it get you down. Ten is the standard everyone is born with. Your father is absolutely right that you shouldn''t reduce anyone to a mere set of numbers. The improvements come from practicing and the points you get with each improvement." "What? I never gave out points there!" "The one point from your first level up undoubtedly went to dexterity. It''s automatic if you don''t set the system to manual." "I''ll do that in a minute." His eyes darted back and forth briefly, then he tapped his finger in the air. "Done." "What does it say about advantages and disadvantages? Everyone gets at least one advantage and one disadvantage. Of course, you don''t have to read it out loud if you don''t want to. In case it''s anything embarrassing." "What does your sheet say?" Trulda grinned mischievously: "I won''t tell. So, I really won''t be angry if you keep yours to yourself." He read through the part and frowned: "What kind of weird disadvantage is that: Living in interesting times?" "What?" The grin vanished as if swept away: "Is that really what it says? You''re joking. Tell me you''re just kidding!" "No... It really says that. Doesn''t sound so bad, does it? Interesting times? I guess that means I won''t be bored that often." She hesitated: "That... No. I''m sure there are worse disadvantages." Then she continued quickly: "What does it say under advantages?" "Shadow affinity. Doesn''t mean anything to me either. Is that good?" "Shadow affinity? Not bad. Plus magic talent? What level?" "Magic talent? There''s nothing about that here. That''s the only advantage." "Funny... The magical affinities are really expensive, but also very powerful advantages in the long term. But without magic talent, it''s pretty useless." "Expensive? Can you buy benefits anywhere? How is that supposed to work?" Trulda hesitated for a moment to think: "That''s how revenants described it in the old legends. We are born with random advantages and disadvantages, but the revenants can choose them from a list. There''s some kind of points system for that. You can choose advantages for a certain number of points and get extra points if you take disadvantages. Some advantages are more expensive than others, so they cost more points. You''d have to ask a revenant for details, though." "That means they choose advantages that suit their class and abilities and then disadvantages that cause them as little damage as possible?" "Exactly. If someone plans to play a sand runner in the lowlands, they''ll probably take Seasickness and Inability: swimming." "He can''t swim with that? That doesn''t sound too bad. Many people my age can''t swim yet. I can only do it because my father insisted on teaching me in the forest lake." Trulda quickly changed the subject: "You can also find out more about your advantages and disadvantages. Take a concentrated look at the word and think: Help." Disadvantage: Living in interesting times Increases the probability of non-standard events and quests. Increases the probability of very rare and unique random loot. Easier access to rare or forbidden character classes. "Doesn''t sound so bad. Now for the advantage..." Advantage: Shadow affinity Affinity for shadow magic, shadows and darkness in general. Advantages when learning and casting shadow magic (not applicable without magic talent). Resistance to shadow magic. Increased chance to recognize illusions from shadow magic.Non-magical effects (non-magical effects are increased for non-magicians): Bonuses to sneaking and hiding. Bonus to attack and damage rolls when in shadow or complete darkness. Trulda thought about it for a moment: "Okay... That could be useful for a hunter or thief." The assassin tried to maintain a neutral expression with little success. Bonuses to two of his most important class skills? The gods had meant well for him after all. Trulda tilted her head and looked at him suspiciously: "You look surprisingly self-satisfied. No, don''t even try it. You have a terrible poker face. So, you''ve already chosen a character class that can do something with the advantage. Have you been able to activate it properly yet? Did the class system kick in after the fight?" Weylan waved him off: "Not this time. I won''t tell you anything else until you reveal your class." "Who says I already have a class? We''re the same age." "We were in the same fight. In the same quest. If I could choose a class, which is the case, so could you." She was silent for a moment: "I''ve had my class for a while. I chose it because I wanted to have a few specific useful skills. Not because I really wanted to live this class." "Let me guess... courtesan? Because of the bonuses to agility and social skills?" The slap took him completely by surprise and jerked his head to the side. His ears rang as he looked at Trulda in surprise. She spoke very slowly and with emphasis: "Guess... one more... time..." "I''d rather not." He held his sore cheek: "Man, you''re stronger than you look." "Carry food and beer mugs around all day. Guess who had to roll the beer barrels into the cellar." "Will you tell me your attributes?" "Why not. Twelve." "Twelve in what?" "Twelve in everything. All a little above average. But nothing outstanding, like your skill." "Didn''t you just say that everyone is born with ten in every attribute?" "Yes. Why?" "How did you manage to increase everything so evenly?" She smiled mysteriously: "Maybe I have an advantage for that. Perfection of body and mind. Sounds great, doesn''t it?" "Did you?" The smile turned into a grin: "No." "Let me sleep on it. Maybe then I''ll figure out how you did it." "All right." She slid under the covers and pressed her back against the wall to give him as much space as possible. He hesitated: "Maybe I''d better sit here. It''s a good way to sleep." "Don''t make a fool of yourself. You have to be fit tomorrow. Lie down. I know now that you''ll keep your fingers to yourself." "I don''t need a world voice to behave." He sounded a little offended. "I know. Go to sleep." * * * The next morning greeted them with a hearty, free breakfast and bright sunshine. The villagers took this as a sign that the gods had set their eyes on the village to bring the truth to light. The entire village and all the guests had gathered. The market square was overcrowded. The spectators crowded into the side alleys. An ancient oak tree stood in the middle of the square, its lowest branches stretching over three meters high and shading most of it. On one side, three tables had been set up overnight as an open square on a grandstand where musicians usually played for dancing and which was also used for many dance performances. Trulda and Weylan sat at the left-hand table as neutral witnesses. At the table in the middle, facing the spectators, sat the village headman with the two elders of the village. An ancient bald scrawny figure called Verdens and, as a contrast, the long-haired fat Regar. Weylan had used the breakfast to ask the innkeeper a few more questions and learned that Verden used to be a carpenter and Regar was his predecessor as innkeeper. Both retired over ten years ago. Both highly respected. Regar because he knew everyone in the village and was liked by everyone and Verden because he was completely impartial. As far as Weylan had understood, it was because he despised everyone in the village equally. He found that very sad at first, but the innkeeper assured him that the old man was very comfortable in his role as the grumpy outsider. The defendant was to sit at the last table. An alley formed with shoving and pushing as the defendant was led up. The forty-year-old farmer''s wife would not have stood out in the crowd. Medium height, average figure, tanned skin and brown shoulder-length thinning hair. Here, however, she stood out because of the heavy iron chains she was wrapped in. They had also gagged her and wrapped her hands in thick fur gloves so that she couldn''t make any magical gestures. She was accompanied by a nervous young man with a halberd. The village chief stood up when she arrived in front of the platform. She stopped in front of the waist-high platform and looked at the short ladder. Then she demonstratively looked down at herself and the chains. A few spectators rushed over and helped her up. Jorge nodded formally to her when she finally reached the top: "Loreanna, we have gathered here today to dispense justice under the eyes of the gods. You have been caught preparing a sinister black magic ritual. Now we will..." A loud cough from Weylan interrupted him. He fell silent and looked over at the troublemaker with a pinched face. Weylan stood up and bowed politely: "Honorable village leader, excuse me. But we have gathered to find out what has happened. If you assume from the outset that the accused is guilty, then there is no point in this." Jorge threw his hands up: "Then do it yourself!", sat down and crossed his arms in front of his chest. Weylan froze. His gaze swept from the village headman to the accused to the spectators. Countless pairs of eyes staring at him. He swallowed. Then he straightened and nodded: "A good suggestion." He stood up, walked around the table and carefully removed the defendant''s gag. Scattered protests from the audience were quickly silenced by other spectators. Most of them wanted to hear what she had to say. Weylan went back to his seat and then turned to the accused: "Apart from your name, I don''t know anything about you yet. Please, Loreanna, introduce yourself briefly." The woman looked at him in irritation: "I am Loreanna. I was born in this village. My mother was the midwife Haldara. She has often been attacked because she has brazenly healed people!" Trulda leaned back in her chair and crossed her feet. The only thing missing was a small bucket of popcorn. Weylan seemed to waver under the collected attention, but remained steadfast: "And what is your profession?" "What was the scary herb woman''s daughter supposed to do? No one else wanted to apprentice me. I asked some of them!" Under her glittering eyes, some of those present lowered their gaze. Others began to boo and shout insults. Jorge thundered his fist on the table and silence returned with some hesitation. Weylan took the opportunity to lead Loreanna to the free table on the right, where he helped her to sit down without tipping over her chair. "So you''re a midwife?" "Midwife, herbalist, animal expert. Responsible for everything that no one else wants to touch. Often literally." "What is your character class?" "Herbalist. Because even in this generation, this village hasn''t managed to raise the gold it would have cost to train me as a proper healer in the city." Verden snapped his scrawny fingers and muttered something only audible to those on the platform: "Even if we had the gold, we''d spend it on a man. What good is a healer who spends half her life in childbirth? Any decent woman would at least." Loreanna gave the elder a murderous look. He noticed that the knuckles of the guardsman''s hands were turning white around his halberd. Weylan forced a smile onto his face and gestured to him that everything was all right. Even if he wasn''t sure of that himself. He didn''t want the trial to end with the defendant''s skull split open. "So you''re an herbalist. Are you married?" A general giggle answered his question. Loreanna just looked at him with narrowed eyes. "Probably not... Good. Let''s get to the interesting part. I heard you were found in the cornfield in an unusual situation. Please describe what happened." "You''ve already decided to burn me anyway. I can see the pyre from here!" "The honorable village chief Jorge and the elders have decided that their decision may have been made too quickly. We will therefore question all witnesses again today and only then come to a well-founded decision." "Of course..." She let the sentence trail off slowly. "But all right. I was on my way home from Erda''s, where I helped her give birth to her son. Not an easy birth. Not that anything was wrong, but Erda is by far the most sniveling crybaby I''ve ever had to assist. Her clumsy husband was no help either." Regar''s full-throated laughter interrupted them. He held his fat stomach and rubbed a tear from his eye: "That''s good. I''m sure your low opinion of Erda has nothing to do with the fact that she stole Retek from you." He turned to Trulda and Weylan and added a little more quietly: "Her husband. The father of her child." he added. Verden''s comment echoed through the brief silence before Loreanna could reply: "At least that''s what she says." The defendant laughed out loud. A high-pitched outcry could be heard from the audience. Weylan saw a mane of blonde hair disappear into the crowd as someone stopped a woman from storming onto the stage. A tall man threw her over his shoulder and disappeared with her out of sight behind the trunk of the oak tree. Regar called after them: "Don''t take her too far away. She has to testify later." Weylan waited until everyone had calmed down a bit: "And what happened to you on the way home?" "I took the shortcut through the cornfield. Then..." He raised his hand to interrupt her and turned to the village chief: "Does this fit? I mean, is this really the shortest way?" Jorge nodded. "I''m sorry. Keep talking." "So I took the shortcut through the cornfield. Visibility is extremely poor. I walked carefully so as not to knock over any plants." "I should hope so too!" The heckler was immediately silenced by the bystanders. The villagers hadn''t seen anything this exciting for years and didn''t want to miss a word. "Then I suddenly came to a small clearing. Someone had cut the corn there at ground level and pushed it to the edge. There was this square symbol carved into the ground. In the middle was a silver bowl and some weird animal parts and blood and..." She shuddered and fell silent. Trulda unconsciously mimed taking something out of a container and throwing it into her mouth: "Yeah. Now it''s getting interesting. Get the witnesses and cross-examine them." Weylan was about to ask her what she meant when a flash of green light drew his attention to the large oak tree. He couldn''t see what had happened there, only that some spectators were pushed away from the trunk and knocked over others. There was a tangle of bodies and wild gesticulating. Then the shouts of protest were replaced by worried voices. People backed away and a square slowly formed against the pressure of those further away who wanted to see what was going on. In the open space that formed in front of the oak tree, a man could be seen whose clothes were dirty and torn in many places. His only weapon was a brown encrusted dagger, with which he threatened anyone who tried to come closer. A leather scabbard hung empty from his belt. The village elder and Weylan shouted loudly in an unplanned chorus, "Be quiet and let him speak." Jorge glared at Weylan, who bowed his head silently and fell silent. Then Jorge stepped to the edge of the platform and called out: "Forgive me, stranger, but your arrival is very unexpected and comes at a bad time. Are you injured? Shall we get someone to dress your wounds?" "Should I do this before or after you burn me at the stake?" Loreanna grumbled into the ensuing expectant atmosphere before the new arrivals could answer. Weylan motioned to Loreanna to be quiet and hastily murmured, "Not now!" to her. The man lowered his dagger. He sounded exhausted and spoke between deep breaths: "They''re coming. Prepare yourselves. They''re coming..." Jorge gave Weylan a threatening look and then answered alone: "Who''s coming?" "The border forest has fallen. The queen of the forest, the Hamadryad... has fallen. The Krigesti are on their way here." Villagers began to tend to the wounds of the new arrival. Others were sent out by Jorge to spy out the road to the south from the fire watch tower. Weylan turned to his companion, who was watching the hustle and bustle but no longer looked amused. "Trulda? Do you know who or what a Krigesti is?" "A kind of cult. I haven''t heard much about them yet. I don''t think anyone knows anything concrete about them at the moment. Kressel the Bard was at our inn on his rounds a month ago. He reported rumors of a war army gathering in the desert realms to the south. At dinner in the evening after his performance, he mentioned that information about the Krigesti was being spread everywhere. All the bards and heralds mention them. Although there is hardly anything to report." She looked at him meaningfully. "I don''t understand... Does that mean anything?" "The bards are nervous. They''re not making a big deal of it so as not to spread panic. But something like this has happened several times in the past. The bards collect stories. In their schools, they also analyze how they have developed. What interests their audience and what doesn''t. According to Kressel, they have found one thing in common. Small events popping up everywhere that seemed much more important to everyone involved than was actually appropriate. Before the Necromancer''s War, there were incidents of lone undead and looted graveyards everywhere. Not really that interesting, but it was sung about by the bards in all the kingdoms. Every innkeeper told every guest about it, even three towns away." Weylan listened to her as he watched the two new arrivals being taken care of. Jorge had jumped down from the stands and gathered a group of men to hurry with them to the town hall. Without looking away, he asked: "I still don''t understand what you''re getting at. Maybe there was nothing else interesting to tell at the moment." "The bards have a word for it from the Creator''s language: Foreshadowing. The foreshadowing of great events. Before the beginning of every great age, there is a phase in which many small events herald the great catastrophe. Each time, a world quest occurs a few weeks later. Like the war of the necromancers." Now she had Weylan''s full attention: "So this is going to be another full-blown plague? Quests, wars, hundreds of thousands of revenants?" She nodded decisively. "Then I have to get back home quickly! Our village!" "You''re at the first level of your class at best. You have no decent equipment. No skills that can be used in combat. Don''t be mad at me, but you can''t help much yet." "I must be able to do something!" "A noblewoman has taken up residence in the village. In addition, more revenants have appeared than you would need for a simple problem with wolves. They will defend the village." "And what do we do?" "We travel on to Mulnirsheim. The town has a fortress, or rather a wall... Actually, it''s a fortress that forms a wall. It blocks a narrow passage in the mountain pass. The only pass through which an army could enter the heartlands. If there''s a war, it ends at the wall. The thing is insurmountable. We are safe in the city." Weylan looked around thoughtfully: "There''s not even a wooden rampart here. No spawnpoint. The village here is completely defenseless." "The path from the protective forest to the Mulnirsheim Pass runs almost three days'' journey west of here. Your village is to the southeast. Even more remote, from the point of view of an invading army. It will probably become a base for quests that disrupt Krigesti supply routes. Reconnaissance missions. Espionage behind enemy lines. With any luck, you won''t notice any of that here." "Are you sure?" Weylan looked anxiously at the men, women and children scurrying around the village. "I..." Trulda hesitated, "...no. We know too little to really be sure. But all world quests are subject to certain rules. It makes no sense dramaturgically to slaughter a remote defenseless village." "The world doesn''t care if something makes a good story! This is about real people! And the harmless village that was slaughtered by the inhuman invaders does make a dramatic story!" He got out of breath and some bystanders turned their attention to the two of them. "Not so loud. There was never a massacre like this in the Necromancers'' War. The villagers always escaped at the last moment." "How do you know that..." Weylan stumbled. "Of course... You have access to the Bardic Knowledge skill! Your class is bard!" "I already told you, I''m not telling on my class." He opened his mouth to say something, but then closed it again: "So we can''t do anything here?" "I don''t know what." Weylan let his gaze sweep over the crowd once more, then he straightened up and turned to the guardsman with the halberd: "Your village will soon be in the middle of a war. With casualties at every crossroads. Do you think this is the right time to burn one of your few herbalists?" The man looked around indecisively. Then he nodded and took a step back. Weylan hesitated for a moment and then decided that the answer was meant for him and set about freeing Loreanna from her bonds. When she looked at him questioningly, he shrugged his shoulders: "The best way to prove your innocence is to help your neighbors in their hour of need." She nodded and made her way to the injured man next to the tree. Two older women had already laid him on a blanket, removed his shirt with scissors and opened a stab wound in his chest, a hand''s breadth from his heart, which they were now binding with strips of linen without any recognizable system. "Stand aside you old fools. If you want to kill him, hit him over the head with a frying pan. It''ll be quicker." The two jumped back, startled, "Loreanna, I..." "You never doubted my innocence, you just didn''t dare to say anything. I know, Hanna, I know. Now run and get my bag of herbs. In my apartment, right next to the front door. Go!" The woman ran off. "And you, you get me some fresh water." The other woman also sprinted off. Loreanna stripped away the soaked, limp bandages and tossed them aside, quickly pressing a folded linen cloth firmly against the wound. With a surprising show of strength, she lifted the man enough to wrap fresh bandages around his back, pulling them tight until the bleeding slowed to a stop. Satisfied, she inspected the wound once more, then, without warning, slapped him hard across the face. "Hey!" she barked. "Anything else you want to tell us before you die? His gaze flickered, but he regained consciousness. His voice sounded hoarse and low, as if he had used up all his reserves for his previous message: "The princess..." Weylan leaned forward with interest: "What about a princess?" "Princess Ulmenglanz... She is... Escape..." "Where is she? Which way is she going? Is she being followed? By whom?" The man tried to speak, but couldn''t get a sound out. "We can''t help her without more information!" Loreanna checked his pulse, looked critically at the color of his face: "The stab wound is too deep and he''s already lost too much blood. He only has minutes to live. Only a true healer could help here. I can only give him a painless death." Trulda took Weylan by the arm to lead him away, but he shook her off: "No! There''s another way. Listen to me! Speak! Ask us to save her! Go on! Say it!" Trulda looked at him in confusion. The man heaved himself up a little for the last time and the bandage immediately began to visibly fill with blood: "Save... Princess... Ulmenglanz..." When he saw the red glow appear on Weylan''s forehead, he smiled and then fell back to the ground. His chest heaved only slightly and irregularly. Even unconscious, his face contorted in pain. Loreanna pushed Weylan back, who read something in the air that only he could see: "You two go back. Further back. Further still. I''m going to try something else." Distracted, Weylan took a few steps back, fully focused on the quest creation menu. Trulda also took two steps back and tried to see over her shoulder what the herb woman was doing. Loreanna pulled something out of her pocket. A bundle of blonde hair. Trulda looked back at the judge''s table. The bundle of hair that Jorge had placed on the table as evidence was missing. Before Trulda could say anything, Loreanna pushed the bandage aside, pressed the tuft of hair into the blood and shouted words that echoed darkly across the court. "By the heart oak and the nexus on which it stands! By the blood of my sacrifice. By my wrath. Complete the ritual and carry me away!" Red lightning flashed across the body and drove into the oak tree behind it. A female scream of pain could be heard from the crowd. Weylan rushed forward to stop the witch. He had not yet realized that it was too late for that. Trulda followed him and swung her fist to prevent Loreanna from casting any more spells. Her fist struck the woman''s face at the same moment Weylan grabbed her arm. More lightning flashed crimson and tore apart the space around the oak tree. Jorge had watched the last few seconds and now had to witness how the three of them were pulled into the oak tree by dark red lightning. All the branches went up in flames at once and the trunk burst apart. The messenger''s body was still lying where he had died, but the three others had disappeared. After a moment of indecision, he began shouting orders to have the fire put out. A fire in the village was the last thing they needed now. Chapter 11: OrkSlayer the Mighty The spawn point lit up, and OrcSlayer the Mighty appeared. He stretched, stroked his hand through his orange hair and looked down at himself. Whereas yesterday he had been wearing tailored chainmail, he now only wore padded undergarments. His hand unconsciously reached angrily for the hilt of his sword but groped in vain. All he found in his belt was a sheath with a dagger. He grabbed it and flung it carelessly aside with a wordless cry. Some of the locals, who had almost gotten used to the constant appearance and disappearance of revenants, now looked up. When he jumped off the spawnpoint, they gave him a wide berth and kept a suspicious eye on him. There was activity everywhere he looked. Woodcutters hauling logs with horses, craftsmen renewing the palisade and foundations for watchtowers were being dug at the four corners of the village. A dozen or so of Federova the First''s hunchbacked servants could be seen everywhere. They negotiated with craftsmen, supervised construction work and lent a hand at every turn. A group of five men in leather armor wandered out of the inn towards the forest. Each carried a short sword on his belt and a longbow and quiver on his back. The bows were already strung, which told him that they were magical weapons. Regular bows quickly lost their tension when handled like this. So they were probably adventurers, but he couldn''t be sure. The system gave no indication of who was an NPC and who was a player. OrcSlayer marched quickly towards the center of the village. On the way, he approached a man dressed in cheap peasant clothes and asked, "Where is the nearest temple of Peituwin?" "Lord... forgive me, but we only have one house with shrines for all the gods." The warrior leaned closer to the man: "And where is it?" "Over there, sir, just go along that cross street on the left. You can''t miss it." Without a word of thanks, the warrior followed the directions to a one-story building. The walls of the half-timbered house rose unadorned but clean. Head-sized signs with the symbols of the gods were attached to an arch around the door. He searched and quickly found the symbol he was looking for. It was a golden snake that wound its way across two parallel magician''s wands to form an S-shape. He threw open the door and stomped inside, the dust of the street still on his feet. The building consisted of a single elongated room, its sides divided into individual open alcoves by planked walls. Each contained a small altar with the symbol of one of the gods. An archway made of black steel, Nistrul''s portal to the underworld. The bronze hearth fire of Lieselotte, the goddess of house and home. The silver shield of Pallandur, the god of quests. OrcSlayer hesitated briefly at a broken altar on which stood a charred bonsai tree. He couldn¡¯t recall which gods symbol this had been. And why was the altar broken? The storylines he¡¯d heard didn¡¯t mention a fallen god. He would ask at the forum when he returned to the boring world. Further back, he found the symbol he had been looking for. An elderly man, who had been diligently mopping the floor in front of Golgoroth''s altar at the far end, glanced up and hastened over to him. "Welcome, stranger! Welcome to the shrine of all..." OrcSlayer brushed him aside without a second thought and strode purposefully toward his destination. Before him stood the gilded statue of a man holding an open chest adorned with the snake and two staves symbol on its lid. He knelt on one knee: "Peituwin, god of trade, accept my offering," he intoned solemnly. Out of nowhere, translucent greenish rectangles of paper appeared above his open hands, which disappeared into the statue''s chest in a whirling storm as if drawn by an invisible force. The statue of the god slowly began to glow from within until the god''s eyes opened. The voice rang out from all directions: "Your sacrifice is pleasing to me. What do you want?" "I need a well-crafted sword and good quality custom-made chain mail." A sword appeared in a golden glow on the ground. Closely followed by a bundle of metal rings. "Is that all, adventurer? You could have gotten that at any store." The warrior waved his hand dismissively: "Nah. They don''t take real money and I''m so not in the mood to spend days hunting rats or wolves or something to earn gold on beginner quests. Now I''m going to kill that useless shepherd''s son, and then I''m going to look for some real quests. I really need to level up to be ready when the beta phase ends. I only got in during the second phase, anyway. I don''t want to get lost in the crowd when hundreds of thousands of noobs show up here." He pushed himself up and then put on the chain mail on the spot. He then girded on the sword and marched out through the door. With one foot still in the doorway, he braked; otherwise, he would have run straight into the tip of a pitchfork. The piece of metal glinting in the rising sun was only a finger''s breadth from his eye, which now began to twitch nervously. A small crowd had gathered in front of the shrine. They were all big, burly men who were used to working hard. In their hands, they held pitchforks, hammers, axes, and even an old sword. On the blade, you could clearly see that most of the rust had only recently been removed. The man with the sword began to speak in a loud voice: "Stop! Are you the revenant who killed Ryoden?" "Ryoden? Was that the shepherd Questgiver?" Angry shouts were raised but were quickly drowned out by the leader: "Quiet!" Then he turned to OrcSlayer again: "You''re under arrest! The charge is murder. Put your sword on the ground and come with me." "Are you tired of life? I can handle a bunch of NPC peasants on my own. Get that thing out of my sight before I slice your belly open." The man actually took a step back, but that only allowed more men to better aim their weapons at him: "I doubt it. In fact, I highly doubt it. I am Hoder, the innkeeper. We will now take you to the High Princess, who has assumed rule and jurisdiction here in the village in the name of High King Cariolus. Come along peacefully, or you will be dead!" OrcSlayer lowered his gaze thoughtfully, then, without warning, he grabbed one of the pitchforks with his left hand to pull it aside. With his right hand, he drew the sword and swung it towards the innkeeper''s stomach, protected only by a cloth apron and shirt. Hoder waved his sword around, startled, and by pure chance, managed to sweep the blade aside. He had no idea how to handle it, but a lifetime of hard work had given him a firm grip and strong muscles. Without the proper technique, however, he could not bind his attacker''s blade, so it whirled deftly around his sword, ready to strike again a heartbeat later. The warrior bellowed a war cry, causing the citizens to recoil for a moment. Hoder whirled his sword aimlessly, hoping to drive the warrior back. His opponent''s sword moved faster than he could keep track of. Now, it was on the other side of his blade, driving the sword further to the side. The host''s body was now defenseless, and the warrior was already tensing his muscles to slash his belly when he suddenly froze. The innkeeper stared at the trembling sword for three heartbeats, then lifted his gaze to the revenant''s face. A wooden shaft with a glittering metal tip protruded from the right eye. The warrior toppled forward and hit his face on the ground unchecked. Stunned, he searched for the source of the arrow and found Dronwill the hunter standing at the window of the house next to the temple. His hunting bow still in his hand. "Dronwil! How did you get up there so quickly?" "I live here, you old drunkard! Next time you want to attack an adventurer, you''d better get me first. If I hadn''t just had the bow strung so I could wax the string better, we''d all be looking at your lunch right now. That''s not a pretty sight, even on a plate. At least when your wife has cooked." The innkeeper looked at the clang on the ground where his sword had fallen from his fingers. Every muscle began to tremble as he realized how close he had just come to death. The warrior''s body shimmered and disappeared in front of him. All that remained was a sword and chain mail. This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it. * * * OrcSlayer only felt a blow to the back of his head before his security settings switched off the sensation of pain. He could no longer see anything with his right eye, his left saw a sharp piece of metal pointing away from his face. He could no longer feel his body, and his surroundings whirled around until he could only see the cobblestones up close. Headshot/ Critical hit/ Sneak attack Instant Death The world disappeared in front of him and he found himself in an empty white room. Monitors with his character sheet, inventory and other status information floated in front of him. Another screen only contained the hint: Earliest respawn in 23 hours, 59 minutes game time. He tapped the screen to select the spawn point in the village marketplace, but the menu box only flashed briefly and then turned completely gray and inactive. You have been defeated during a proper arrest. Spawnpoint is forcibly set to the local prison. A different spawn point can only be chosen after the court proceedings have been completed and with the permission of the local ruler. "Shit!" He punched the virtual screen, but it did nothing. Kicking it several times didn''t improve his mood either. "Video link to Legolias." The screen briefly went black and then began to flash slowly. After a while, the image of the elf mage appeared: "What do you want?" "That''s a really unfriendly greeting! We''re best buddies!" "You''re an ass. I wanted to establish good relations with the locals in the village. This would have been the perfect starting point for quests behind the battle lines. The beta testers were virtually fighting over the few spots for the spawn point on the forums. Do you know how many favors I had to call in to get them?" "I know... I''m sorry. I overreacted." "You always do that! I''m sick of it. You know what, you should join an organization that suits you better. Something like an Order of Baby Seal Killers, the Club of Murder Hobos or the Nasty Magic Mutants. Or like in the last campaign, the Necromancers." OrcSlayer looked offended: "That was just to infiltrate them." "Then they started losing and you betrayed them." "That has always been my plan!" "Yeah, sure. You know what, I saw an ad on the forums for a guild that''s looking for members. The guild leader wants to do some huge in-game thing. Here''s the link." An icon appeared on the screen and then dropped to the bottom. "Take care. No hard feelings." "Why? What do you mean..." OrcSlayer saw the blocked symbol next to Legolias''s name. "Never mind. I never liked that annoying pointy ear anyway. Open the link there." An impressive animation of a skull appeared on the screen, rising like the sun over a burning planet. It was followed by an appeal in flowery language to all brave but unconservative heroes to join the Order and vague offers of rewards. He shrugged his shoulders and chose the link. Almost immediately, a grinning skull appeared: "Hi. Welcome to the League of Evil. We have cookies." "I thought this was the Order of the Ascension of Nistrul?" The skull managed to shrug: "That too. My marketing department thought it sounded more appealing to players." "I hear you''re still looking for members for your guild?" "That''s what we''re doing. Send me your r¨¦sum¨¦." "My what?" "CV of previous characters, list of completed quests, awards and letters of recommendation." "I was in VR from the very first beta. I first had a Warrior, then after the empowerment upgrade, I switched to Paladin and leveled him up to max level. During the final phase, I switched to Fallen Paladin and joined the Necromancers. On quests..." The skull blinked and interrupted him, "Rolf?" "You know me?" "Rolf Ganderer! Or rather, LichtBringer, the fallen paladin. The traitor who lured the main army of necromancers into the ambush at Thorn Pass!" Rolf cursed. Only a few hundred players had sided with the necromancers in the last campaign. Of those, only a handful knew who had betrayed them. He had deliberately refrained from bragging about it. Even if it had been difficult for him. Of the few players who knew about his betrayal, only one knew his real name. The boy who had accepted him into the guild back then. "Sepp Kr¨¹ger, is that you?" The skull laughed. A laugh that echoed through the room and vibrated deep in the pit of his stomach. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up. He was so fucked. Sepp would chase him through the whole game and then send a few thugs to beat him up in real life. Or he would buy his company and fire him. Buy his apartment block and have it torn down. He had heard about Sepp. Only after the campaign. Only when it was too late. He would end up unemployed on the street. OrcSlayer slumped to the ground and let his face fall into his hands. "Rolf? Are you ok?" "I''m screwed." He looked up, "Will it help if I apologize?" The skull tilted a little and the eyeholes contracted a little: "Why should you apologize?" "You were the leader of the necromancers. I..." "Oh... I''m not angry. You did me a real favor." "Why is that? I messed up all your plans for the invasion of the Alliance lands!" "The lich necromancers had already ruined all my fun before that. It''s a long story. Short version: The liches planned to turn their human allies into undead as soon as they had gathered enough magical energy. They would have gained this by sacrificing thousands of enemies after the final battle. If we had successfully taken the army beyond the mountains, I would have either had to flee, or my character would have been forcibly turned into a stinking undead mass. If I had become a lich, ok. That would have been cool. But as a zombie necromancer under the rule of the liches? Forget it. I could only slightly sabotage the invasion without attracting attention. The liches were damn clever. Intelligence 20+. Then I had recruited a lot of outstanding generals. Half of them had a real army background. Our chief strategist was a retired Bundeswehr general." "Seriously?" The skull grinned proudly. "When I realized that the supposedly safe detour via the Thorn Pass was absolute madness, I could have cried with joy. I let our strategists discuss other plans for hours and then, completely exhausted, I confronted them with your reconnaissance report. With the alleged ambush on the originally planned route. My favorite part was the warning about the invisible dragon at the ford. I was even able to persuade our generals not to send out scouts beforehand so that no one could spot the scouts. Not that our enemies would be warned that way. So we marched in blindly on the double. The army of necromancers was completely surprised and massacred." "And now?" "Now I have the opportunity to achieve my goals much better with my new character. I was able to exchange the bonuses for my necromancer''s achievements for bonuses in character creation. I invested everything in a higher starting rank in the Church of Nistrul. This allowed me to start immediately as a priest-necromancer. As Nistrul becomes more powerful, so will I. I will build an empire of my own. An empire of the undead!" His laughter rumbled through the virtual room. "You''re not mad at all?" "Not at all. The ambush was meticulously orchestrated. I can use someone who can organize something like that. I''ve put together a group of noobs to carry out an important mission. Only they''re completely incompetent." "You already said they''re noobs." "Incompetent, even for noobs." Umbramar''s skull avatar managed to look annoyed. OrcSlayer grimaced: "Ouch. Then you could really use all the help you can get. What''s it worth to you?" "Well, an in-game salary for a guild officer." "Cool, but I could use some money in the real world." Umbramar shook his head: "Nemesis forbids the mixing of in-game services and real-world rewards. The AI already hates the fact that you can redeem real money at Peituwin''s shrine. But the operators got their way. You wouldn''t believe the money it brings in every month. Once VR is fully up and running, sales will exceed the gross domestic product of a medium-sized European country." OrcSlayer grimaced in annoyance. He had hoped that the ultra-rich CEO had found a way around the limitations of the AI. "All right, then. But I also need a lot of gold in-game to refresh my equipment. I''ve already died twice now." "That doesn''t speak for you. What have you done?" "Some of the NPCs are much more aggressive and capable than I expected. The new AI cores are no comparison to before." "Well, that''s certainly an interesting story. You can tell me about it later at your leisure. Missing equipment won''t be a problem, though. As a guild officer, you are, of course, entitled to appropriate equipment." An image of plate armor with chain pieces, steel arm and leg guards and leather boots appeared on the screen. OrcSlayer whistled through his teeth, impressed: "Wow. This makes me a little less agile until I''ve learned the appropriate skills for armor usage, but practically invulnerable. At least for the weapons of beginner opponents and monsters. But I still need a weapon. A normal longsword will do." "Not a chance." The skull sounded resolut. "What? A sword costs next to nothing. Without a weapon, I''m completely useless." The skull chuckled, "No chance of the leader of one of my armies walking around with a boring sword. I have my reputation to think of." A long sword made of reddish steel appeared on the screen. The blade glowed slightly from the inside. Where the blade and the crossguard met, round red semi-precious stones were embedded that looked like blood-soaked eyes. The skull managed to look very self-satisfied: "One of the bonuses I was able to buy with the successes from my last life. Nistrul himself created it. I leave it to you. An intelligent sword with the soul of a vampire." "What can it do?" "Intelligent artifacts are something special. It has not yet reached its full potential. It derives his power partly from its victims and partly from the might of its bearer. I don''t have time to throw myself into close combat and feed it. You will do that for me." "Yes, but what exactly can it do?" "It is a talking sword with the Blood Drinker ability. It heals its wielder with a quarter of the life force it drains from its victims. The more enemies you kill with it and the higher your level, the more powerful it becomes." "Does it have a name yet?" "Connoisseur. If it likes you, maybe you can call it Conner." "I can''t wait to try it out." Chapter 11.5 The dryad princess Ulmenglanz strode swiftly through the forest. Her mystical connection with the forest enabled her to draw strength from it. She would therefore never tire within the forest. Right behind her, the humans puffed away, carrying her tree on a stretcher in a clay pot behind her. Torm, the young mage accompanying her, had tried it with a magical carrying disk. Unfortunately, the tree had immediately sprouted roots that had sucked the mana out of the spell. Now the four of them carried it on the wooden frame. Two rangers secured the sides. Esche, the druid, walked directly in front of the tree, proudly carrying the small box with the seeds attached to his back with leather straps. The protective spells of the seed box also connected him to the magic of the forest. Only weakly, but he could feel it. He just sensed the forest. The trees and animals. Where they were, what they felt. He could barely walk straight, but he grinned broadly to himself. Ulmenglanz turned her attention back to her surroundings. The forest before her wasn''t empty, but far and wide she couldn''t sense any of the invaders. Only other heroes. Like the ones who had shown up at the mystical spawnpoint to help them. She paused. A few scouts or stragglers wouldn''t have been unusual, but she sensed over twenty of these heroes in the immediate area. What were they all doing so far from the battlefield? Had they deserted? Why, if they were here voluntarily? Burning pain shot through her body. It felt as if her whole body was on fire. She screamed out in agony, the world spinning around her. When she looked down at herself, she expected to see burning skin and scorching flesh, but visually everything was normal. Her eyes went black. Then the pain disappeared again, just as seamlessly as it had come. She found herself lying flat on the ground with her face in the dirt. The druid helped her up while her other companions looked at her worriedly. The dryad ignored them. She felt inside herself, where she now sensed an emptiness. The connection to the temple and, through it, to the magic of the forest had disappeared. Gone. She felt weak and tired for the first time in her life. Her limbs felt heavy and sluggish. "Princess, are you all right?" The druid sounded confused. "No. Nothing''s wrong at all." She stood up, pushing him away. "Someone has destroyed the temple of Findrabarr. Looking back, she saw a thick cloud of smoke rising above the trees. "The temple grove is on fire. We have to get back!" Esche held her back by the arm and almost caught a backhanded punch for it. "No one can harm the temple as long as Archdruid Hazel lives. Against someone who could overcome him..." She gave up trying to free her arm from his hand and stared at the column of smoke. "You''re right. We don''t stand a chance against whoever was able to defeat Hazel. From the looks of it, it''s already too late. Our escape has become even more important now. Therefore..." A breeze silenced her. Something had flown close to her face. One of the bearers of the tree grabbed his throat, in which an arrow was now stuck. He collapsed to his knees, gurgling. Ulmenglanz wheeled around and saw someone with a bow disappear behind a tree. The sound of quick footsteps and cracking twigs echoed through the forest. The dryad raised her hand and commanded the plants to embrace and stop the fleeing one. The mental call faded into the void. Ulmenglanz looked around in confusion, then it broke over her like a dark storm. Her connection to the forest... was gone. Her abilities as a priestess of Fliedabarr... gone. She didn''t need to look at her status screen to know that all her levels as a priestess were gone. She dropped to her knees and choked dryly. A hand on her shoulder made her flinch. When she lifted her head, she looked into the compassionate brown eyes of the druid Esche. He helped her up again: "Your temple has fallen; your god has passed away. You were a high-ranking priestess. Level... eight?" This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version. "Nine. And now... nothing..." "You have lost your class and levels. But not everything is lost. You should have a gotten back 500 XP, which you can use to purchase a new class immediately. That''s enough for five levels. Becoming a druid would be a perfect match for your innate abilities. I can assist you in entering my class." "I... I don''t have a head for this right now." She collapsed to her knees and put her face in her hands, but then she immediately started up again and looked around with widened eyes: "Wait... That was one of the heroes I sensed in the area earlier. If one is hostile to us, maybe the others are too. There were more than two dozen of them. Far away from the front line, where they should be. This is a trap!" Esche also looked around, and the other warriors did the same. They were all talking to each other and making suggestions about what to do now. The druid remained silent and thought. Then he silently raised his hand. His behavior contrasted so strongly with the wild waving and discussion of the others that it was immediately noticeable. To his own surprise, everyone immediately fell silent and turned their full attention to him. Apparently, it had paid off to increase Charisma. A decision he had often regretted when he lacked points elsewhere. But surrounded by warriors, hunters and rangers, most of whom had lowered their Charisma to 8 in order to use the points elsewhere, he immediately stood out. "If they were already in position, they knew we were coming. There''s no way they could have overtaken us so quickly. So they also know our planned route. If we keep following it, they''ll catch us. We''ll have to think of a new route. Does anyone have any ideas? Ulmenglanz?" The dryad held one hand against the trunk of a large oak tree at the edge of the path. Her eyes were tightly closed and her head tilted slightly to one side as if listening. When he spoke to her, she snatched her hand away. "Ulmenglanz?" "I don''t know... I don''t remember the exact positions of the heroes, but some were on or near the two forest paths. There is no other way. If we go cross-country, we''ll have to constantly overcome thorn hedges and other obstacles. They would easily catch up with us." Esche nodded thoughtfully. Then his face brightened: "We could deviate from our path at a right angle and run to the next edge of the forest. We''ve learned all the skills for faster movement in the last few days. Forest run, race, marathon. Or a variation of these. They will hardly be able to catch up with us. If they do, we''ll at least be able to choose the battlefield." The discussion began anew, but was quickly stifled by the dryad: "Quiet! If we don''t leave immediately, our enemies will surround us and then nothing else will matter." She held an accusing index finger close to Esche''s face: "What are we supposed to do on the forest side? There''s no way to our destination from there. We can go into the desert, where the Krigesti are waiting, or into the mountains. I don''t see any chance of making our way to a pass." "We take the path through the mines of Norgrul. The entrance is on our side of the front. We can walk under the edge of the forest and the ambushes on the main paths. The exit is at the eastern mountains, a day''s journey before the wall-fortress of Mulnirsheim." He raised his hand defensively when Ulmenglanz started to object: "You can survive underground. Not for long, but it''s not far. A few days, that''s all. A dryad can survive a few days without light, otherwise cloudy weather fronts lasting several days would also be fatal. You are the princess of the forest! You''ll manage." Her mouth closed. With an act of willpower, she steadied her trembling hands and straightened up a little. Hesitantly, she nodded. Then more resolutely: "All right. Let''s walk." The group briefly secured their equipment once more, then deviated from the path and broke through the undergrowth at a steady run. As everyone had the right skills, they made surprisingly little noise. * * * A few minutes later, some warriors broke through the bushes. They also tried to make as little noise as possible, but without the right skills they failed miserably. None of them were equipped for survival in the forest. Chain mail and long swords got caught in the undergrowth and heavy boots stomped through branches and leaves. The leader of the group raised his hand and looked around the small clearing: "They were here, the ground is so trampled that even I can tell. Then they ran off in... I don''t know. Probably not in our direction." He scratched his head thoughtfully. "Does anyone here have any tracking or similar skills?" The warriors looked at each other and then shrugged their shoulders. "Too bad. Then we''ll split into two groups again and head back to the forest paths." On the way, he looked back a little concerned and muttered quietly to himself: "Umbramar will kill us if they sneak past us..." Chapter 12: Selvara Selvara and Malvorik had just been engrossed in a new sketch for a labyrinth at the chalkboard. Selvara shook her head: "It''s too complex and takes up far too much space. I''m sure you can achieve the same effect with a more compact design..." She felt Malvorik''s attention swivel away: "What is it?" The dungeon heart was silent for a moment and then mumbled a little confused: "What''s wrong?" "You mean in the second highest level of the city sewers. Tunnels that you just took over." "What? When was that? Why didn''t you say anything?" She only raised one of her tiny eyebrows. "It should have. If you were still human." Selvara felt a storm of conflicting emotions from the dual bond of the faerie pact and the bond as a familiar. Unlike humans, however, dungeon hearts had a hard time sustaining emotions for long. At their core, they were logical beings. Eventually the uproar came to a standstill and ended with a faint resignation: "As long as you''re still asking yourself that, everything is fine. The feelings and instincts of a dungeon heart are different from those of a human. It''s your job to challenge intruders who enter your dungeon. And to kill them if they are no match for your monsters and traps." "Your poetic tendencies won''t distract me from the real issue. What''s going on up there?" "Is that an important difference?" Selvara gestured to him to continue and get to the interesting part. "Just like that?" "Could they have been poisoned?" "Maybe they''re testing a poison that takes effect after a day?" "And what did you thank for earlier?" "You get no XP for natural deaths... And nothing for diseases, unless you have the Plague Pool special skill." "What? No. You''ll hardly hear about that one either. You can only select it at Dungeon Master level 8 at the earliest. A dungeon with this featspreads diseases via its monsters. Surviving adventurers even carry them out of the dungeon. If a dungeon is discovered that does this, it will be destroyed immediately. No matter how useful or profitable it is otherwise." "I''m glad we agree on that. But then what happened to the prisoners up there? Magic?" "Wait! Do you still have the automatics on?" Selvara flew up excitedly. The heart crystal sparkled thoughtfully for a while. Then it became unusually cloudy. Selvara flew to it, but saw nothing unusual. "Malvorik? Are you all right? You''re suddenly so quiet." . "Are you worried about the intruders?" A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. "What? Come on. You can tell me anything." She sat down a little way away on the ledge at the entrance to her room. "That doesn''t have to happen. Maybe you''ll end up as a training ground for the army or the city guard." "What plans?" The light of the crystal became increasingly brighter and life came into the spiritual voice. "What if they take them to the river? Then they''ll walk right into your traps." Selvara waited nervously as the dungeon heart made its vision appear on the mirrored wall. Silent as ever, four of the intruders marched through the sewers, each with a corpse slung over their shoulder. They followed the canals to a gathering pool. There they stopped for a while and looked around. After a while, they all started moving again at the same time, walking through the knee-high water to one of the overflow shafts. One by one, they disposed of their load through the opening and walked back. As soon as he had a secret to study, the heart crystal shone brighter again. Selvara waited patiently for a few heartbeats. Then she fluttered up and down excitedly: "So, what is it? Magic? Poison? A disease?" The voice of thought seemed astonished.> "Why? Come on. You know human anatomy. So many corpses. You must have a complete pattern by now. If that were allowed, I''m sure you could create humans with ease." "I have no idea. I''ve never heard of such a thing." The dungeon heart wasn''t really listening. At last, it had something truly new to investigate. Complex diagrams and charts appeared on the walls of the heart room. Selvara didn''t understand any of it, but she enjoyed the contented aura that Malvorik radiated. Skill learned: Crystal Theory (Apprentice I) Skill increased: Crystal Theory (Apprentice II) Skill increased: Crystal Theory (Apprentice III) Skill increased: Magic Theory (Apprentice II) Skill increased: Magic Theory (Apprentice III) The voice of the world could barely keep up with adapting the official knowledge skills to Malvorik''s demonstrated knowledge. He combined his knowledge of various specialist areas, made new connections, dug out old knowledge from his memories and put it in a new order. The dungeon fairy was unable to follow his conclusions. She stared at the sketches and notes, confused and helpless. Due to the bright sparkle of the dungeon crystal, she didn''t notice another golden light appearing behind her. A cough made her move around. In the middle of the room stood the moderator who had visited them once before. Selvara immediately dropped to her knees and bowed deeply: "Praise be to Steve!" "Praise be to Steve." The answer sounded completely casual coming from the moderator. A formality that distracted him from his actual topic. The radiant light of his aura flickered; she had the impression that he was shaking his head. "You two again. When I got a warning about an impossibly rapid skill increase, I immediately realized it was you again." The sketches on the mirrored wall froze when Malvorik also noticed the presence of the moderator: The moderator sighed emphatically and made a few gestures in the air. Selvara quickly bowed her head. He was surely studying scriptures full of divine wisdom that were invisible to mortals. This was not meant for her. "Your knowledge doesn''t match your character skills at all. That completely confuses the increment system. I have to do something here. A partial memory wipe?" Selvara held her breath and the heart crystal began to flicker in panic. The moderator weighed his head thoughtfully for a while, then continued: "No, too risky. That would probably destroy your mind. Would be kind of a shame." He continued to think. His gaze was now darting back and forth between two places in his field of vision, as if he were comparing two scrolls. "Ok. Here''s what we''ll do: I''ll bring your knowledge skills up to where they were before you died. As soon as you''re discovered, you''ll only have a very short life expectancy anyway. According to the rules, your personality will then be permanently erased." The moderator barely listened to his objection and concentrated on the world visible only to him: "So that works. Let''s take the opportunity to see what synergy there is between the classes for mages and dungeon masters... Ok... Fits... Powerful, but acceptable... No. That''s not possible." Selvara had looked up curiously, and now threw herself to the ground again. "You can use a touch spell on anyone inside your dungeon? With 400 MP you''ll kill everything that moves in here. Not acceptable. I''ll set it so that touch spells are only possible on enemies that touch one of your monsters or your core." The golden-glowing figure hesitated and then corrected himself: "No... That would almost amount to the same thing... Okay, we''ll do it this way..." His hands made a typing gesture and then moved invisible things around until he was satisfied with the result, "That fits. So Dungeon Master Malvorik, as a Chimera Dungeon, you can now grant each new Chimera the ability to use a specific spell you know. In return, it will receive its own mana supply, which you must replenish from yours. However, you can only do this once a day. The size of the mana supply and the complexity of the spell determine the difficulty of the chimera construction and its summoning costs. You can also use all your spells when you possess one of your monsters with possession. But only using the monster¡¯s own mana supply." He hesitated. "That''s potentially quite powerful. But I think you''re going to need it. I suppose I don''t need to tell you not to let the whole town sink into the ground, or something similar. I''d have to intervene. A few buildings would be acceptable, but the city and especially the fortress wall are necessary for the overall plot. This is where the defensive battle against the Krigesti will take place. To make things a little fairer..." His fingers danced through the air. After a few minutes, he nodded in satisfaction, "If you take possession of a monster, you can use all your mage abilities within the dungeon. But the damage it takes is transferred to your dungeon heart in the same proportion. If it dies before you can end the possession, you die too." Skills changed by intervention of a moderator: Magic Theory (Master IV), History (Master IV), Spell Control (Master II), Alchemy (Master II), Artifact Enchantment (Journeyman V), Herb Lore (Journeyman IV), Rock Lore (Layman III), Weapon Lore (Layman III), Armor Lore (Layman II) "You''d better not thank me yet. That won''t make it any better. You only have more to lose now. The next world event starts soon. Mulnirsheim has about 50,000 inhabitants. The same number of heroes will appear there again soon. They will open stores, search the surrounding area for materials for their respective crafts and for brewing elixirs. They will trade, hunt and steal. Do you know what they will be looking for the most?" The moderator hesitated briefly: "Well, that too, of course. But I meant dungeons. If there''s even a rumor that you exist..." "This is not a challenge you can pass. We will therefore not pass it off as a quest. Nemesis will not scatter clues to your location. Bardic knowledge will not provide rumors about you. There will be no visions for psychics. But that doesn''t mean your activities won''t have consequences. You certainly don''t want to hide down here forever. You will interact with the outside world at some point. You''ll leave traces. Then they''ll get you." The crystal dimmed for a moment, then lit up all the brighter: Chapter 13: Mulnirsheim The old man sat on his wooden chair in the middle of the market square, as he did every night. The townspeople had built him a shelter years ago to protect him from the occasional drizzle. Four wooden pillars and a fancy pyramid-shaped roof. Svendalf, the best shingle maker in town, had covered it with small wooden shingles. A young woman came out of the nearby inn and brought him an earthenware jug with a steaming liquid in the cool night air: "Well Ulf, you must need something warm to drink in this weather." "The gods will repay you, Huldra. But you can''t bring me mulled wine. What if I fall asleep on guard duty?" "You sit here every night that the gods have given you. For thirty years. When they put the chair down because of your bad knee, you railed that you would fall asleep immediately. When we built you the shelter, you said you''d never be able to keep your eyes open without the constant drizzle on your neck. None of that ever happened. The day you fall asleep on guard duty will be the day Nistrul leads you to the underworld." "Being the plague watchdog is a responsible task." As if on a secret command, they both looked towards the slightly raised round stone slab. Four steps in diameter, made of gray stone and without any decoration. Four man-sized magical torches illuminated the platform from all sides. "Let''s hope you never have to ring the bell." Ulf nodded: "That''s the gods may give, my child. After so many years of the spawnpoint remaining dark, we can hope that the plague has ended once and for all." "Strange term, spawnpoint. Where does that actually come from?" "It''s from the language of the revenants. It means origin of the scourge." The maid was impressed by his knowledge. She wished him a pleasant night and then left again, back into the warmth of the crowded inn. Ulf looked after her with a smile. If only he were a few years younger... A creak made him move around. The girl had not exaggerated when she praised his attentiveness. Nothing escaped his notice. Not a month went by without a youngster trying to sneak up on him and scare him or steal the bell or something similar. No one had managed it yet. Not once. He searched for the source of the sound. A light breeze came up. He raised an eyebrow. Wind? Here? Behind the wall and between all the houses? A glow made him move around again. Right above the center of the spawn point, a tiny firefly hovered in place. Except that there had never been fireflies in the city before. Only in the forest on the Alliance side. Fireflies didn''t glow so evenly and for so long. More lights appeared. Ulf''s hand went to his belt, where the iron rod was that he had to ring the bell with. If he was wrong and it was just a joke from the little strays, he would have to listen to this for the rest of his life. He couldn''t make a mistake. Maybe it was just... The lights flew off in all directions and disappeared through the streets. They left long yellow-green trails in the air on his eyes. Only one dot of light remained and slowly sank down onto the platform. With a flash, it disappeared. Then the entire spawn point began to vibrate. Ulf no longer hesitated. He took three quick steps to the bell and struck it. A bright sound emanated from it. He sounded the alarm again and again in quick succession. Dogs began to bark in annoyance. Shouts were heard and soon the first shutters were opened. The landlord of the nearby inn hurried out in his nightshirt, a broom in one hand and a bucket of water in the other. He seemed undecided whether to fight a fire or chase away a couple of drunken ruffians. After one last powerful stroke, Ulf silenced the bell. Silence fell over the marketplace. Then the air above the platform flickered and a man appeared. Tall, broad-shouldered. Skin the color of dark tropical trees shimmered in the torchlight. A face with an aristocratic nose and a prominent chin. The neat goatee framed his mouth and provided a fascinating contrast to the bald head. He turned his gaze left and right appraisingly, then the man strode calmly forward and down from the spawn point. Behind him, the air rent again and again as numerous small hunched figures appeared one after the other. Heavily laden with suitcases and bags, they lined up in formation behind the bald man. The newcomer relaxed his hands on the hems of his fine velvet vest and waited. Citizens streamed out of the houses. Some with buckets, as they expected to see a fire, others armed. Gradually, a crowd gathered in the streets around the market square. However, they avoided entering the square itself. Only Ulf stood there, somewhat lost and unnoticed next to his bell. The voice of the newcomer echoed effortlessly across the square: "Citizens of Mulnirsheim. Rejoice! The years in which you were governed by a governor are over. Your lord has returned to help you in your hour of greatest need." "What need? What is this guy talking about?" The voices of the citizens blended into an acoustic mash. The newcomer continued to speak, his voice cutting through the din like an axe through a stick of butter: "I am Baron Othello. Ruler of this city. I am here to warn you of the Krigesti invasion." Confused silence fell over the crowd. One of them called out timidly: "Is that one of the desert tribes?" The answer echoed confidently across the square: "It is a union of all the desert tribes and others. They want to resurrect one of the old gods. The Devourer. The adversary! But fear not! Heroes from a distant world will appear in their thousands to help you." He posed to receive the cheers of the crowd. To his disappointment, the reaction was unexpectedly negative. "Revenants? Thousands?" "A plague! It''s starting again! The bards have been prophesying for months that another scourge is coming." "Maybe they''ll leave again when we close the brothels and inns?" The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation. "And what about these Krigesti then?" "Let''s just let them conquer the city. Still better than a few thousand revenants." "Maybe we''ll just burn the city down and leave." "Take the torch away from him! He''s crazy!" The crowd slowly dispersed, leaving the disappointed baron behind. Then he shrugged his shoulders and beckoned his servants to follow him: "Let''s go to the castle and move into our new quarters." Meanwhile, the small points of light flew through the city and placed themselves in predetermined locations throughout the city. Then they drove vertically into the ground. First, concentric circles of light spread out from the impact points, then stone platforms rose up from the ground. Spawn points. With a diameter of three steps, smaller than the spawn point on the market square, but otherwise the same. Where it was usually very quiet with the exception of the night watch, the city cleaners and a few thieves, this night there was a flurry of activity. Prices on signs were raised, goods safely locked away in chests and cellars and houses secured as if for an invasion of barbarians. The city guard drafted in reservists. Old veterans of the Alliance army squeezed into their cramped uniforms, pulled dusty weapons from their lockers and reported back for duty. Alchemists interrupted ongoing distillation processes and began mass producing ever-burning oil to light the streets at night. Guild leaders picked yellowed folders from the bottom of chests and attics and gathered their guilds together. Travis, head of the Guild of Blacksmiths, buried his face in his hands: "Three years. Three more years and I would have moved into my well-earned retirement and left this madness to my successor." He moaned for a while before Terrek, one of the older blacksmiths, interrupted him: "Master Travis, it''s not so bad. We all learned in our apprenticeship what happens at the start of a plague. The revenants bring their starting equipment with them. Only simple weapons and light armor, but enough for the usual low-level quests. They also only bring a little gold and have to earn it here first. So we still have time to stock up on supplies." "Where should we get the material from? We don''t have that much iron in stock. The baron spoke of a war. That means we''ll soon have to make arrows and bolts by the crateful. We don''t even have enough raw material for that. Not to mention hundreds of swords and shields." Terrek stroked his beard thoughtfully, then grinned: "Then let the revenants take care of it." A glowing red line with a dot underneath appeared on his forehead. His eyes crossed as he tried to find the origin of the suddenly appearing light. "Is that what I fear?" Travis nodded: "Congratulations. You''re a Questgiver from now on. Have fun." Terrek walked away with an absent look on his face, cursing quietly as he explored a newly appeared menu: "My Llurd-cursed cheeky mouth. I wish I''d kept it shut. So... Crafting quests to fix problems in the mines and increase production... Hunting quests? What''s that got to do with... I see... Hunting iron beetles... Too bad there are no slag snails here. Treasure hunting quests in the old forest..." He stopped and his eyes darted back and forth as he read on: "There''s a meteorite in the old forest? Where is that supposed to be... Well, the revenants will like that. You''ll have to write down all the bard songs and follow the clues the library contains. As if the librarians would let someone in just like that. But that''s their problem. Let them come up with quests that you have to solve to get in. A plague is terrible, but if we get a lump of meteoric iron for it... I''ll have the workshop in the Long Alley rebuilt. There''s enough room there for the extra bellows we need for a higher working temperature. Although... That would also be a good quest..." A mage sat in one of the large leather armchairs in the study room of the mage academy, which was brightly lit by magical lights. A few thick books were stacked on a small table next to it. A book hovered in front of him at a comfortable reading height. His eyes wandered relaxed along the lines while he occasionally stroked his long gray beard with his hand. At such a late hour, the academy had finally quietened down. The students and teaching magicians were in bed and so the head of the academy could finally enjoy the silence. The ringing of the plague bell and the burgeoning noise in the city were drowned out by the protective spells in the study room. But even the protective spells, which had been optimized for decades, could not prevent the adept from storming in: "Archchancellor! Archchancellor Kosmaran!" The Archchancellor rolled his eyes in annoyance and looked up from his book: "We can assume that everyone here knows my name and knows that I am the Archchancellor." "Archchancellor! The plague bell has been rung!" "So, why are you bothering me with this?" The adept opened his eyes and stared at the Archchancellor. After a few failed attempts in which his mouth opened silently, he managed to get the words out again: "But, Archchancellor..." Kosmaran interrupted him: "We teach every novice what to do at the start of a new plague. Every year the contingency plans are discussed and explained during a full academy meeting. Where the plans are and who has to take care of them. Have you always been absent?" The adept, who had always spent his time in the back of the meeting room talking to his girlfriend about more important matters, looked guiltily at the floor. The Archchancellor rolled his eyes again, murmuring an invocation to the god whose assistance seemed most appropriate in this situation: "Cofefe, god of the mad and senile. Patron of fools and the incompetent. Stand by me in this hour of stupidity." He looked sternly at the adept until he began to tremble. Then he sighed: "Good, I''ll take care of it." He rose and walked to the door. As soon as he had passed through it, the noise of footsteps and shouts became audible. Unperturbed by the numerous adepts and novices bombarding him with questions, he walked to the entrance of the library. Right next to it, he looked with keen interest at a red lacquered cabinet. He read the inlaid inscription aloud: "To be opened in case of a plague by revenants." He raised his hand to his mouth in mock surprise: "That we have something like this... How practical." He opened the cupboard, took out the first notebook and pressed it into the hand of the closest adept: "Read this. These are the tasks that a revenant must complete if he wants to gain access to our academy. Find five students from the third year and organize a rotation plan with them, with one of them always standing at the entrance to receive new arrivals. Then tell the academy guard that four men must always be posted at the entrance. I''m almost certain they know this and are taking care of it right now, but do it anyway." The student reached for a pencil in one pocket and searched the other pockets for his notebook. The Archchancellor took the pencil out of his hand, annoyed, and put it back in his breast pocket: "It''s all on the first page. You just have to check off the points in order. Go on!" More notebooks were distributed and adepts hurried off with tasks for the Dean of the Faculty of Alchemy and the Librarian. After the third, the adepts had begun to disperse. A wave of the hand and a spoken word pinned the slowest to the ground. Calmly, the Archchancellor pulled out another notebook and pressed it into his hand: "This is the list of protective spells that we will maintain from now on. Some revenants already know a few spells. The protection spells counter clairvoyance, silence, darkness and climbing spells of all kinds. The librarian personally takes care of protecting the library. The rest is an assignment for the graduating class. The current list of adepts is at the very back. Get them together and hand the notebook to the first person on the list." A wave of his hand ended the sticking spell and the adept sprinted off. The Archchancellor took a look at the remaining documents and decided that they still had time until the morning. Then he set off to get a few more hours'' sleep. The head of the Beggars'' Guild placed his guild in strategic locations around the spawn points. In some places there were discussions with traders who wanted to set up their stalls, but these problems were also quickly resolved. When the spawn points lit up at dawn and revenants poured out of them, the city was ready. Chapter 14: Skorr Callad Attracted by the vibrations of many faint footsteps, the cave spider cautiously peered out of its burrow at the top of the tunnel. When it saw the unexpectedly large group of two-legged creatures, it immediately retreated again and sealed the entrance with a panel crafted from silk and stone. The creatures had gray skin and wore soft shoes to creep. When you''re one of the smallest of the sentient races, it''s not wise to get noticed by possible enemies. Underground sounds travel far. A little further on, the tunnel widened into a more enormous cave. Stalagmites stretched towards the stalactites in the ceiling and stood close enough to make the way difficult for creatures such as orcs or centaurs. However, they were no obstacle for the duskgnomes. The duskgnome at the top straightened up to his full height of two fingers over a yard. He stroked the gray skin of his bald head and looked around. With a quiet sigh, he began to count the survivors as they limped into the cavern, their exhaustion evident. Unlike their usual cheerful and restless demeanor, most of them took advantage of the short break to sit down to rest their weary bodies. The stretchers with supply crates were set down, and the gnomes massaged their overworked muscles. Amidst the weariness, the faces of children peeked out uncertainly from the packs in which their parents carried them, a somber reminder of the hardships they faced. Skorr Callad finished counting quickly. Too quickly. "Two of us are missing. Who''s missing? Is anyone missing their partner? Are all the children here?" None of the group looked at him. He slumped his shoulders. They knew who was missing. Someone had stayed behind. However, he had expressly forbidden it. Resigned, he turned around and stared at the gray stone wall. Illuminated only by the few glowstones they carried at the tip of their walking sticks, but the dim light was enough for the large gnome eyes. The tunnels stretched further in both directions than could be seen through the many twists and turns. He continued to stare at the cave wall while asking, "Who stayed behind?" The voice that answered him was quiet, and he made an effort not to identify the speaker: "Modd and Eredd." Nothing more was needed. Modd was old and had already suggested several times to stay behind so as not to delay the fleeing group any further. Eredd was one of the stone shapers. The two had proposed their plan several times before, and Skorr rejected it vigorously each time. Now, they had carried it out without his consent. Eredd had closed the cave behind them, and Modd had stayed on the other side of the barrier to give him time to make the barrier thick enough. In the last stage, they had passed through several narrow passages where this was possible. Where only one of the pursuers came through at a time, he could take him out and then use his corpse to block the passage. Zombies were stupid. Until their leaders caught up, he could stop the advance long enough for Eredd to build a thick enough barrier. He looked accusingly at the other gnomes. They all lowered their eyes guiltily. "I understand. Then, let''s make sure their sacrifice wasn''t in vain. We''ll take a break for a quarter of a candle mark, then set off again." Skorr took a blanket out of his backpack and folded it up on the floor to sit down and lean against the wall, groaning. He didn''t bother to set up any guards. If their pursuers managed to catch up with them now, they were doomed either way. He closed his eyes and rested. They hoisted their burdens once more and set off. Kardd, one of the last stone listeners in the group, caught up to him and walked silently by his side for a few steps. Then he began to speak softly, "Tell me, where exactly are we fleeing to? I didn''t want to alarm the others. I don''t think they''ve had a chance to think about it yet. The other cities have fallen in the war against the necromancers. They''ve unearthed and wiped out the last of our underground cities as well. Every Solium Forge, every alchemy lab, razed to the ground. Tarravanta was the last gnome city. Left deserted, or so we thought. At least, that''s what I thought." Skorr put his hand on his shoulder as he walked away: "Stop blaming yourself all the time. You couldn''t have known. I''ve read the old scrolls, too. Tarravanta was abandoned, its inhabitants overrun as they fled, two days'' journey from their city. The undead army was wiped out shortly after by a whole horde of revenants. The city should have been safe. Especially after the stone seals on the access tunnel were still intact." The two walked on in silence. At the next break, Skorr took out a rolled-up map from a round container and spread it out on the floor. The deep paths were marked in rough charcoal lines. Next to them were comments and inscriptions in several languages. Skorr spoke quietly so that the others could not hear him: "The tunnel has only a few branches. One leads deeper into the grassy plain just before the shield forest. This one seems to lead to Mulnirsheim but ends in a dead end far below the town." Kardd looked at the spot on the map and rubbed his face thoughtfully with his hand: "The path is labeled in dwarven. That at the end is the dwarven scrawl for the end of the path. Or something like that. It doesn''t necessarily mean that the tunnel ends there. Duskgnomes can get through paths that a dwarf is just too big for." "Should we bet our lives on it?" "No, not as long as there are still alternatives. Which route would you take?" "In the same cave, another path branches off here up to the surface, onto the plain before Mulnirsheim. A little further on, there''s another one that ends right at the pass. I want to take that one. Then, into the fortress town. We''ll be safe there." "You want us to go to the human city? You can''t be serious!" "Do you have a better idea? Any? Yes, we''ll end up as miners or unskilled laborers. Or as another minority who cooks and sells exotic dishes in back alleys. But we''ll live!" "You call it life. I just call it a slower death." Skorr was silent for a long time. His voice sounded agonized as he asked, "What do you suggest instead?" "Nothing! I have no idea! I don''t have a better way. Or any solution at all. We still have the clothes on our bodies and as much food as we could carry. Or what''s left of it." Kardd lowered the hands he had been gesturing wildly with and looked around. He had become loud enough that the others had almost all heard him. Large gnome eyes looked at him wearily and resignedly. No one seemed surprised. Skorr now addressed everyone loudly: "We will survive! People will look down on us and laugh at us. But we will live! From there, we will look for new destinations." He only received tired nods, but that was all he could expect. The group trudged on in silence. A shrill scream echoed through the corridor from far behind, breaking the silence. Kardd said what everyone already knew: "They''ve broken through and caught Eredd. Now they''re back on our trail." He knelt on one leg and carefully placed one hand on the stone floor so that only the tips of his fingers touched the stone. Everyone froze and watched. After a few heartbeats, he nodded and stood up: "They''re two hours behind us. At least twenty. Their steps are shuffling and erratic, probably all lesser zombies. The higher undead moves too quietly to sense them, but no doubt they''re close behind." He glanced at the exhausted and weakly armed figures around him. His shoulders slumped powerlessly. Only through the silence could his soft words be heard: "Not that it makes any difference." Skorr clapped his hands, which made everyone wince, "We''re not going to sit down and get eaten. If they want us, they''ll find us running. Onward!" The group settled into a reluctant trot, with Skorr and Kardd leading the way. If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. As hours passed, the group slowed down. Again and again, someone stumbled and was hoisted up and dragged along by the others. No one fell behind, but the entire group''s pace dwindled. At a junction, Skorr signaled for a halt. "Stop. Let''s take a short break." He pulled Kardd aside, his voice urgent. "We won''t make it to the exit just outside Mulnirsheim. I see only two possibilities: Either every one of us who can fight makes a last stand so the women and children may escape, or we veer off here onto the plain and try our luck in the open ground. But up there, we have no chance against the undead. I have no idea whether it''s day or night. If it''s night, we''re doomed. During the day, we might stand a chance, as the undead are slower in daylight. Some of the higher undead are even damaged by sunlight. According to many legends, they stay underground during the day and only emerge after sunset. What''s your take?" Kardd glanced back at the group, scattered on the ground, their breaths coming fast. Shaking hands reached for bits of food or sips from drinking tubes. He turned to Skorr, "They can''t fight anymore. Not for long enough to make a difference. We''ll have to risk crossing the plains." Skorr surveyed the group, then nodded reluctantly. Minutes passed as he waited for his people to regain some strength. Duskgnomes were resilient, but the undead never tired. As long as the Gnomes kept moving, they maintained their lead. But whenever they rested, the pursuers closed in. Skorr waited a little longer, then spurred the group forward. Silently, Skorr and Kardd led the way, sometimes side by side, occasionally single file in narrow passages. After a while, Kardd sniffed the air. Skorr followed suit but detected nothing unusual. "What''s wrong?" "There''s a breeze from the front. It carries with it a slight smell of flowers and grass. It''s fresh air from outside. It''s not far now." Skorr was silent for a moment. Then he began to speak firmly: "When we turn up there, I''ll..." Skorr fell silent for a moment before speaking firmly, "When we reach the surface, I''ll..." Kardd cut him off abruptly, "Forget it! You can''t mislead them. The wind will carry our scent straight to the undead. They''ll never fall for it. You''d be sacrificing yourself for nothing." Skorr nodded in agreement, even though Kardd didn''t meet his gaze. Then, without warning, Kardd halted. Skorr took two more steps before freezing too. Kardd pressed his fingers lightly against the rock wall, and the group behind them stumbled to a stop. Kardd wheeled around, silencing the few who still moved until there was complete silence. His fingers detected vibrations in the rock, his face betraying panic for the first time in their long escape, "Someone is coming towards us from the front. A group. Maybe a dozen or more. It''s hard to tell, but there seem to be more footsteps farther behind." "Undead?" "They move slowly and erratically. Stumbling and unsteady. So yes, probably undead." "But we''ll make it to the junction before they do?" "I don''t know exactly where the... They''ve stopped. They must be at the junction." Skorr simply stood still and swayed slightly on his feet. His face was rigid and showed no movement as he stared ahead. "Skorr? Skorr! What are we doing?" The duskgnome opened his mouth, then closed it again, unsure of what to say. The silence enveloping the group of refugees grew deeper, evolving from the hush of a paused conversation to the oppressive stillness of a miner trapped beneath a collapsed tunnel. As the buried miner''s breath faded, the silence intensified, casting a pall over the duskgnomes. Even the children, accustomed to remaining silent, hesitated to breathe. Then, one of the smallest among them, overcome with fear, let out a quiet sob. In the midst of utter silence, the sound of fear seemed to reverberate through the entire tunnel. Skorr''s gaze lifted, a spark of determination igniting in his eyes. "No!" he exclaimed, defying his own inner doubts. "No! We''re not done for yet. We won''t surrender! Kardd, gather those who can fight from a distance. I''ll scout ahead and assess their numbers. We''ll catch them off guard, crush them, burst into daylight, and flee." Without pausing for a reply, he slipped away soundlessly on his soft leather soles. As a stone runner, he was unmatched in his ability to navigate caves without detection. A few minutes later, he began to slow down, startled by the realization that the undead were already dangerously close. Moving as silently as a snake, he crept along the last stretch of stone floor, cautiously peering over a rock into the sloping tunnel ahead. To his alarm, a side tunnel branching off to the right came into view, and before him stood several humanoid figures. Their hunched postures, sluggish movements, and stumbling steps were unmistakable signs of the undead. The absence of heavy armor and the chaotic assortment of weapons further confirmed his suspicions. A tall, slender figure stood amidst the group, towering over the others with her height and upright stance. Strands of straw-colored hair, mottled with varying dark hues, cascaded down past her shoulders. As she turned around, Skorr caught sight of a woman''s face. Her skin was pale as an albino lizard''s, her eyes devoid of life, resembling those of a newt. Deep wrinkles crisscrossed her features. Skorr''s throat tightened. A vampire. Not just any vampire, but one showing signs of age, possibly an ancient from the old Cathurian Empire. An aura of despair enveloped the vampiress, its source unclear to Skorr. Was it hunger, the loss of another prey, or fear of the sunlight? Perhaps it was a deliberate attempt to weaken her enemies, or simply the unconscious projection of her own emotions. The duskgnome observed in silence as the figures glanced around. One of them settled on a nearby rock, causing Skorr to nearly leap from his hiding spot. Undead creatures didn''t rest, didn''t tire. With newfound hope, he scrutinized the group more closely. The vampiress leaned against the tunnel wall. Then, a figure in a hooded robe stepped forward and lowered the hood, revealing a face. "We must press on. Our pursuers draw near." Skorr could contain himself no longer. He rose and shouted, "You''re not undead!" Instantly, the group that Skorr had mistaken for zombies sprang into action. Men armed themselves with bows, swords, and shields. Meanwhile, the duskgnome stood with arms outstretched and palms open. The vampiress approached Skorr, renewed vigor in her movements. "If this is an ambush, you''ll need to explain yourself." "I am Skorr, clan chief of the Seven Pillars clan of duskgnomes." She eyed him suspiciously. "The duskgnomes perished in the Necromancer War." "Unless a miracle happens, we will perish today. But we¡¯re not dead yet." "I am Ulmenglanz, Queen of the Border Forest. Supreme Dryad of the Southern Realms." Skorr noted her deathly pale skin, deep wrinkles, and the effort she put into sounding regal. Though her eyes lacked life, a glimmer of something stirred within them. "You don''t look very regal... or very healthy," Skorr remarked. "Dryads thrive in sunlight. I''ve been surrounded by darkness and damp stone for over a week now. The border forest is ablaze; the dryads vanished with their trees. If you duskgnomes are gone from the world tomorrow, the dryads will be said to be as dead as a duskgnome." "Is that a common saying?" Skorr lacked the energy to get angry, though he wished he did. The man who had addressed the Dryad Queen coughed sheepishly. "It''s a saying often heard in the Northlands, I''m afraid. My apologies. I am Esche, the druid. Time is of the essence, and our enemies are closing in. Can we unite to survive? How many warriors do you possess?" "Warriors? A handful. One hundred and twenty-six women and children, all on the run for weeks. Even the gnomes'' endurance has its limits. We''ve long since reached ours." The warriors, including two female rangers, began to discuss quietly. A burly figure in layered leather armor leaned down to Esche. His hushed voice echoed through the cave. "We''re almost there. Just the tunnel up to the plain and a sprint to the fortress city. We''ll be safe there and can gain XP for rescuing the dryad princess. Our scout should return any moment. What are your thoughts?" Esche pondered for a moment, shaking his head. "We can''t abandon the women and children." "What''s the plan then? Send them up the tunnel and hold our ground down here? We wouldn''t last an hour against our pursuers. We need more of a head start. They''ve got undead and necromancers trailing them too. We''re not cut out for a stand-off. We''d need knights in full plate armor with tower shields for that. Not rangers in light gear. And our bows are useless in these tunnels." "At the top of the tunnel, with the sun behind us, we''d have an advantage. My druid magic barely works underground. But up there... I might be able to summon a tree guardian. When the princess decides on her character class..." The pale woman interjected, "I haven''t made up my mind yet. I won''t be rushed into a decision that will shape the rest of my life! I can only become a cleric with a High Cleric''s approval. And only as a cleric can I learn the powerful healing magic I want. Depending on the church I join. Even without a character class, I still have my knowledge of nature''s magic. Forget the tree guardian. We''ll block the exit with thorny vines. Undead don''t carry torches or lamps. Necromancers don''t know fire magic. Without fire, they''ll struggle to overcome this obstacle." Esche surveyed the group, seeing nods of approval all around. He knelt down before the princess. "Your Highness, we''ll serve you to the end. You can escape while the rest of us hold the tunnel after the gnomes pass through." He waited until she graciously motioned for him to rise. Then he turned to Skorr. "Tell your clan to hurry. They need to reach the surface through the tunnel before one of our pursuers catches up with us." The duskgnome was about to dart off, but then he pivoted back. "We''ll never forget this!" A crimson glow ignited on his forehead, and a shimmering exclamation mark materialized for a fleeting moment before dissipating. Esche, Ulmenglanz, and her companions all received the message: Quest: Rescue the Duskgnomes was automatically accepted. If successful, bonus XP will be awarded for accepting the quest without the promise of a reward. The duskgnome dashed away, oblivious to the mark on his brow. His people would survive! Finally, they had a fighting chance. Chapter 15: Moderator "The duskgnomes are as good as dead. There''s no chance they''ll survive." Invisible to the inhabitants of the virtual world, a golden figure hovered high above the plateau. The senior moderator with the Gamertag "Erzbengel" cast one last disdainful glance at the doomed clan. Rocks and earth did not obstruct his moderator''s view, so he could quickly assess the number and strength of all the groups present. He gestured with his left hand, and a virtual tablet appeared. Glancing at the display, he checked the time shown in his field of vision. More figures appeared at short intervals. Within a minute, thirty more Invisibles had gathered. Erzbengel glanced at the clock, compared two lists, and then ticked off another point on a list: "Improvable, but acceptable. Everyone has visited the waypoints in the correct order and arrived here within the allotted time. With that, you have successfully completed the orientation and navigation training." He fell silent as another voice drowned him out. One of the newcomers chatted with his neighbor without a care in the world: "... besides, we should rename ourselves guardian angels. At the moment, there are enough of us for everyone to hover over a player and keep an eye on them." Erzbengel coughed. When that didn''t help, he became more direct: "Herbert_Mueller! If you want to chat, please at least go to a private channel." "Sorry..." "Good, everyone here should understand that we are still in beta. There are just a thousand players in the whole world. There are currently almost five hundred moderators. That''s a completely insane ratio, even if most of them aren''t even active. But when the beta phase ends in four weeks, and hundreds of thousands of players flood into the world... Trust me, you won''t have a moment''s peace. Even with the help of the AI, which can solve all the standard problems." One of the prospective moderators raised his hand: "Will there also be AI-controlled moderators?" "No. The AI does a lot of work for us but only intervenes via text messages from the world''s voice. So, we''re not in a Q&A session here; that was yesterday. We''ll be happy to have another one after lunch. Now I''d like to show you our biggest problem in the next phase. The quest system." The trainees looked at each other in confusion, but everyone just shrugged their shoulders and didn''t understand. "Yes, I know. Of course, we haven''t published anything about that. You won''t either. Please just read your NDAs carefully before you even say hello to anyone outside the virtual world. So, the quest system. This is a graphical representation of the timeline with the planned course of the world quest." He tapped something on his tablet, and the sky filled it with a straight line of timestamps. "The main plot revolves around the emergence of followers of a once-banished god: Quorll, the Devourer. You can read his backstory later. The idea was that the desert tribes join forces to conquer the world in the name of Quorll. Players can choose a side and help determine how the entire virtual world will develop. With an open ending and multiple possibilities." The timeline branched out into several arrows at the end. "And numerous decision quests." Large circles appeared at regular intervals along the timeline. Before branching out, they got bigger and bigger. "There were hundreds of ready-made quests for beginners, especially at the beginning." Numerous small circles appeared around the upper third of the timeline. "Then there were the automatically generated quests, which the Nemesis AI''s quest system was supposed to generate independently. Distributed by Questgivers everywhere." More and more circles appeared along the timeline, spreading out on both sides. "Clearly outlined. Understandable. Controlled. Prior to that, we aimed for the world to progress after the war against the necromancers. We wanted to simulate a period of peace and recovery before players embarked on the next world quests. The AI was meant to simulate approximately twenty years without player intervention during the four-week downtime before the beta phase. All players were removed from the system since human brains cannot be accelerated to more than five times base speed, even with a neural link in a full immersion pod. Then, the AI operated independently. The programmer in charge did not set an endpoint, assuming there would barely be enough time to complete twenty years. However, the AI progressed much faster than expected due to internal evolution and self-improvement in syntax and formulas. Much faster. Nearly two hundred years passed here!" Murmurs echoed through the open channel, and the moderator noticed a significant increase in discussions on the private channels, although he refrained from eavesdropping out of politeness. "Cultures emerged. New traditions and groups formed. Among them were the Krigesti. And that''s when the confusion began." The systematic arrangement of quest symbols on the timeline vanished. The major quests, positioned at regular intervals, disappeared entirely, replaced by a chaotic jumble of various small and large circles scattered across the timeline. "The initial forest quest was still fairly organized. The defenders fell, and the attackers claimed the forest. But then came the downfall of the god Fliedabarr, whose resurgence was supposed to be pivotal. His demise came with the burning of his final temple. His few NPC followers lost their divine abilities, and the Krigesti now present an entirely different challenge than anticipated." Herbert raised his hand and spoke up immediately, "Couldn''t it all be debugged or reset?" "The Nemesis OS is an Omega-class AI, one of only five worldwide. Just to remind you, these systems were built entirely by the slightly less sophisticated Phi and Chi-class AIs. Humans can no longer fully comprehend their workings and motivations. They can be negotiated with, but there''s no way to externally manipulate them besides complete destruction. The system oversees nearly two million AI hardware cores of different classes for NPC characters spread across an area equivalent to Earth. Everything is built upon the history of past campaigns and countless player interactions. Starting from scratch isn''t feasible. And even if a reset were possible, it would result in bland, uninteresting AI characters. Nobody invests in that. While not all NPCs possess sentient-class Kappa and Lambda AI cores, those with whom players regularly interact do. Numerous drones in the background, non-sentient Alpha-class AIs performing mundane tasks like cleaning or crafting. If a player engages with a drone extensively, it awakens spontaneously. Nemesis assigns it a backstory, personality, and a higher-level AI core. It''s a spontaneous awakening, so to speak." One trainee interjected a question: "Which AIs are sentient again?" The silly question led to a few groans from the others present. The moderator rolled his eyes: "Everything from grade Kappa upwards is fully sentient. Did you miss elementary school or what?" If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. He gestured downwards, directing their attention to the plain below, just south of the pass near Mulnirsheim. "Here''s an example of the issue we''re facing. A player faction has aligned themselves with the god Nistrul, who has issued unplanned and unforeseen objectives to his followers through questgivers. They''re causing havoc completely outside the bounds of the normal storyline. Currently, they''re pursuing the last dryad princess and her escort of player heroes. Most of those involved on both sides have only just returned after a week of real-time downtime. Nemesis has provided both groups with Questbanners." He glanced briefly at the puzzled expressions of the trainees, anticipating their questions. "No, you wouldn''t have heard of this yet. Nemesis devised the concept of Questbanners specifically for this chase without consulting the plot designers, of course. These are three-meter-long poles topped with the group''s emblem, functioning as mobile spawn points. However, they''re only accessible to players who were present at the start of the journey and haven''t used another spawn point since. Like regular spawn points, they''re indestructible but can be stolen and can''t be stored in extra-dimensional containers. If a player logs out nearby, their avatar doesn''t disappear but becomes colorless and follows the group, controlled by a drone AI. It''s risky, though, as they remain vulnerable. Killed players in the party respawn near the spawn banner." The moderators discussed wildly for a while and rushed in with questions. Erzbengel let them go at it for a while and then told the whole group: "I know. That''s what happened when we found this in the server log. Questbanners are revolutionizing the entire structure of our quests. Now, mobile campaigns are also possible. Crusades, wandering travel groups and ships. Nemesis gave us no warning, of course. Why would it?" He looked up briefly, annoyed, but as the AI didn''t respond, he continued: "But on to the current situation: the leader of the followers of Nistrul has used a spawn point near Mulnirsheim and is lying in wait for the Dryad''s group. It looks like he is currently summoning a horde of undead from the remains of a battlefield." The moderators saw the pentagram light up and used their interfaces to analyze the exact nature of the ritual. Impressed murmurs quickly shifted to private channels. The moderator continued: "Be careful if you mess with him. Umbramar''s player name is, of course, confidential, but I can tell you one thing: He is solely responsible for NEMESIS putting a limit on how much real money you can spend on perks in VR. Any issues or complaints from him or about him must be escalated directly to a senior moderator. You do not touch him." "Did the board agree to this? Surely they don''t mind if someone invests huge sums in the game?" Erzbengel grinned: "They were pissed off. But as already mentioned, the AI doesn''t take orders. The NPCs are very close to its artificial heart. Players can use money to gain advantages but must not upset the balance of the game world." One of the moderators raised his hand: "What happens if one of the players goes crazy and goes full-murder-hobo and just kills NPCs at random?" "The game world reacts to murders in a completely realistic way. Investigations are carried out, witnesses are questioned, and the city guard is called. The perpetrator is arrested and sentenced. In the hinterland, it can take a while for something to happen, but this seems to be acceptable for the AI. A player will soon lose interest in the game if immediately arrested everywhere. In prison, a player can log out, but his body remains in prison until he is released. The AI itself does not become active in any of these cases. An exception is when it comes to NPC children. There, the AI intervenes directly." He turned the group''s attention back to what was happening below the plain: "The followers of Nistrul are pursuing the Dryad''s group underground. The princess is completely devastated by several days of light deprivation." The ground became transparent for the moderators. Red circles marked the individual groups. "Then here''s the next complication, which is not part of our original plan. The duskgnomes did not die out in the war of the necromancers as originally planned. One clan survived and tried to dig up one of their old cities. Only to find that a whole horde of undead were still locked up there, which are now free. The current player groups are not skilled and equipped for fighting the undead but should be able to cope with the few undead if the necromancers wipe out the gnomes, raise their corpses into more undead and then attack the villages of the plain. So that''s not a catastrophe. But both groups immediately come up against the player group with the dryad princess. The quest that our plot designers had worked out after the Battle of the Shieldwood gave them several options. A fight against the pursuers, a chase to Mulnirsheim through the tunnels or a breakout onto the plain and then a fight at the exit or on the open plain. There is also a tunnel that leads to Mulnirsheim, which ends in a dead end below. But the players have done their homework and discovered the trap by researching the capital''s archives. We have a lot of players who are really into research, and there are always important tasks for them. If no one had found a map of the Deep Paths, they might have walked right into the dead end." He took a deep breath and pointed back down to the level: "A player blocked the exit, so that''s okay. But the second group of enemies full of undead is complete overkill. There will be a lot of complaints because the quest was impossible to complete. Hard is okay; impossible is not." He looked down disapprovingly. One of the apprentices raised his hand: "Can''t we intervene? Have another NPC group show up or at least a few crates of healing and mana potions?" Erzbengel winced and looked around nervously: "Please, never suggest anything like that again. That would be cheating for the benefit of a group. NEMESIS hates that. If the AI finds out that a moderator is giving players information or equipment outside of the game or otherwise interfering in favor of a player, they''re out. Permanently. If the AI bans someone from the virtual world, no one can do anything about it. Incidentally, your contract automatically provides for termination without notice in this case." He wanted to take the opportunity to go into the subject further, but a message in his field of vision distracted him. He groaned: "What''s going on now?" He scanned the data displayed in his field of vision and frowned: "Several NPCs have just emerged from the heart oak, which is a focal point of the druids'' teleportation network." The moderators watched as the three new arrivals chatted. After looking at the levels of the new arrivals, the moderators quickly agreed that the three would be irrelevant for the course of the ensuing battle. One of them thought of another question: "Are there any Perms involved here?" "Good question, but we don''t know that. All parties have NPCs with them. Any one of them could be a perm. Perms have to live permanently in the game world. Nemesis has, therefore, decided not to make them recognizable. Players can only distinguish between NPCs and other players by their behavior, which significantly increases the immersion effect. Distinguishing players and Lambda AIs is practically impossible without having a conversation about off-world topics. No NPC can answer questions about the music charts or the current president of the World Council. Moderators can, of course, identify players, including their real identities. But not perms. They are managed exclusively by the Nemesis AI. They can identify themselves and make requests to moderators, but this will rarely be necessary." "Are they also subject to the rules for players?" "If you mean the age check, yes, it''s fully active. Nemesis also introduced it to all NPCs during the downtime. Remember, the restrictions depend on the age of the chosen persona, not the age of the player. However, players cannot create characters that are older than themselves. As far as I know, this also applies to Perms. As of this update, only Perms can receive noble titles from Count and upwards. So, if you see such a noble, then he is also a Perm. The best known are currently High King Cariolus, Federova the First and Othello, the new Patriarch of Mulnirsheim. Noble Perms can request a group of hunchbacked servants from the system. You won''t find them anywhere else. Iota class AIs are just below sentient in terms of complexity but very good at carrying out orders. Good for simple helper jobs, but absolutely pacifist. Remember: If you think a perm is completely out of line, cheating or breaking the rules, come to me or one of the other senior moderators. Under no circumstances do you make contact yourself." "What do we have to expect?" "Well, last time we had player fight clubs, monster girl brothels and gambling dens where people played for real money. None of that should happen again. But above all, you need to keep an eye on the AI quests. Add any quests you see to the database so we can keep up to date." Chapter 16: Weylan The first thing Weylan noticed was a pounding headache. Then, the smell and taste of earth and a cool, damp feeling all over his face. Although he couldn''t see anything, his field of vision was filled with stars and weather lights. He felt dizzy and was somehow glad that he was lying flat on the ground... With his face in the ground... Slowly, his survival instinct kicked in, prompting him to wriggle and struggle until he managed to push himself upright. With a series of coughs, he expelled dirt from his mouth and hastily wiped it from his eyes and nose. Blinking, he tried to look around. Something was glittering in front of him. With a cautious hand, he cleared away more debris from his eyes and focused on the object in front of him: a dagger, poised menacingly mere inches from his face. "Don''t move!" He froze and limited himself to blinking hard until he could recognize who was in front of him. Loreanna held the dagger, still dripping with blood, threateningly and ready to strike: "You will not burn me!" His first attempt to speak ended in coughing and more dirt spurting out. Then he managed to say: "We have a quest! I thought it was to prove your innocence." "I didn''t do anything bad! That bitch stole my boyfriend from me. With her golden curls and her fat ass swinging around." "And that''s why you wanted to kill her?" "What? No! The ritual they caught me in was to make their hair fall out. Nothing more. That would have been quite enough for that shallow no-good to drop her like a rotten plum. Not that it would have helped me explain that to the council." A groan made them both move around. Trulda sat up next to them, holding her head firmly with both hands: "Hold her down so I can bash her head in." Weylan didn''t move but grinned at the unexpectedly bloodthirsty tone. He tried to sound reassuring: "Isn''t that a bit exaggerated?" "She rammed us through a tree!" "I had no intention of taking you with me. Be glad I was able to hold the spell. If I hadn''t noticed you at the last moment and actively included you in the spell, you would have come out somewhere else. Most likely in more than two places." Weylan held his open hands at his sides to show that he had no intention of reaching for a weapon: "If you know such a useful spell, you could easily have earned a fortune as a messenger between the city and the village." "Treewalking is a spell that is only possible with druid magic. No one else can access the connection between magic and nature." Before Weylan could ask the obvious question, she continued: "I used his own life force to amplify his magic. That re-triggered the last spell he cast." Trulda still looked at her angrily, but kept her clenched fists down with difficulty in the face of the dagger still pointed threateningly at Weylan: "I''ve never heard of such a thing." "Only necromancers and witches know sacrificial magic. Neither group tends to tell their secrets around. Especially not when it comes to working magic by killing living beings." "I can imagine. It''s probably better that way. There are already enough reasons to hate witches." The witch, her dagger now lowered, shot Trulda an equally intense glare. "Oh really? And what alternatives do you suggest for healing in these remote areas? Have you come across any temples nearby that train healers? Or alchemists brewing healing potions? In truth, there are hidden witches in every village. We concoct healing potions and gather herbs to ward off plagues and alleviate the ailments of the elderly. It may not be conventional healing magic, but it''s better than nothing." Trulda''s emotions shifted from a simmering rage to a sense of skeptical distrust. "So you chose this class to aid your fellow humans?" "To be completely honest... No. I simply wanted to cast curses on a few nuisances who''ve tormented me for years." The two looked at each other for a moment, then laughed at the same time. Trulda''s fists unclenched, and Loreanna put the dagger back into a sheath. Weylan''s gaze swung back and forth between the two of them in surprise. "I am Trulda. This here is Weylan, the shepherd. Did you really think we wanted to see you burn at the stake?" "The guy from the city guard who picked me up said the court case was your idea." "And you saved us anyway?" The witch looked indecisive for a moment, then shrugged her shoulders: "I haven''t had time to think about it." Weylan held out his hand: "If your first reaction is to save others, you can''t be such a bad person." The witch thought for a second before she smiled and took his hand. Trulda remembered something: "Wait a minute, didn''t she just murder the druid?" Loreanna shook her head: "Blood magic is a quick, painless death. I had nothing to help him. The alternative would have been to watch him die for another two or three hours. Admittedly, wanting to save myself made my decision easier." The three of them looked at each other in silence for a while until Weylan cleared his throat and said: "I''m just glad I didn''t have to decide that." He remained silent for a moment, then straightened up and announced in a suddenly very official tone: "Be that as it may, with regard to the accusations made against you, I find you guilty as charged." Loreanna took a step back, and her hand went suspiciously back to her dagger. Quest: Witch fire completed successfully. Delivery of material reward is not possible. 60 XP Trulda looked briefly surprised at the message: "60 XP. That''s nice. Not enough to level up yet, but it''s a good step." She noticed that Weylan was also staring at an invisible message and looked surprised. Level Up denied. Promotion to Assassin Level 2+ requires personal training by an Assassin of a higher level. Choose another class from the generally accessible list instead? He postponed the decision on an alternative class choice for the time being. Trulda nudged him: "Everything all right? Did you get any more information as a Questgiver?" "No, I also got the XP for completing the quest this time. That''s strange... Ah... A clue has appeared..." His eyes twitched back and forth for a while; then he grinned: "Nice. The World Voice has adjusted the rules. Questgivers can also receive quest rewards, but only for quests generated by the World Voice. Not for those created by the Questgiver themselves." Loreanna relaxed again, "You had a quest to judge me?" Weylan shook his head: "No, we should just find out if you''re guilty and prove it. I thought that meant we were supposed to prove your innocence. But after you confessed, I guess that counts too. With all the wolves we defeated last week, I''m at level 2 now." Loreanna shrugged her shoulders, unimpressed: "Level 2 shepherd. I''m impressed." She looked at him a little more closely and hesitated for a moment: "Although... At your age... That''s actually not bad." Now that no one seemed to be trying to murder anyone, Weylan looked around for the first time. They were standing in the shade of a large oak tree, whose trunk had numerous fine cracks from which wisps of smoke drifted upwards and disappeared into the tangle of leaves on the mighty branches. Fresh green leaves and small pieces of branches covered the ground all around. The oak tree itself was on the top of a slight hill. Hilly grassland stretched out in three directions, and in the last direction, the mountains rose steeply into the sky like a stone wall. "Does anyone know where we are?" Loreanna nodded: " A day''s journey south of Mulnirsheim. I''ve been there before with my teacher to trade herbs and procure ingredients. That makes it clear where I''m going. Do you want to come with me, or would you rather go back to those sheep villages?" Weylan barely opened his mouth to answer when the shadow of the oak tree in front of him was illuminated by red light. Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road. Local world quests available! "Save the duskgnomes" The last clan of duskgnomes is in mortal danger in the underground paths. Enemies on all sides. No way out. Their apparent hope is a fledgling alliance with Princess Ulmenglanz''s group, who are also being hunted to exhaustion. But their pursuers are close at hand. Task: Save the duskgnomes from extinction. Bonus task: Accompany the duskgnome clan to a safe place. Reward: Dependent on the degree of success and individual participation. Penalty for failure to pass: The duskgnome race disappears forever. Since there was no penalty for the quest taker personally and world quests were famous for their generous rewards, he accepted the quest immediately. The two women started asking questions, but he just raised a finger and motioned for them to wait while he read the rest of the quest information. A rough sketch of the area appeared, showing two red pulsing circles moving from different directions on lines towards a crossroads. Four paths led from the crossroads, one of which ended after a stretch with a question mark. The red circles approached on two of the paths. The last path ended at a third red circle, which pulsated and grew larger and larger, although it did not move. At the intersection itself, there were two glowing green circles that just overlapped. "So... I think I''ve got it. There are tunnels below us. Four of them meet at the location of both Princess Ulmenglanz¡¯s group and the duskgnomes. Both groups seem to be allying. One tunnel leads into the unknown, enemies are approaching from two others, and one tunnel leads to the surface back there." He pointed in the direction of the mountains, where a bush-covered hill blocked the view. "But there''s a third enemy waiting, which is getting bigger and bigger on the sketch. Maybe they''re digging themselves in or building an ambush or something. In any case, it''s getting more and more dangerous. On the sketch I can see, the symbols for both underground enemy groups are each larger than the green circles combined." Trulda accepted the quest without a word; Loreanna looked at them both in confusion: "What''s it to us? It sounds like we should get out of here as soon as possible! This is a quest for a whole horde of revenants." Weylan shook his head: "The princess''s companions are revenants. Apart from that, there is no one within reach who could accept the quest." "So, that doesn''t make it any better for us." Trulda looked thoughtfully at the hill: "If we do nothing, they will die in any case. The last dryad queen and the last duskgnomes. Disappeared. Forever." Loreanna shrugged and turned to leave: "They die even when we try to help. There''s a reason why revenants are resurrected after death. Otherwise, they''d never be crazy enough to go on quests. We don''t have that advantage." Trulda nodded thoughtfully and looked at Weylan: "Your decision. If you think we should try, I''m with you. But I won''t think you''re a coward if you suggest we go elsewhere." His gaze went over to the hill: "We can take a look at the smallest group of opponents first. Maybe we can help without facing an army of knights in an open-field battle. Quests aren''t offered if you don''t stand a chance." Without paying attention to the two women, he set off. The two looked at each other briefly and then followed, shrugging their shoulders. They had to wind their way through the increasingly dense bushes for the last few meters. As they approached the top of the hill, Weylan got down on his knees. He carefully pushed himself forward on his stomach for the last stretch. His companions walked alongside him, bending only slightly at first, but when they heard a soft voice declaiming something from the other side of the hill, they followed his example. The three of them came to the hilltop, pushed forward a little until they could see the area beyond and looked around. Three hundred paces down the slope, the terrain became flat until, after half a mile, it reached the foot of the mountain. A few individual trees and lots of bushes had taken hold on the hill. Further down, flocks of sheep had kept everything short. Only grass grew until only sand and stones covered the ground in the shadow of the mountains. Erygren, the smallest of the three moons, cast its greenish light over the landscape. The last glimmer of sunlight still glowed over the peaks of the mountains. In the open area stood a figure dressed in a dark robe with a man-sized staff and a Harefolk woman with towering ears in loose cloth armor. In front of them, a vast pentagram had been carved deep into the ground through the short grass and filled with a reddish-brown liquid. Dozens of dead sheep, their blood drained, lay strewn haphazardly around the pentagram. Weylan spotted a human figure, almost obscured by the animal carcasses. He said a silent prayer to the gods. It could have been him. It was clear that these revenants had sacrificed both a flock of sheep and a shepherd in the name of some sinister ritual. The man''s voice echoed deep and unnaturally loud through the dusk as he slowly paced around the pentagram, declaiming unintelligible words in an unknown language. Greenish mist poured from the eye sockets of the skull at the tip of his mage staff and spread all around to form a layer over the ground. The blood in the pentagram bubbled, and the three observers could detect the smell of iron. Swathes of green condensed in many places and burrowed into the ground. In these places, the earth cracked open, and rotting corpses rose from the ground loosened by the fog. Their clothes had fallen apart, but they still wore rusty remnants of chain mail and leather armor. In their hands, they held short spears and musty wooden shields that threatened to crumble from being carried around. The fog around them seemed to be attracted to them. It crept up their legs and seeped into their bodies. The empty eye sockets began to glow green. Weylan narrowed his eyes and muttered, "The fog is being sucked into the weapons and armor, too. Are they getting cleaner?" Loreanna told him to crawl back. Only when they were a good distance away on the other side of the hill did she begin to speak quietly: "He summons the fog of Nistrul. It turns all corpses into undead and repairs bodies, weapons and armor. Witches can also learn this if they make a pact with Nistrul." She hesitated as her two listeners stared at her: "What? My mother told me that during my training. She strongly advised me not to get involved with Nistrul. A witch already has a hard time being accepted when she is exposed. A necromancer witch from Nistrul? Please. Even I would set myself on fire if I got involved in something like that." Trulda thought about it and then said hesitantly: "Can he start a necromantic ritual so early? The sun hasn''t even set yet." The witch shook her head: "The sun has disappeared behind the mountains. As long as he doesn''t try it in direct sunlight, the ritual is hardly more difficult. The darker it gets, the more powerful the ritual will be. The longer it goes on, the stronger the undead will become." Weylan studied the whole thing for a while. Then he signaled the two of them to follow him and retreated down the hill to confer. Weylan rubbed his beardless chin thoughtfully: "Why are there any corpses in the ground at all? Why didn''t they burn them like they should have?" Trulda nodded: "That''s right. It¡¯s against custom. But they''re all armed and in armor. This has to be a former battlefield. After a battle, there''s often no time to burn the dead." Weylan didn''t sound convinced: "The Brotherhood of Undisturbed Sleep would have had more than enough time to take care of it." "The Brotherhood was only founded after the war against the necromancers. Perhaps this is older. Nistrul may have sent his priest a vision that he will find something here. Or maybe he''s been researching old battlefields in some old archives that the Brotherhood has so far missed." Both women nodded thoughtfully. Then silence fell over the group for a few minutes. Loreanna looked around once more and then stood up. She nodded to the other two: "Well, it was nice meeting you. As far as I can see, they''re all concentrating on the duskgnomes and the talking plant. So, the way to Mulnirsheim should still be clear. We''ll see if I stay there or move on to the kingdoms. It was kind of nice to have met you. Do you want to come with me?" Weylan looked up at the hilltop with indecision. He neither knew the duskgnomes nor had he ever seen a dryad. Especially not this princess. He owed those strangers nothing. Leaving would be the most sensible thing to do. Anything else was madness. The opponents they had to deal with here were far stronger than he and the two women. Higher levels, better equipment, magic powers and undead warriors. It would be suicide to stay here. Just like when the wolves had attacked his herd. In his mind''s eye, he once again saw the wolves tearing up one of the lambs and then circling around his beloved dog. How they snapped at him. Hurting him until he was too weak to continue fighting. Then they tore out his throat. Bellmart had fought to the last. He had defended his herd. While Weylan sat cowardly in the tree and watched. Anything else would have been suicide. The wolves were too strong. They were outnumbered. He had had no other choice... It had been logical not to intervene. It had been sensible. Weylan was tired of being too weak to do the right thing. He straightened up, and his face took on a determined expression that none of his childhood friends would have recognized: "No. I''m staying here. You go and report back to the town what''s going on. No one likes the undead, so they''ll send out soldiers to catch the necromancer. Now that there''s another plague, there might even be a few heroes who are keen on the world quest. Tell them the Questgiver is waiting on site. Something tells me, however, that this will be too late for the besieged. I can feel them running out of time. They need someone to intervene now and open a way out. I will wait a little longer until it gets darker and the green ghostly fog thickens. Then I sneak up on the guy and backstab him. The undead crumble to dust. The duskgnomes and the dryad princess get out of their trap and walk with us to Mulnirsheim. Before the other pursuers catch up with us, you come to meet us with a fighting force." Trulda tilted her head and looked at him for a moment: "Are you serious?" "Do you have a better idea?" She shook her head." Loreanna looked at the two of them: "Are you insane? This is a suicide plan. There''s a priest necromancer. Probably high level. With a new plague starting, he could be a revenant. You know the stories. They''re not afraid of death. They take completely insane risks. When you finish them off, they come back the next day. Only angrier." Weylan nodded: "But if he is a revenant and succeeds here, he will level up a level or more. If things go as in the legends, Nistrul will reward him and give him additional magical powers and abilities. Then we''ll have another necromancer powerful enough to start a new necromancer war." Loreanna hesitated, then shook her head: "A good reason not to stop in Mulnirsheim but to move on." Trulda put her hand on his shoulder and smiled at him encouragingly: "I''ll stay with you. Someone has to stop the bodyguard." "Can you sneak?" "Not good. But I can run very fast. You go ahead, I''ll charge in only after you''ve been spotted. The necromancer priest walks in circles around his summoning pentagram. It''s on the side with the entrance. Grab him when he''s on our side. I don''t think she can run through the magic thing. We''d have to make it to the bushes over there at dusk. From there, I can get to you faster than she can. With Llurd''s luck, she won''t even notice me before I hammer the quarterstaff into her skull." The witch''s gaze flitted back and forth between the two of them: "You''re both stupid. But fine. Your decision. I''ll be on my way." Shaking her head, she turned around without another word and stalked off, bent over. After two hundred meters, she switched to an endurance run. Trulda reached into her ample cleavage and pulled a battle staff from the Cleavage of Holding. Weylan glanced quickly to the side. She nudged him: "Are you blushing?" "It''s just the excitement." "I thought so." Her grin widened. "The excitement of the fight coming soon." "Of course." Chapter 17: Jezebel Jezebel leaned bored against one of the few rocks that broke up the monotony of the landscape. Greenish mist swirled around her legs, and the pale moonlight was made all the duller by the glow of the ritual pentagram. Her hand absently stroked the thin fur of her forearm. The cool wind blowing down from the mountains could only be felt on the tip of her sensitive nose. The undead had positioned themselves in front of the tunnel exit and, on her instruction, had piled up a small semi-circular wall of dirt. Directly in front of it stood melee fighters with rotting wooden shields and rusty swords. On the rampart directly behind them were skeletons with spears. The mist wafted over the undead and slowly seeped into them and their equipment. Bones became firmer, and gaps in the flesh closed. Rust slowly disappeared from the weapons, and the rotten wood strengthened. It was about as exciting as watching accountants at work. Jezebel heard a noise behind her and looked around. She could just see Umbramar disappearing backward into the fog. Of course, the clumsy fool had stumbled over his own feet again. How someone could generate a character with such poor physical stats was beyond her. Seconds passed. She paused. Even this clumsy oaf shouldn''t need that long to sort out his legs. Had he managed to hit his head on a stone? With Mr. Kruger''s avatar''s low constitution, that could knock him out immediately with a bit of bad luck. Shaking her head, she started to move around the pentagram. He had warned her not to step into it, as that could cause unpredictable reactions from the ritual. Surely, he just didn''t want to bother carving the thing into the ground again. It had taken an eternity the first time. She winced as the tip of her nose began to twitch nervously. She suppressed a curse. The designers could have adapted her breed''s reaction to the perception of potential danger a little less precisely to the behavior of rabbits. Sniffing was particularly useless here, as the sulfurous smell of the necromantic mist masked everything else. She looked around. She couldn''t put her finger on it, but something had changed. Everything she saw seemed normal. As normal as it could be in the middle of a necromantic ritual. The mist billowed up to chest level, and she couldn''t see anything from her waist down. Fortunately, the ground here was smooth, and they had removed all obstacles before the ritual. Then she saw it. The undead, who had stood rigidly in their positions until now, looked around. Two of the spearmen were striding down from the rampart. "Mr. Kr¨¹ger... I mean, Umbramar! Get up already and take care of your undead. They''re getting out of control!" Something brushed past her leg. She let out a cry of surprise. Not a shrill squeak. She would tear out the arm of anyone who claimed that. She looked around. Fortunately, no one had heard that... Shapes rose out of the fog, not in an orderly fashion like before, but everywhere at once. Jezebel ran in a semicircle around the pentagram glowing through the mist. She bumped into an obstacle with her foot. Something grabbed her leg! The mana adept channeled magic into her physical strength and tore the skeletal hand off her foot with the next step. The still, firm grip choked her blood. She had to stop and kick the bone hand off with her other leg with a powerful kick. The mist billowed upwards beside her, and a zombie in plate armor raised a huge two-handed axe as she stood up. A quick step brought her right in front of its chest, where she could smell the zombie''s foul breath. She spun, kicked him out of the spin, jumped over him and kept running. The leg muscles of a rabbit-like race were the only reason she was halfway satisfied with her race choice. Newly awakened skeletons swung swords at her. She dodged the clumsy strikes. "Umbramar! Everything''s completely out of control here!" Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a movement that was faster and more straightforward than the undead appearing everywhere. A village girl ran low to the ground directly to where Umbramar had disappeared. She cut through the fog like the fin of an attacking shark in the sea. Jezebel didn''t let on that she had seen the attacker. Just before she got to where she wanted to look for the necromancer, the girl let out a loud battle cry and twirled a long staff above her head. Jezebel shook her head inwardly. Far too soon. She shouldn''t have announced her attack so early. Even someone who didn''t have as highly developed perception skills as she did would have had enough time to prepare. Just a fool... It was like hearing the voice of her self-defense teacher back in the real world: "Never assume that your opponent is less capable or dumber than you. If you''re right, it gives you no advantage. If you''re wrong, you''ve already lost before the first blow is struck." Jezebel saw and heard nothing, but in the limited visibility, it meant nothing. She threw herself to the side in mid-run and redirected her movement into a blind spinning kick through the fog. Something moved under the mist, and something cut her leg. She used a little mana to activate a pain-blocking ability, ignored the cut and switched to the other leg. The first kick missed, and then she saw movement in the mist. The attacker was crouching and moving through the fog. This made him difficult to see, but his head was easy to reach. She used mana to accelerate her movement briefly and was in front of him before he could react. Her knee thundered against his face. He must have sensed the blow at the last moment because he was already straightening up, going with the movement and taking most of the energy out of the attack. It was still enough for a bloody nose, but she didn''t break his nose bone as planned. Quick as thought, she channeled mana into another skill and struck him in the chest with the flat of her right hand. Lightning flashed as the Stunning Strike skill became active. His constitution was surprisingly high but not high enough. He still managed to groan and break his fall instead of smacking his face full on the ground but then lay limp. The fog closed over him again. Jezebel ducked and rolled acrobatically to the side to avoid the expected blow from her second opponent. Completely unnecessary, as it turned out. The peasant girl had been stopped and was currently engaged in a duel with a tall zombie warrior wielding a two-handed mace, which he swung slowly but with irresistible force. He could barely hit her with it, but the meager blows with her staff bounced off the chain mail with no effect at all. Jezebel straightened up, crossed her arms and watched comfortably after making sure there were no other enemies nearby. At least none, apart from the undead, who were only interested in their immediate surroundings for the time being after getting up. If there was no one there, they bathed themselves silently in the necromantic energy of the fog for the time being. Jezebel got her bearings. She had an open path out onto the plain. If necessary, she could easily outrun the undead in the open field. Satisfied, she turned her attention back to the duel. The redhead wore a short leather skirt with an ordinary square neckline. Who went into a fight like that? And what kind of fighting technique was that? Neither HEMA nor kendo. Presumably, the style was prescribed by the system for primitive weapons. Staff fighting required sophisticated techniques. The fact that quarterstaffs had been categorized as primitive had annoyed her when she first read the rules. The zombie warrior took a deep breath and a stream of mist billowed up in front of him like an inverted tornado and disappeared into his mouth. The peasant girl took the opportunity to deliver a blow that would have shattered a human''s sternum, chainmail or not. The undead¡¯s body cracked softly, but since he didn''t need his chest muscles to breathe, it didn''t affect him. With a roar, the undead charged forward. The peasant girl backed away, tripped over something in the mist, fell backward and disappeared from sight. The zombie warrior raised the mace into a mighty two-handed slash and thundered it downwards. Jezebel took a few steps closer to see if it had hit. Wood cracked, hidden in the mist, and then the peasant girl reappeared. In her hands, she held two short pieces of wood. All that was left of her quarterstaff. She had parried the blow with it. The mana adept was impressed. The girl had fire, you had to give her that. Jezebel would have liked to watch for a while longer, but the undead began to move on all sides, attracted by noise and fighting. She sighed. The peasant girl wouldn''t earn her any XP. It was immediately apparent to Jezebel that she had too low a level for that. Fighting the undead wouldn''t gain anything either since they were technically on her side. But if she hurried, she could at least have a little fun and train her hardest to level skill. With a quick decision, she briefly paced on the spot. The powerful hind legs of her hare-like race lifted her half a meter into the air without any effort. She aimed, then charged forward and spiraled into a murderous leaping kick straight at the zombie''s head from behind. The spine broke with a rotten crack, and the head flew forward. Like a wet sack, the zombie warrior toppled forward. Jezebel bounced back, channeling the momentum into a few backward flick-flaks, then landed near the bumpkin she had stunned. Although she couldn''t even see him, she stamped her foot demonstratively on the ground, "Oh dear, did I step on your friend?" She kicked at the empty ground, but the farm girl couldn''t see that through the green glowing haze. "Oops, now I''ve hit his head. How clumsy of me." You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story. The peasant girl snorted, flung the pieces of wood to one side in disdain and bent down into the mist. Jezebel raised an eyebrow. She had expected a savage attack with an attempt to bite, scratch and pull hair. Was she trying to hide instead? Jezebel wasn''t in the mood for a chase in the fog. Then, the teenager straightened herself up again and swung the long mace she had taken from the zombie warrior. Jezebel raised an eyebrow: "You''re using the two-handed mace? If you think that counts as a primitive weapon that you can use without a fighter class, then you''re wrong. You can''t even hit a tree with it." The peasant girl reached out and started moving in her direction. The mana adept spread her arms and closed her eyes: "Wait, I''ll close my eyes. I won''t take the hit willingly because then even a little peasant bitch like you could hit. But with my eyes closed, my parry is almost at zero. You just have to hit it. Go on! Give it your best shot!" She heard Trulda''s gritted teeth and the quick footsteps with which she came running. She grinned inwardly. She had successfully baited the girl. Instead of just striking, the girl would try a running assault attack. That was a maneuver anyone could use. With the deductions an attacker got on their defense for three seconds after a failed maneuver, Jezebel could finally practice her deathblow skill. Against even halfway adequate opponents, the penalties for this complex strike were so high that she almost never hit. Since it was only increased on success and a success killed the opponent immediately, there was no way to find a training partner for it. At least not a voluntary one. At some point she would have to slaughter a goblin village or something similar to increase the skill. Even if she didn''t get any more XP for these low-level monsters. With her eyes closed, Jezebel couldn¡¯t see Trulda''s eyes suddenly crisscrossing with red angry veins. Her muscles stood out, and she sped up. The tavern wench, her eyes blazing with fury, sprinted past Jezebel without slowing down. She swung her mace with all her might, adding her total momentum in the double-handed strike: "Eat that!" The loud voice and murderous rage in her attacker''s voice made Jezebel open her eyes, but it was too late. Before she could react, her skull exploded like a ripe melon when the heavy mace hit her with full force. Critical strike against feeble opposition. Upgraded to critical hit: damage doubled. Headshot: no armor protection. Assault attack maneuver: Speed added to weapon damage. Total damage: Instant kill! Opponent defeated: Jezebel (Mana Adept, Level 6): 120 XP * * * Jezebel blinked as the virtual waiting room appeared around her. She stared uncomprehendingly at the news of her death. How had this happened? She looked around the room. Her boss had set up a shared virtual room for the two of them. She wouldn''t necessarily have gone for the "old English country house" style, but the roaring fire and the high leather armchairs were quite cozy. Lolling on one of the virtual armchairs, Mr. Kr¨¹ger looked up: "Well, did they get you too?" "I... It seems so. The farm girl must have landed a lucky hit. Can happen. And you?" "I was in the middle of the ritual when someone covered my mouth from behind and plunged a knife into my kidneys with the other hand. Twice. Then I was tilted backward, and someone cut my throat. Did you see the perpetrator?" "Only fleetingly. Some village urchin. Both were teenagers. Didn''t you have any protection spells active?" "I couldn''t. All other active spells would have disrupted the ritual. Gives nasty deductions." He pointed behind her. When she turned around, Jezebel discovered a wall-sized screen floating in the middle of the room behind her, representing her last fight. The image froze with the hit. "Nemesis popped up a screen so I could watch your fight. It was always from your perspective, so I couldn''t see anything that your avatar couldn''t see. It was still very amusing. So, my money''s on a steppe barbarian." "Never in my life. More like a barmaid, or whatever it''s called here. Maybe a courtesan or one of the artisan classes." Her employer waved her off: "You''re too distracted by her looks. She had almost the same sprinting speed as you, even without magic. Only very few classes get movement bonuses like that. She wielded the two-handed weapon professionally. Now, guess who gets an assault attack as a feat at level 1? Also, did you see her eyes at the very end?" Jezebel shook her head. The last thing she noticed was the mace coming towards her face. He let the image rewind a little so that she could still see it blurred out of the corner of her eye. "Bloodshot, full of red veins. Definitely berserker rage. Gives bonuses to physical strength, hit rolls and damage." Jezebel admitted defeat, waved him off and sat down in an armchair next to him. "Shall we track them down and return the favor?" The necromancer shook his head: "They got us fair and square. Clean timing. Well executed. Must have taken a lot of courage to sneak through the fog of an active ritual. I assume they had a quest to thwart the summoning." "They didn¡¯t look to me like normal players. Their clothing is much too authentic. No armor and only the most primitive weapons. But NPCs don¡¯t get quests or take part in world quest events, or do they?" "There was some news last week, trending in all forums. During the downtime, NPCs have learned to access the skill and leveling system. Nemesis even grants them quests via the Questgivers once NPCs get into the official plot or world quests." "Does that change anything about your plans?" "Not really. Nistrul''s will be done." He grinned. "We''ll just have to manage without Markus Gruber. He''s decided to work as a blacksmith in the city and not go on any more adventures for the time being. The physics engine is supposed to be awesome for blacksmiths. He said he''s learning a lot for his medieval history degree." "Markus Gruber, our IT nerd?" She had talked to the technician when he had installed new hardware in her or Mr. Kr¨¹ger''s office. His stories had been surprisingly exciting. She had almost wanted to try out VR herself. But only almost. She laughed. "Gromm, the crusher is going all crafter? I''ll believe it when I see it." "We can spawn in the capital tomorrow and take a look." "Changing the spawn point offline is quite expensive..." "Don''t make a fool of yourself. We''re still well within the limit that the Nemesis AI allows a single player in bonus buys. Besides, I will still replace your losses in-game." "Losses? I didn''t have any items with me when I died." "Not that, but Nemesis has taken seven gold pieces from you and generated them as loot." She didn''t really care about virtual money, but here it was a matter of principle: "Can the AI do that?" "Who''s going to stop it? She must have been really impressed by the barbarian. Oh yes, try not to get too shocked when Mr. Gruber tells you who he''s settling down for." "Mister: ''The massacre on the blood fields wasn''t gory enough for me'' has a girlfriend? Wow. It''s about time. I have to meet her. What''s her name?" "Kevin." Jezebel blinked. "Oh?... Oh! Okay. Good for him." "Didn''t see that coming either, did you? You¡¯ll love those two. I wonder if they''ll take their relationship to Real Live or leave it here in VR." "Speaking of Real Live..." She called up her own screen and studied her boss''s schedule. "Taking time compression into account, you have a meeting with the Supervisory Board next week. Before that, there are a few meetings planned with the department heads without a fixed date." "The decisions on the new Group strategies. This time, I will study the agenda more thoroughly. Last quarter, I almost blindly waved through the plan to save 6 million Bitcoin a year by replacing part of customer service with AI bots." "Sounds sensible. AI bots are faster and don''t get upset by even the stupidest customers." "We would have laid off over a thousand long-serving employees for this. They only know our products and internal processes, not much else. Nobody else would take them on. At least not for a wage they can live on. Something like that can cause enormous publicity damage if it goes viral online." She made a few notes and sent out appointment requests to the department heads. "I''m impressed by how calmly you''ve taken this defeat, Mr. Kr¨¹ger. I would have raged if someone had stabbed me in the back so close to success. I guess that''s the end of your planned career in the Church of Nistrul." Umbramar leaned back calmly in his armchair. A footstool materialized so that he could comfortably place his feet on it: "The quest is far from over." "How is that? You were killed before the ritual was completed. Umbramar''s undead will simply drop down and lie there. The dryad escapes and Nistrul withdraws his favor from your Umbramar persona. At least if I''ve understood the gameplay correctly." "That would have happened if a necromancer had performed the standard ritual. As a priest necromancer in favor of Nistrul, I still have a few aces up my sleeve. After my failure, the undead were sustained by Nistrul''s divine power. That effect did cost me a few permanent points from my mana reserve, but I can regenerate them with some expensive elixirs. The undead still have orders to move into the tunnel in formation and hold it as soon as I''m gone. No one will get past." Chapter 18: Weylan Weylan regained consciousness for the second time in a day. "Ouch! Everything hurts. What''s happened? I thought I had completely surprised the bodyguard. How could she see me?" Trulda helped him up and gave him a weak healing potion: "I don''t know. She suddenly took a dive just before you could pounce on her. I think you even hit her." "Not good enough. What happened after knocked me out?" "She taunted me and told me to try to hit her. I grabbed a big mace and smashed her skull in." She looked around nervously in the slowly thinning fog: "Shouldn''t the undead be falling over? The necromancer has been dead for a quarter of a candle now. They''re still scurrying around aimlessly." He looked around in alarm: "Not aimlessly... They''re gathering in two rows in front of the entrance. They''ll march off at any moment! No one will get out alive! Why aren''t they disintegrating like they should? That''s unfair!" "No idea. From all the stories I''ve ever heard about the Necromancer War, this should have worked. We should get out of here. Right now the zombies don''t care about us, but that could change at any time." She took him by the hand and started to leave, but he didn''t move. She looked around in confusion: "The mana adept dropped a few gold pieces, I''ve already taken them with me. If the necromancer himself also left loot, it''s gone in this damn fog. It''s really not worth it..." "No." He put more determination into that one word than she had ever heard from him before. "No, I''m not just going to give up. The Voice of the World is counting on us to save the duskgnomes and the dryad. There is no one else here. I''m not going to run away. Never again." "This is crazy. You''re a level one shepherd with a rusty knife. That won''t help you against the undead." "I''m not planning to fight three dozen undead. I''ll run past the undead before they march in. If I sprint off immediately, I can still make it. You don''t have to come with me, it''s enough if one of us warns the travelers below." Trulda stood there indecisively for a second, then shrugged her shoulders: "Of course I''m coming with you. We set off together to experience an adventure, now we''ll get through it together." "We didn¡¯t... never mind. Later." He nodded his thanks to her, then turned and raced as fast as he could in an arc towards the tunnel entrance. The undead were still gathering and awkwardly sorting themselves into two lines. As he approached, the smell of damp earth, rot and decay hit him. Empty eye sockets focused on him. He swallowed and slowed briefly, then gritted his teeth and accelerated again. Bony arms raised their swords. A zombie warrior with leathery mummified skin protruding from between the remains of a chain mail shirt left the formation at the rear. Indecisively, he shuffled into Weylan''s path and raised his spear to thrust. At the last moment, Weylan dived under the tip of the spear and then close to the undead. The zombie thrust at him with his spear, but too slowly. Weylan was already past. The undead kept shuffling along until he was almost directly in front of them. Only then did they react. Too slow. Too late. Weylan''s legs began to ache, but he kept up the pace. He ran barely two meters past the undead. Swords plucked at his clothes and scored his skin. A morningstar swung at him at head height. He stooped under it without breaking stride. A skeleton was irritated by the noise behind him and stumbled out of the formation, right into his path. Weylan had no time to dodge. Close to the obstacle, he turned his right shoulder forward. He weighed far more than the skeleton. With his momentum, he would sweep it out of the way. Or so he hoped. While the skeleton was still raising its shield and swinging its sword high, he collided with the pale ribs of the unprotected ribcage. The skeleton, with its much smaller mass, was thrown to the ground. He stumbled and stepped on the spine with his foot just below the ribs. Rotten bones cracked. As he ran on, his foot caught on the ribs. He stumbled. With an effort, he pulled his foot out of the ribcage. Bones splintered and flew in all directions. The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. He caught himself with his hands and tried to regain speed, but stumbled forward on his hands and feet for the next few steps. The reaction of the undead was already overtaking him. Spears and swords began to move. He got back on his feet, but then immediately had to duck low again. An axe swept over his head. Too slow. He was too slow. Another skeleton stepped out of line. He just managed to get past them. Then a spear shaft hit him in the back. He barely avoided being thrown to the ground again. Something grabbed his right arm and pulled him forward. Weylan''s arm almost dislocated from his shoulder joint, while his whole body was pulled up and two steps through the air. Out of pure reflex, he started running again. He found time for a quick glance to the side. Beside him he saw Trulda, still grinning, holding his hand, "No time for a nap." "Very... funny..." As soon as he was up to speed again, she let go. Just before the entrance, they jumped over the wall and straight into the entrance. Behind them, the undead started to march. They ran into the tunnel. After a few steps, it became gloomy and then a wall of darkness appeared in front of them. Weylan stopped and cursed. "I can still see by the slightest light, but not completely without light." He turned around, but the outline of the entrance that had just been visible was already darkening as a double line of undead marched into the tunnel in unison. "Crap. Do you have a light?" Trulda reached into her cleavage and pulled out a flaming torch. Weylan flinched, "How did you do that?" "Eternal torch. I bought it for two gold pieces from Johann, the traveling merchant. Expensive, but an investment that will last a lifetime." She glanced over her shoulder: "Go on!" The tunnel became steeper and the two of them slowed down a little. Weylan suddenly stopped and held onto Trulda: "Wait! There''s someone up ahead." They pressed themselves against the wall. The footsteps of the undead continued to echo through the tunnel from behind. Trulda looked back nervously. Nothing happened for a moment, then lights appeared from below. Glowing fist-sized orbs that flashed back and forth. Two men came into view. Both wearing the classic leather armor of rangers. Before Weylan could show himself, they both stopped, looked at Trulda and drew their swords: "We can see you! Don''t try to hide." Weylan stepped away from the wall and they both flinched, "Hey, there''s another one!" Weylan looked at Trulda and grinned involuntarily. Shadow affinity was handy. One of them was human and... Weylan involuntarily took a step back into the shadows. The flares were now too close and illuminated the wall around him. He remained fully visible and had the opportunity to take a closer look at the unusual figure. Pointed furry ears protruded from two matching holes in his leather helmet. His arms and face were very hairy in all visible places. A short but thick black beard nestled around the chin. Weylan''s gaze, however, was drawn most to the protruding mouth, which was home to a large number of pointed teeth. Teeth that the ranger showed in a broad grin. The human looked at him and Trulda suspiciously for a moment, then smiled and raised the tip of his hunting spear upwards towards the ceiling: "Greetings. How does it look up there? We''re coming up with a whole adventurer group. Is it still daylight? How''s the weather?" Weylan''s grin evaporated: "The sun has just set. But you''ll never get to see the weather." "What do you mean, stranger?" The dog-faced one sniffed and growled, "Undead. A lot." Weylan nodded in confirmation. The human waved him off: "The air is rising from below. You probably just smell the hordes of the undead behind us." "What?" Trulda ignored the swords and charged close to the two. The hunting spears came down. She came to a halt just before the tips, but ignored them. She pointed upwards behind her: "The undead are marching into the tunnel from above. Listen up!" Everyone fell silent and the sounds of marching became clearly recognizable in the silence. The two scouts looked at each other and became visibly paler in the face: "Oh man! Up there too? How many?" "More than three dozen. Armored and armed warrior skeletons and zombies." The scout blanched: "Undead in front of us, undead and murderers behind us... Follow us, we must consult with the princess and our leader Esche." Trulda and Weylan looked at each other and then nodded to the scouts. Without further discussion, they trotted downstairs. Chapter 19: Skorr Callad The two new arrivals, the dryad, Esche the druid and the duskgnome himself bent over the map that Skorr had hastily spread out on the ground. The duskgnome pointed to the individual markings: "Our enemies are here, here and here. The exit to the top is blocked. With so many enemies, we have no chance of breaking through. The undead would simply block the passage with their bodies. Our pursuers are the largest group. Undead necromancers, probably liches and a horde of common undead. As soon as they meet the undead in the corridor, they will probably take control of this group as well." The druid beckoned the two new arrivals forward: "You are the two who made it down before the undead?" The young guy nodded, "I''m Weylan, this here is Trulda..." The druid waved him off: "Just the facts, not your life story. We''re a little pressed for time here." "Well, we''ve been given a quest to rescue the dryad princess and the last clan of duskgnomes. Completely unprepared. Then we stood up there and had to watch the summoning of the undead. When it got dark, we sneaked up and managed to take out the necromancer." "You killed him?" The boy nodded proudly: "The necromancer and his bodyguard. Both level 7." The dryad, who had been listening passively, intervened: "If you had really caught the necromancer, his undead would have been destroyed too." "We expected that too. I..." She interrupted him: "And you waited until it got dark and the incantation was complete? Great work. You know what, they fooled you. You probably killed some illusions." "No, that can''t be, we even got XP for it!" "At best, the two were a distraction. The real necromancer is probably a lich hiding among the undead or one who has turned invisible." The boy wanted to protest, but his companion put her hand on his shoulder. When he turned to her, she shook her head and said quietly, "It doesn''t matter now. The undead are still on the move. The way up is blocked. That''s all that matters." The dryad princess made a snide hand gesture: "Well, thanks for trying. Now go, we adults need to plan how to proceed." The boy blushed, but before he could say anything, the young woman pulled him back a little with surprising force. The druid gave them an apologetic look, but then turned his attention back to the map. Skorr intervened and pointed to the tunnel where the dryad''s group had come, "Your pursuers are coming this way. I don''t suppose you see any chance of overpowering them?" Esche looked around briefly and then took over the answer when no one else made a move to do so: "We wouldn''t have fled for so long if we saw a chance. We can''t defeat any of the three enemy groups before the others show up." One of the rangers kicked a stone in annoyance, which then flew close to the dryad''s face: "This is simply no fun anymore. I''m logging out. I''ll just lose a level. I''ll see you in the capital." Esche raised her hand as if to hold him, but the ranger disappeared, flickering. The dryad only raised her eyes wearily: "Anyone else?" Two other members of the group disappeared. Group cohesion lost. Members have left the quest group and chosen other spawn points. Quest banner deactivated. The metal sign on the banner came loose from its holder, fell to the ground with a clatter and disintegrated into a pile of metal splinters and rust before the eyes of those present. Esche raised an eyebrow: "Okay... I wasn''t expecting that. It would have been nice if we''d been warned beforehand that quest banners react like that." Skorr noticed how the young shepherd turned to his companion and asked her what a quest banner was. The young woman, who was wearing a suede dress completely unsuitable for traveling, merely shrugged her shoulders. Skorr snapped his fingers to get the druid''s attention again, "No time for your revenant stuff." The dryad nodded to him in agreement and pointed to the map: "What about the tunnel here?" Skorr shook his head wearily: "Dead end." The dryad princess shook her head and pointed to the dwarven characters: "It says that the exploration was stopped there because no signs of valuable ore deposits were found. It doesn''t say anything about the tunnel actually ending there." Everyone stared at the dryad in amazement. She looked up from the map: "What?" Esche put the group''s surprise into words: "You can read dwarven runes?" "Of course. The Shield Forest protects the most important trade route between the United Kingdoms and the desert tribes. We have... had... constant contact with dwarven trade caravans. As well as with elves, lizardmen and orcs. When they met with us, trade agreements were often made. Your peoples always have to put everything in writing." She raised her hands apologetically: "I don''t want to offend you, but your races are just terribly forgetful. Dryads never forget anything. My mother took me to all the negotiations. Many of our guests wanted her there as a witness or neutral party. Afterwards, I had our guests explain the scripts to me. I read and write the trade language, dwarven, elven, a little creator language and a few lizard glyphs. The lizards usually use the trade language for contracts, so I couldn''t pick up much there." She brushed the subject aside with a gesture and tapped her finger on the card again. With every word she seemed to become more active and livelier. Her previously stooped, tired posture straightened up: "No matter where else we stand, the other groups will stab us in the back. We can''t defeat any group of opponents. Especially not so quickly that the others can no longer intervene. So, we dodge into this tunnel. With a bit of luck, our opponents will fight each other. Otherwise, we can face a single front there. The undead won''t give up, but the revenants... If we can hurt them enough they don''t enjoy it anymore, they might just disappear." She glanced meaningfully at the spot where some of her companions had just disappeared. "And if there is still a way to escape back there..." Esche nodded: "I don''t see a better option. Anyone against it?" Everyone shook their heads. Skorr rolled up the map and put it in his backpack. Esche raised his voice so that everyone could hear him: "The duskgnomes and the princess go first. Behind them, our two new arrivals here. All the adventurers follow close behind. At the first suitable position, we will line up for battle. A position where we can deploy our archers would be ideal." One of the fighters raised his fist and shouted: "To the last man!" The reaction was less enthusiastic than he had expected. "If I have to." "Maybe I''ll level up before we all die. Then at least I''ll get out zero to zero." "Fine by me." "Epic last stand!" At least one of the rangers tried to muster up some enthusiasm. Four of the duskgnomes took over carrying the dryad tree, while the princess watched like a mother hen to make sure nothing happened to the little tree. The leaves had already faded considerably and the thin branches were beginning to droop. A few of the gnomes sacrificed their meagre supplies of water to water the little tree, which earned them a grateful nod from the dryad. The duskgnomes quickly disappeared into the entrance to the chosen tunnel. The sound of battle could already be heard from the caves further back. The revenant rearguard was holding off the Nistrul cultists with battle magic. Skorr hurried to the druid Esche: "Your fighters are very powerful and weave great magic. Why can''t you just defeat your opponents?" "They are just as powerful as we are. Our mages and druids are using up all their mana in no time at all. As soon as they run out of magic, they''ll be running for their lives. By then, your people should be in the tunnel and have a decent head start. I remember stories from the Necromancer War where you undermined enemy strongholds with tunnels. Faster even than the dwarven sappers. Can''t you collapse a tunnel behind us?" "We''ve tried that many times. Stone shapers take too long. Besides, our last one sacrificed himself together with a warrior to give us a bit of a head start. Necromancers break through thin stone walls with magic. Zombies can quickly clear away small cave-ins. Bringing down a large amount of rock takes too much time." "So, no obstacles. Too bad." Karrd came running up: "According to the vibrations in the stone, the necromancers are only a few tenths of a candle away." An elven ranger came from the other direction: "The undead have stopped in the exit tunnel about ten meters from the entrance and are blocking it. Three with shields in front, then spearmen. They''re close together, it''s like a wall of stinking flesh, weapons and armor." Skorr looked questioningly at the druid. He just shook his head: "We already knew we wouldn''t get past so many of them in a tunnel." They watched as the last duskgnomes disappeared into the tunnel. The last of them carried the dryad tree. The dryad did not take her eyes off it. The duskgnome followed them with his gaze: "If it''s a dead end after all, we''ll all die." Esche bent down to give him an encouraging pat on the shoulder: "You will. But they''ll only get you after they''ve taken out the last of us." "You''ll be back tomorrow. We won¡¯t." Esche''s put-on happy face evaporated: "I''m sorry. I''m just trying to be positive." "Thank you. I know you¡¯ll at least feel as much pain as we are. I..." "My pain sensitivity is set to 20%. In case of traumatic sensations, the interface automatically shuts pain down completely. I''m sorry." Skorr didn''t understand the words, but understood the meaning: "You don''t have to apologize. It''s good that you don''t have to suffer." He nodded to the druid one last time, then set off and followed his people into the tunnel. The revenants followed behind him. A tired bunch, barely twenty warriors. Most in hardened leather armor or soft buckskin. Many carried sticks strung across their shoulders and small spears. Skorr had heard of bows and arrows, but the purpose of them in the winding tunnels of the underworld eluded him. A thrusting spear was far more effective. He gripped his weapon tighter and followed his people. Two of the humans hurried after him. A young man and a girl. The boy stared at him from the side. He probably thought it was inconspicuous. He knew from the trader who had visited his clan every year that humans had problems recognizing where a duskgnome was looking. Most people found their pupil-less dark gray eyes irritating. Without looking, he raised his arm to the side in a flash and pointed at the boy''s face: "Do I have spots on my head?" "What? No. I''m sorry. I didn''t mean to stare." Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation. "But you managed it surprisingly well." "I thought..." "That all the duskgnomes are long dead?" "No! Yes, the legends tell of it. You created the alchemical metal Solenium, which was the bane and curse of the undead and turned the tide of war." The young woman looked astonished: "That was damn well worded. Where did that come from?" He blushed and stammered a little. "It¡¯s from a story called the Song of the Twists of Fate. My mother used to tell it to me before I went to sleep." "Can she only do the one story? How sad." "No, she knew a hundred stories. But this was the one I always wanted to hear. Of the courage and ingenuity of the duskgnomes. It doesn''t take much for a great and strong warrior to face his enemies. But a gnome? Less than a foot tall? I always found that much more impressive." Skorr stopped and looked at the human with wide eyes: "Really?" "Really." "Then I will die knowing that we will be remembered fondly." The woman intervened: "Stop being so theatrical. There''s always a way." Skorr gave her a friendly nod: "I have resigned myself to my fate. There is no need to try to give me hope." "We have a quest to save you." "You probably won''t succeed." "That hasn''t been decided yet." She flashed a strangely knowing smile: "You forget the law of the world." Skorr stood still, thunderstruck. Then he quoted what he had forgotten so far: "Where there is a quest, there is a way. The voice of the world never grants quests that are completely impossible for the quest taker." She bent down a little and held out her hand to him. He immediately chimed in, "I''m Skorr Callad." "Trulda." "Weylan the shepherd." The duskgnome started moving again, closely followed by the two somewhat surprised humans. He spoke without turning around: "We can''t do anything back here. Three novice fighters won''t turn the tide. If there''s a way out, we''ll find it at the front." After pushing past the dryad, Weylan noticed a shadow following him. With his hand on the dagger, he wheeled around and looked directly into the eyes of the dryad princess. He hastily took his hand off the dagger handle: "Your... Highness?" "Call me Ulmenglanz. I just heard your conversation. If there''s a chance to avert the fate of doom, I''m in." "Can you fight well?" "Not really." "Do you have powerful magical powers?" "Not anymore." She lowered her eyes and slowed her pace to let herself fall back again. Weylan took her hand and pulled her lightly behind him: "Then you''ll fit in perfectly with us." At least four heroes with a common quest goal have found each other. Form an official adventurer group? Skorr looked back at the others. Weylan nodded enthusiastically, the dryad made a questioning gesture and Trulda shrugged indifferently. He shook his head and chose yes. What is the name of the adventurer group? Now everyone reacted almost simultaneously: "Weylan''s Four" "The saviors of the greys" "Bouquet of roses and heroes" Trulda was last to make a proposal: "Nonstandard Party of Charismatic Specialists¡± Everyone looked at her questioningly. She grinned, "NPCs?" Name Accepted. "NPCS" Leader: Skorr Callad Trulda narrowly beat the dryad princess to the punch with her question: "Why is he the leader?" Selection criterion: Highest level. Change possible by majority vote. She turned to Skorr: "That''s okay. I just wanted to know what criteria the World Voice uses to choose." Skorr nodded. He noticed a glimmer in his field of vision. This was not his first time leading a group, so he knew what it meant. He focused on the glow and his name and the names of his team members appeared. Below them were red bars indicating their current health status. All of them were currently in full health. Only the dryad had a blue bar underneath, but it was translucent. She was the only one with a mana supply, but it seemed to be currently inaccessible. Group formation adventurer group "NPCS" Skorr Callad (Duskgnome) Tunnel Scout Ranger, level 8 Trulda (Human) Steppe Barbarian, level 5 Weylan (Human) Shepherd, Level 1 Ulmenglanz (Dryad) No class Skorr suppressed a groan. This was the lowest level group he had ever seen. Hero groups didn''t usually take anyone under level 6. And the dryad... he had assumed she had the magical powers of a druid. He looked through the remaining settings and adjusted the XP distribution. Distribution of XP within the group set to "Fill up" The others looked at him questioningly. Skorr rolled his eyes: "Have you no idea how groups work? We can either distribute the XP evenly or give it all to the team member with the least XP. That would be our dryad until she catches up with us. Won''t make much difference to us, but we have to choose a setting." The dryad unconsciously ducked her head slightly and spoke very quietly: "I still have 1000 XP. So our two youngest team members are more likely to get that." "A thousand XP? Then why haven''t you chosen a class yet? You have a mana pool, so you could choose a magic class. Not mage without an academy, of course. And not witch or druid without a teacher, but charlatan, healer or warlock should work. Maybe even mana adept..." "No." The dryad shook her head wearily. She had obviously had this discussion several times before: "I have been a cleric of Fliedabar, Keeper of the Woods, all my life. I will become a cleric of a god again as soon as I find one worthy of it." "To become a cleric, you need a high cleric to ordain you. We don''t have anything like that here. And a class would give you power now. Skills we need now." The dryad princess crossed her arms resolutely in front of her chest: "I won''t spend my life with a class I don''t want." "Without combat or spellcasting abilities, that will be a very short period of time." "Then so be it." Weylan hesitantly interjected: "Couldn''t... Couldn''t you choose a class now and then choose cleric as your second class later?" Trulda shook her head: "That''s not possible. You can only have one class that uses magic. If she chooses a class that uses her mana pool now, she can never become a cleric. Clerics use mana too." The dryad nodded in confirmation. Skorr quickened his pace, annoyed, "Can you do anything useful without a class?" "I can punch opponents in the face." "Unarmed close combat? That''s of little use against warriors in plate armor." The dryad wordlessly clenched a fist, rammed it against the rock face and then held it pressed against the stone. Nothing recognizable happened for a moment, then the rock burst apart, blasted by countless fine roots that had drilled into the rock from the dryad''s wooden skin. When she yanked her fist back, a hole remained. She glanced around as if to elicit further comment, but everyone just stared at her in surprise: "I may not carry weapons or armor, but I''m perfectly capable of defending myself. It''s not just my skin that''s made of living wood. My whole body is made of it. No vulnerable organs, no blood or resin drooling out of me through wounds." Weylan nodded thoughtfully: "What about fire?" "What happens if you try to set fire to a freshly felled oak log?" He grinned: "Not much. Just smoke and wasted tinder." "Exactly." Skorr now walked on a little more confidently. They overtook the remaining duskgnomes and after a short time came upon a larger cave. Skorr looked around: "This is where the revenants can set their ambush site. The stalagmites form a narrow passage here at the entrance. A few warriors can block the way here. And from up there, the archers can shoot over their heads." He looked questioningly at Weylan: "That is how these things work, isn¡¯t it?" Weylan nodded: "I think so. I''m not particularly good with bows. And only average with crossbows." Skor''s whisper was loud enough in the silence of the cave for everyone to hear: "Would have been too nice if someone here had a meaningful fighting ability." The group hurriedly left the cave. The tunnel became steadily lower, so that the people soon had to walk slightly bent over to avoid hitting their heads on uneven parts of the ceiling. Then the tunnel also became narrower. Many places showed traces of work where dwarven prospectors had removed obstacles that they could not even get past sideways. Even Skorr struggled to walk straight and the humans were just plodding along sideways. No one complained. The excitement of what they would find was too great. A way to the top? An underground river? Or access down to the Underworld Network? Then the tunnel simply ended. Skorr lifted his glowstone and looked at the rock face in disbelief. No scratches, no chipped places. The dwarves had simply turned around here. He scanned the wall. Then he held the fingers of his left hand spread out against the wall. With the other hand, he pulled a prospector''s hammer from his belt and struck the rock. He listened. He wasn''t as good at listening to stone as Karrd, but the result here was clear. He turned to the others. His gaze and the posture of his slumped shoulders said enough. Nevertheless, he added a slight shake of his head. Weylan looked over his head. Then down to him: "Solid rock?" "At least twenty paces. Probably more." The shepherd looked at the rock again: "Theres no way to defeat our enemies and there is no way out. We''re missing something. Can you test the passages to the side?" The duskgnome just nodded and the group moved back a hundred meters. Then he banged against the wall on the left. He was about to take his hand away when something caught his eye. An echo. Tiny, faint... But it was there. He motioned to the others to remain silent as they began to speak. Unwilling to make even an unnecessary sound, he shooed them back another ten steps with gestures. He waited until the sound had died away, then he hammered again. This time with full force. Stone splinters and sparks flew to the side. "There... is something from directly above us. An echo. Sharp. I can''t describe it well. You''re not stone-listeners. But... it''s a passage with hard edges. Very faint. Far away, or very small." The dryad beat the others to it with her question: "Will that help us? Can we dig a tunnel there?" He started to shake his head, then hit the stone again. He listened. His brow furrowed and with his bald head, common among gnomes, it pulled back surprisingly far. He waited and fended off any further questions. A hundred heartbeats passed. Then he hammered again. Frowned even deeper. Waited. Hammered again. Trulda tried to see between the others: "What is it? Can''t you see exactly what''s in the stone? The result won''t get any better if you try several times." Skor''s voice clearly showed that he couldn''t believe what he was saying: "But it is! The source of the echo is getting closer. Fast." The dryad took a step back and prepared to flee: "Stone worms? That''s the last thing we need. I''ve heard about these monsters from the dwarves. These creatures dig through the stone with acid. Where they break into mines, a corrosive gas flows into the tunnel. Unprepared dwarves without suitable protective spells die like flies. There is hardly anything that dwarves are afraid of. Or at least that they admit to being afraid of. Stone worms are one of them." The duskgnome hammered against the rock once more and felt the vibrations in the rock with his fingertips: "No stone worms. Their tunnels are round. Different echo. And stoneworms aren''t that fast either." He took a step back and motioned to the rest of the group to fall back: "It''s about to break through." He stowed the hammer back in his belt and drew his weapon. The others moved back down the corridor. A rectangular piece of the rock about the size of a childs head on the corridor ceiling dissolved silently. A hand-sized winged figure floated down elegantly and beckoned to them: "Follow me, if you want to live!" The fairy was female, had long hair and black butterfly wings with an intricate pattern of golden lines. She wore a simple linen wrap skirt. She beckoned them to follow and fluttered back up the tunnel. Skorr stared after her and protested, "I can''t even fit my head in there!" Heartbeats passed in breathless silence. Then the grinning fairy floated down again: "Just kidding. Malvorik still needs a while to widen the tunnel to the right size." She turned around and called up the tunnel: "Even though I still think it''s pure madness!" Skorr couldn''t hear a reply, but she seemed to be listening to someone and then shrugged her shoulders in a complex wing movement, "Yeah, yeah... I get it. Women and children." She turned back to the small group of adventurers: "He needs another quarter candle. You''re really lucky that his mana pool was almost full. Otherwise it would have taken hours." Skorr looked up at the straight rectangular hole upwards: "Who, and for what? Forgive me, little fairy, but what are you talking about?" She started haltingly, but then spoke more surely: "I am the... familiar... of Malvorik. A... mage. Exactly. A powerful mage who has his home here. Hidden! A secret home! That no one is allowed to know about. You''re not going to tell anyone about his refuge, are you?" "No, of course not. Can your mage help us? Can he enlarge the tunnel so that we can go up?" "That''s the plan. He''s creating a way for you to get up to the Mulnirsheim sewers. You should then be able to make it to the surface easily via the canals." The duskgnome looked past her up the smooth tunnel: "Does this Malvorik also install steps or stairs?" "Of course. Stepping holes at the right distance and depth for duskgnomes. Humans will find it a bit difficult, but will also get through." "And your master, he can enlarge the tunnel in a quarter-candle? I know my way around tunnels. Even a group of our best stone shapers would need days to do it." The fairy began to buzz nervously around Skorr: "My master is very powerful. And stone is his specialty. He''s an arch mage!" "He has the rank of archmage?" "He builds the best arches. A true architecture mage." Skorr wondered: "There''s no such thing... Oh, I see! He''s an archmage who specializes in the elements of earth and stone? That would explain it." "Then that''s exactly it. You are so clever. Now go! Get the others. The tunnel will consume all of Malvorik''s mana. He won''t be able to help you in any other way." Weylan nudged the duskgnome with a grin: "Well, didn''t I tell you? A quarter of a candle? We can easily last that." Skorr looked up the tunnel again: "How far is it to the top?" The fairy looked up indecisively: "A hundred paces? A little more? I have no idea. I haven''t measured the distance." "Then we need at least the same amount of time again to get everyone to the top." The duskgnome beckoned the three others to make their way back: "When the tunnel is finished, my clan must already be here. We must not lose a moment." Chapter 20: Weylan When the group arrived back in the cave, Skorr immediately rushed to organize his clan. The duskgnomes had huddled together in the back of the cave, still undecided, and now they marched into the tunnel in single file. Trulda put her arm on his shoulders: "Well, how does it feel to be right?" "Good." He seemed distracted. "Why the long face?" "There is always a way to pass a quest. That doesn''t mean it''s easy. Or that everyone involved will survive. We¡¯re not safe yet." Trulda nodded slowly as she thought. Then she said, "In the stories, only a small portion of the revenants survived most battles. The rest came back the next day. Just in time for the victory celebration." "Except we''re not coming back." The barmaid hesitated for a moment, then seemed to make a decision: "Weylan... if anything happens to me..." He straightened up and pushed out his narrow chest: "I''ll save you. Don''t worry." She rolled her eyes: "No! That''s exactly what you''ll not be doing! You will run." "What? I''m not leaving you behind!" She hesitated once more, struggling for words: "I... My class is Steppe Barbarian. If I get into a fight and go into rage, I won''t be able to flee." "Barbarian? How? Why?" "How is a long story. Why is quickly explained. No other class has such good bonuses to traveling speed and survival in the wilderness. I can run all day at a steppe trot if I have to. I also get a strength bonus when I get angry. Let''s just say it''s not impractical for carrying barrels." "There''s always been a rumor going around the village that you really hate getting barrels out of the cellar. Dorm once claimed he saw you stomping up the stairs swearing wildly with a big barrel in your arms. Nobody believed it, though, because none of us could carry that kind of weight on our own." "I remember. I thought his eyes were going to fall out of his head." "Beer must really piss you off if you enter rage at the sight of barrels." "It''s an advantage. Triggered Wrath. I can go into rage on command. The only problem is that I can''t just calm down again." "But I can''t just leave you behind!" "You can''t take me with you. While raging, I would bludgeon you if you tried to remove me from the fight. I can''t control that. But I can manage. I have a warrior class, you don''t. With the bonuses I get from raging, I''m superior to most revenants. As long as they don''t use magic or ranged weapons. Besides..." She hesitated again. "... Just promise me. Okay?" "All right." The noise of battle interrupted the conversation. The two hurried to one side of the cave and climbed over a slope of rocks to an elevated position where two archers had already settled down. They stayed far enough behind the two to stay out of the way and peered over the shoulders of the kneeling archers. One of them, an elf, looked back at them and nodded when he recognized them. Weylan pointed to the entrance of the cave: "How is it?" "Five of us rolled some rocks inside and dug in. Our magic casters have cast every protection and buff spell they know on them. That should hold off the undead for quite a while." They looked down at the cave entrance. A dozen adventurers had formed a semicircle in front of the entrance. Another half dozen, like the two with them, were in elevated positions. Battle cries and the clanging of weapons sounded muffled from the entrance. Weylan looked into the back of the cave. There, the duskgnomes formed up neatly in a line and disappeared into the narrow tunnel. You could tell they had done this many times before. Everyone knew their place. He leaned against the stalactites and prepared himself for a long wait. As he lolled himself into a comfortable position, he noticed that Trulda was standing there tensely: "Trulda? Sit down, this is going to take a while." She shook her head without taking her eyes off the cave entrance: "It won''t. It''s not just undead, there are liches and, above all, revenants." "So?" "The... In all legends, they always think of something to remove obstacles. Every bottleneck, every boss, every dungeon. Everything falls at some point. Always faster than expected." "I thought they were only level 5 or something. What can they do?" "I don''t know. That''s what scares me." The noise of battle from the entrance died down and they both looked down tensely. Another moment of silence. A shockwave swept out with a loud thunderclap. Smoke and dust were blown out of the tunnel by a magical wind, blocking the view. The defenders, who had been looking over their cover, were hit without warning and knocked over. Coughing became loud. The rocks with which the passage had been blocked floated into the cave on flat bowls of energy, passing between the surprised, dodging defenders. Weylan stared down with his mouth open. He only half-listened to Trulda''s words: "Transport spell. Usually used to transport equipment or loot over short distances. Level 2, I think." Before the confusion could subside, enemies stormed out of the corridor. At the head of the attackers, a warrior in chain armor stomped in with a tower shield raised high. However, the archers had chosen their positions well. Arrows whizzed in from various directions and heights. Two stuck in the shield, three more hit his legs. One stuck in his hip, the other two hit his shins, which were only protected by leather splints. Both left bloody wounds, but fell out again as he walked. The warrior didn''t react to the hits, but went for the nearest defender unimpressed. The ranger struck with his spear. The warrior pushed the spear aside with his shield, took a quick step and struck with his mace. The ranger skillfully dodged the blow and struck again with his spear. While the warrior held his shield to the side to ward off more arrows, the thrust hit his chest. The spearhead scraped across the metal, but did not find enough purchase to break the rings of the chain mail. An arrow from the side, which was not protected by the shield, pierced the chain mail at the shoulder and lodged there. Still unimpressed, the warrior stomped forward and swung again with his mace. The ranger dodged at the last moment and parried the next blow with his two-handed spear. More enemies stormed into the cave and the defenders laboriously rebuilt their semi-circle in order to make the most of their numerical superiority. However, too many attackers had already come through the narrow passage. Weylan wheeled around as quick footsteps approached from behind. He already had his hand on his dagger when he recognized the duskgnome. Skorr nodded to him casually and walked over to the archer, who had just loaded another arrow. The duskgnome reached to his belt and pulled three arrows from a pouch that must have been larger on the inside than the outside: "Take these. These are the last ones left. Only one per undead. Aim for an unarmored spot. The tip is soft and won''t penetrate metal armor. Shoot at warriors. The temptation to wait for liches is great, but they almost always use magic to protect themselves from being hit at all." The archer looked at the arrows in surprise. They looked completely normal, except for the tip, which was made of a golden metal that glowed from within. He took his arrow from the string and dropped it carelessly on the ground. He picked up one of the new arrows in awe: "This is Solenium, isn''t it?" "Of course." Weylan drew in a sharp breath. Trulda looked at the others uncomprehendingly: "Sol... what?" "Don''t tell me there''s something you don''t know? Did you mess up your Bardic Knowledge roll?" "You know I¡¯m not a... There''s no time for this now! What''s that?" The archer ignored the two and was already putting the arrow to the string. He took aim in a heartbeat. Breathed in, breathed out. Let go. The arrow trailed a glowing trail behind it. The arrow struck the unprotected forearm of the undead warrior and stuck there. Everyone in the cave felt a vibration in their bodies. As if a huge drum had been beaten right next to them. The warrior stopped and froze. His gaze turned to the spot from which a sensation completely unfamiliar to his decaying flesh emanated. Pain. His opponent drew back his spear and prepared to strike, but then waited in irritation. The arm began to smoke around the shaft of the arrow. Then the whole arm burst into golden flames, which quickly spread over the whole body. The magical fire burst outwards from the inside of the helmet visor and every crack in the armor. The upper body toppled backwards and broke off. Trousers and chainmail pants fell over to the side. Gray ash trickled out of the openings. Weylan whistled through his teeth, "By all the gods..." The archer also looked frozen at the commotion, which had come to a standstill for a moment. Trulda nudged him from behind: "Don''t fall asleep. Keep shooting! We have to push them back into the entrance." The archer nodded and placed the next arrow. Weylan looked guilty: "Shouldn''t we go down too? Maybe we can help." "They are revenants. If they die, they''ll be back tomorrow. If you die..." "We can''t just watch!" "We intervene when they are almost defeated. You cover my back. And you run before they catch me." She forestalled his objection: "I''ll follow you." Two more arrows lit up the cave with golden light and two more undead fell. The defenders closed ranks and pushed the undead back. After firing some normal arrows, the archer gave up, annoyed, and lowered his bow: "I could as well shoot at trees. Undead are almost invulnerable to arrows." Weylan looked at the fight that was now crowding around the entrance. More of a shoving match than a fight. Rangers in a semicircle had rammed their spears into the undead and were holding them in the entrance with brute force. A dark shadow arched outwards like a tentacle. Esche the druid stood a little way behind the others and had been waiting for just such a thing. He raised his hand and a greenish light shone from it, countering the shadow. One of the archers ran down and began firing arrows from the side into the dense mass of undead. Weylan only gave a questioning grunt, but Trulda understood what he was asking: "He''s using armor piercing arrows to nail the undead together. It may barely hurt them, but it reduces their mobility." As the last of the duskgnomes left the cave, two of the largest undead rolled up a waist-high boulder by levering it with groaning and cracking spear shafts. Trulda looked down at the whole thing, somewhat uncomprehendingly: "By the Cathurian Chimera, what are they doing down there?" Weylan sounded unsure: "Did they chase so many undead into the corridor that they''re stuck now? I mean, it would have made sense to rush a first wave through and then attack with the real warriors when we''re all busy in here. We held them off too quickly and... are we winning?" One of the spears cracked and an undead fell forward out of the formation. Two more trampled over his back towards the defenders. Weylan could clearly see that all the defenders were already busy. Some drew melee weapons while still bracing themselves against the spears holding back the rest of the undead. The defense began to waver. Trulda pulled the two-handed mace from her cleavage, "Damn! This is far too soon. Come on!" Weylan followed her down the stony slope. He came to a skidding halt at the bottom and looked straight into the open palm of Trulda, who stopped him: "You''re not a melee fighter. Help with the spears, but if they break through..." "I''ll run. All right." They sprinted off. Trulda grumbled over her shoulder: "Why don''t I believe you..." "Because I''m a terribly bad liar?" The two arrived at the entrance. An undead warrior was pushing his way through the rows of revenants behind his tower shield. Weylan rammed against the shield at full speed to push it back. The warrior staggered for a step as he walked, then simply pushed Weylan back. The young shepherd stumbled in surprise and fell. His reflexes took control and without really knowing how, he steered his momentum into a backward roll and immediately got back on his feet. Skill learned: Dodge (Layman I) Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon. While he was still getting his bearings, the skill immediately activated again and swung his legs apart and to the side, while at the same time bending down to avoid something that swung past where his head had just been. Skill increased: Dodge (Layman II) You don''t waste time using new skills, do you? He bounced back up into a fighting stance as Trulda ran past him, her mace thundering into the undead man''s face with full force. The nose guard of the partially open helmet was bent smoothly and the face plowed in. The undead fell backwards. Weylan assessed the situation in a flash. The undead was still in the middle of the defensive line. And if he got up, he would mess up the defense line. Weylan didn''t know if it was because of his class or just the excitement of the fight, but he had never felt so clear before. There was a pattern to the arrangement of the fighters that he instinctively understood. The ranger directly in front of him was off balance. The druid was vulnerable, as he was currently concentrating on a spell. However, he was currently standing far enough away from any threats. He made his decision. He moved forward, grabbed the still twitching foot of the undead and pulled it backwards, out of the fighting area. Whatever dark magic enabled him to move, it didn''t make him strong enough to stand up despite the heavy armor. As soon as he was behind the fighters, they closed ranks again. Trulda swung out with both hands and crushed the skull of the undead. With a final wince, he lay still. Weylan felt pain in muscles he hadn''t even realized he had. The unaccustomed acrobatic movement caused by the new skill was now taking its toll. It would take some more practice before he could perform such maneuvers several times. He looked around as quick footsteps approached. Skorr came running with surprising speed on his short legs, slowing down just before him. He put his momentum into a throw, hurling a stone twice the size of a fist at head height at an undead in the back row. A loud cracking of bones could be heard even over the din of battle. Satisfied, Skorr rubbed his hands and then pulled out a war hammer that was sticking out of the top of his leather backpack: "Can you pull one out for me too? I''m just in the way in that turmoil up ahead." "If someone breaks through again, I''d be happy to." Trulda patted him on the shoulder as he passed, causing him to bend his knees slightly and look up in surprise: "Good shot." She looked around: "Where''s the dryad? She ran off as soon as we got back." Weylan looked around. The dryad was slightly taller than most of the humans and elves. And she had a unique skin color. He still didn''t see her anywhere. He raised his eyes in irritation. She hadn''t given the impression that she wanted to hide behind a rock. He formed a funnel with his hands and shouted over the noise of the battle, which had just died down: "Hey, Princess Ulmenglanz, where are you, Your Highness?" "Ulmenglanz will do." The voice cut through the din, though it wasn''t loud. Velvet in a forge. The princess emerged from the crowd of defenders, where she was bent low, bracing herself with all her might against a spear. She disappeared from view again for a moment as she braced herself once more and then retreated. She hurried over to the small group and then past them as she signaled them to follow her. She clearly didn''t even consider that the others wouldn''t follow her. Weylan caught up with her, "Why are we retreating?" "Because the undead do it too. The back rows are moving back." "What does..." He slapped his hand over his face. "Of course. They''re making room for the revenants." Trulda stopped and made preparations to turn back: "We have to warn the warriors!" The dryad quickly held her by the arm: "They noticed it before I did. Esche already tried to send me back. I just waited until you were there too." Trulda looked past the dryad to the front: "They haven''t gotten very far yet." Weylan also saw the first duskgnomes standing just a few steps inside the exit tunnel: "I guess the mage''s tunnel isn''t ready yet. Then we''ll hold the fort here?" The others nodded. Silence fell so unexpectedly that everyone looked around in confusion because nobody knew what was going on. The defenders stood idly by while the last of the undead turned around and marched back into the tunnel. Everyone lined up to withstand the inevitable attack. Now things would get serious. As soon as the last enemies were out of sight, a single figure came into view. A knight in shining plate armor, illuminated by a floating mage light that followed close behind and above him. His face was hidden behind a tubular helmet with viewing slits and holes arranged into a smile. He let his shield hang casually strapped to his arm, his sword was still in its sheath. When he arrived at the entrance, he stopped, raised his hand with a stick to which a white handkerchief was tied and waved it casually: "Parley." Weylan quickly checked whether the negotiator could see the exit. But it was out of sight due to the shape of the cave. The dryad was already running forward and rejoining the defenders, who were now widening their circle but not lowering their weapons. The tunnel behind the negotiator was long enough for any attackers to be seen in time. Weylan was therefore not worried that there would be any surprises. Princess Ulmenglanz stepped forward: "I do not know you, Mr. Parley, but if you wish to surrender, I am happy to accept your surrender." The knight''s head turned only briefly in their direction, then he swiveled to Esche the druid: "I don''t talk to soulless people. Or anyone who doesn''t understand classic movie quotes. Come on, let''s discuss this amongst fellow humans." Esche was visibly torn, then gestured to the dryad in a placating manner and stepped forward: "Greetings, dear knight. I am Esche, a druid of the shield woods. Or what''s left of it." "Then you should change your coat of arms from ''Tree in front of a wall'' to ''Burning tree in front of a ruin''. Just as a suggestion." Esche narrowed his eyes, but didn''t allow himself to be disturbed: "I''ll think about it. What do you want to talk about?" He spared himself the formal speech now. The knight spread his arms and his helmet turned as he studied the semicircle of rangers demonstratively: "We could spend another whole day here and kill each other at this narrow point. For my part, I found the chase pretty sucky. Even with the constitution attribute point most of us got. Without that, we''d probably have been turned around long ago. Attributes are so crazy hard to increase... But who am I telling. So, without wasting any more time: You guys take off and we''ll take care of the gnomes. We kill all the female gnomes, so we''ve fulfilled our quest objective of destroying the duskgnome race. Since you''ve saved at least a few of them, you get at least a partial success. Everyone gets XP and then we can go out again, increase our talents and look for better quests." Judging by the murmuring, the suggestion was not as out of the question as Weylan thought it was, but in the end everyone who looked at Esche shook their heads. The knight saw the reaction as well: "Well, it was worth a try. Do you have anything to offer to make us go and leave the fight to the undead? You might even stand a chance against them alone. The liches have degenerated quite a bit in their years of solitude and since there are no NPCs fighting here, they have no corpses to raise." "We could pool some gold. We also have plenty of spare bows and a few quivers of arrows..." The two began to haggle and the crowd relaxed even more. Skorr wiped something out of the corner of his eye: "It''s like a wild-water ride through the tunnel river: We''re lost... We''re ok... God of the gnomes save us, we''re going to die... Oh, maybe not!" Weylan tapped Trulda: "Does the negotiator''s voice sound familiar to you?" "I''m glad I can even understand the guy through his helmet. It must be magic, otherwise I''d only be able to hear unintelligible mumbling." "I don''t like his voice. I don''t know why yet, but it sounds familiar. And really unappealing." "I think he sounds very reasonable. If he really can negotiate a withdrawal of the revenants, I''m sure we can hold off the undead long enough." "That''s too easy. Listen to how he negotiates. Completely calm. He doesn''t seem to care about the outcome." "He''s a revenant, they don''t really have anything to lose." The negotiator made a joke, at which the rangers laughed heartily. Then he took off his helmet. A mane of orange hair was revealed above a broadly grinning face. Weylan spat on the ground in disgust: "OrcSlayer! Llurd''s foul breath! I should have brought the crossbow." He searched for something to throw. "Wouldn''t do you any good. You can''t just shoot a negotiator!" Trulda held him by the arm. "He''ll betray us. Just listen to him! He doesn''t care what Esche proposes. He just wants to stall for time! That''s obvious!" "That''s fine by us. We can use every minute. If he has some sinister plan that they still need to prepare for, then that will only help us. They don''t know they don''t have unlimited time." She grinned. "Imagine his stupid face." Weylan hesitated. Could he just get lucky for once? He didn''t have to do anything at all, and the disgusting murderer would bite his ass if the duskgnomes all escaped. He just had to rely on fate... No. He shook his head inwardly. What could OrcSlayer be up to? He took another look at the situation. OrcSlayer had moved further and further forward during the discussion. The semi-circle of defenders had moved inwards, but everyone was ready to counter an attack immediately. The tunnel was long and clear. No revenant could approach fast enough to surprise the rangers. And OrcSlayer himself would be pierced by a dozen spears and arrows if he so much as coughed at the wrong moment. What was the sinister plan... He didn''t see one. He ignored the tunnel. Then the negotiator too. Was there anything unusual? The cave was bathed in a chaotic light and a dancing pattern of shadows by numerous glow spells, duskgnome light crystals and various torches. Shadows... Weylan focused on the pattern of shadows. Something was wrong with them. There were movements... patterns... One moment there was nothing to see, but as soon as he noticed the humanoid outlines for the first time, he couldn''t believe that not everyone saw them. Hidden in the shadows as by magic, five invisible enemies crept through the ranks of the defenders. One slipped sideways through a gap, the others crawled slowly between the defenders. In the tunnel itself, more enemies slowly crept forward unseen. He pulled Skorr and Trulda towards him and spoke quietly: "There are invisible enemies. Trulda, there is one in front with his back to us, who will attack the defenders from behind at any moment. Up ahead, by the spearman with the dark green cloak. You have to take him out as soon as I expose them." She glanced over out of the corner of her eye: "I can¡¯t see him, but he¡¯ll get visible as soon as he moves to strike. What''s the signal?" "Arrow shot. I''ll run up to the archers." He turned and almost tripped over someone at waist height in front of him. Lowering his head, he looked up into the grim face of Skorr, "Oh... Ahm... Hello Skorr." He remembered, boiling hot, that he now belonged to a group of heroes. Was he even allowed to give orders? What was the custom? They hadn''t talked about it yet. Was there supposed to be a vote? Did it make a difference? The invisibles were in position to strike. There was no time! Skorr looked at him sternly: "Who''s the team leader? Tell me what''s going on." "No time." Weylan realized immediately that he wouldn''t get away with that. He got down on his knees and spoke quietly and quickly. It took him great effort not to look at the men in the shadows: "Invisible enemies are sneaking in through the shadows. They''ll be in position soon. We must expose them and fight them back. I''ll brief the archer..." Skorr looked him firmly in the eye and deliberately did not look in the right direction. "Are they invisible, that is completely transparent or merged with the shadows?" "Shadows... I think." "Good, then I can make them visible. Try to position yourself for a sneak attack. Trulda: Get into the position Weylan sent you to. Princess: Can you make sure no one gets through to my clan at the back exit? If even a single enemy gets through in that narrow space..." The dryad interrupted him by running off. Weylan and Trulda were about to run off as well when Skorr stopped them once more: "When I shout loudly, don''t look in my direction. It''s best to close your eyes for a moment and wait for the flash of light." Weylan saw the first opponent crawl between two defenders and carefully stand up. They only had a few heartbeats left. He stopped himself from wondering how the duskgnome was going to create a flash of light and wandered off. While he was still thinking about how inconspicuous running worked, Trulda shifted into a trot and began to shout loudly, "Hey warrior, I have something else I could offer. As she walked, she unbuttoned the top button of her cleavage., Orcslayer turned towards her, fell silent and started grinning broadly. Then he raised his eyes and also looked at Trulda''s face: "Hey, don''t I know you?" She just shrugged her shoulders with a smile. At that moment, Skorr shouted: "Betrayal!" and threw a small vial of golden liquid onto the floor. A blinding light glowed and rippled through the cave like a wave. The air itself started to glow, illuminating every last niche. Shadows disappeared. Blown out like birthday candles. Defenders and attackers writhed in pain or threw themselves to the side in surprise to avoid a suspected attack. Those who hadn''t closed their eyes could now only see stars and vague streaks. Trulda had closed her eyes tightly thanks to Skorr''s warning, but still found the light surprisingly painful. When she opened them again, she pulled the two-handed mace out of its extradimensional hiding place in one fluid movement. For the moment, there was not a single shadow in the cave illuminated by golden light. The attackers who had just been hidden were clearly visible and, like most of the defenders, blinded. Trulda accelerated. Her target was a fighter in black clothing who had his back turned to her and was still in the process of taking his short sword from a scabbard tied to his back to stab one of the spearmen in the back. While the back scabbard was very good for sneaking, it didn''t seem to Trulda to be good for fast drawing. She lunged as she walked, swinging her mace around with both hands. The man hadn''t even looked in her direction, but he snapped his legs apart in a flash to dive down in a kind of split. The mace grazed the back quiver of a ranger, who wheeled around in surprise and struck blindly with the spear. The thrust at stomach level hit the dodging attacker at the shoulder. Still in the splits, he swung his sword around. Visibly still blinded as well, but a wide swing had no chance of missing. The blade cut into the ranger''s trousers just above his knees. Weylan arrived a few steps beside her. Despite his eyes being closed, he blinked away the blinding light and therefore stumbled the last few steps rather than actually walking. He had seen his destination beforehand and had chosen the most direct route. So he still arrived exactly where he wanted to go. Of course, he would have liked to have pounced on his father''s murderer, but OrcSlayer was too far inside the turmoil. He would never have got close to him. And certainly not unnoticed. An attacker was just getting up to pounce on Esche. An elf in black chain mail. At the last moment, he recognized a fabric-like structure. Was the thing crocheted from wool? He could have changed his aim and stabbed his dagger in the back instead of the unprotected neck, but he couldn''t make up his mind in time. He swung his shadow dagger, putting all his weight into it. The blade scraped across the neckline of the chain mail, sparking and cutting into the flesh. He had expected a fountain of blood under which the elf sank to the ground. The result, however, was far less dramatic. The dagger scraped across the vertebra, leaving a pitiful cut. Weylan was too surprised to follow up. His opponent drew a slender scimitar in a single motion and slashed Esche''s back from behind. He turned to face Weylan in the same swing, missing him only because he was still mostly blinded. Weylan dodged anyway, realizing too late that the saber would not have hit him. He actually had to dodge the next blow. As long as the elf was still blinded, he saw the chance to counterattack. He took a quick step forward and cut at the arm that had just swung past him. Only thin leather armor protected his forearm. His shadow dagger was magically sharp, if it could sever tendons or muscles, the elf would have to drop his weapon. He smiled triumphantly. The dagger hit exactly as he had planned. The blade scraped across the leather. Completely ineffective. Confused, he looked at his weapon. What was wrong with it? Hit: Damage not sufficient to penetrate armor. Still, nice try. Skill increased: Knives and daggers (Apprentice IV) He took a quick look at his dagger. The otherwise jet-black blade was just stained steel. What was wrong with it? He barely avoided hitting his forehead with his palm, which would probably have cost him an eye with the dagger still in his hand. Of course, the shadow dagger no longer worked. Skorr had banished all shadows. His opponent wore armor, was certainly a higher level than him, and had a weapon with a longer reach. He on the other hand, was armed with effectively a rusty knife. The elf swung at him again. He blinked constantly and tears ran from his eyes, but Weylan knew that he would be able to see normally again in a few heartbeats. And then the elf would cut him into slices. Weylan took a step back and looked around frantically. He was still on the edge of the battlefield. He could easily run back again. If he fled now, the elf would surely pounce on the more dangerous opponents first. He would keep the defenders busy so that his reinforcements could get into the cave. Then, with massive numerical superiority, he could casually take care of survivors like him. If he fled, he was as good as dead. He wasn''t brave enough to run. He had to fight. And hope that someone with a decent weapon would intervene soon and defeat the elf. And the other attackers. And OrcSlayer, who was drawing a longsword that glowed a dull red light from within. He lunged at his opponent with a roar and went into close combat, where the elf could not make use of his longer reach. The safest place in the medium term. At least until the guy could see properly again, and turned him into diced goulash. Chapter 21: Malvorik Selvara floated high up in the shadows between the stalactites on the cave ceiling and watched the battle at the entrance to the cave. The Dungeon Heart watched intently through the bond that connected him to his familiar. "I''m starting to feel sick. The smell of the undead wafts up here. And all the blood and rotting guts... Horrible. Whoever forces revenants to enter our world must really hate them." "Not now. Look, the undead are retreating..." Malvorik watched as the knight came out and the negotiations began. "No. Just mumbling. The others down there won''t shut up either. Shall I fly down and listen?" Selvara instinctively whirled a little further upwards and bumped painfully against the stone ceiling. "As familiars?" "Malvorik!" Malvorik kept quiet about the few recipes that actually required fairy wings, fairy hair or fairy blood. He himself knew only one: the tincture of long life. Water from a natural source of healing, grated unicorn horn, blue lotus flowers and three drops of fairy blood. "Something''s not right." Selvara sounded worried. Malvorik looked through her eyes, but didn''t understand what she meant: "Do you see the four of them back there?" "Exactly. Can you see them whispering and looking worriedly towards the entrance?" The two watched through the same eyes as the group discussed frantically, then they started moving. Selvara had trouble keeping an eye on everyone at the same time. Selvara followed the excited request and saw that the duskgnome was holding something glowing in his hand. Golden threads of light shone out from between his fingers. The gnome shouted something that even Selvara could hear above the omnipresent murmuring below: "Betrayal!" Then he threw the glowing golden vial. Selvara closed her eyes, but even through her eyelids she could see the blinding light that filled the cave. Malvorik''s voice sounded awestruck: Selvara opened her eyes, blinking. The cave was brightly lit, like a desert in the midday sun. The situation had changed fundamentally. Leather-clad revenants stormed in at the entrance, others were already engaged in combat among the defenders. The negotiator had put his helmet back on and drawn his sword. "What? What''s happened? Where did all these shady guys suddenly come from?" The tip of the sword seemed to be drawn to his opponent. OrcSlayer braced himself against the ground at the last moment and put momentum, weight and strength into the thrust at the same time. The sword pierced greedily through the wooden armor, chest and spine. Only the back armor stopped it. Critical hit. Double damage. Spine severed. Opponent paralyzed. Skill increased: Swordfighting to Journeyman III ... He pushed the messages to one side. XP and skill increases were of little interest to him right now. He pushed his opponent back a little and lifted him slightly, then let him fall back to his feet. When he tried to pull his blade back to decapitate his opponent, however, the whole body came towards him. The blade was stuck. OrcSlayer could hear a slurping sound and the druid''s skin grew paler with each heartbeat. "Stop snacking, there''s no time for that now." This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. He kicked the chest and lifted his opponent off his sword with his foot. The druid fell backwards and lay there like a sack. Blood gushed from the chest wound and began to boil. OrcSlayer paid no attention to the strange phenomenon, however, as he saw a familiar face in the turmoil behind the druid. The shepherd boy who had shot him in the back with his crossbow. The guy had cost him a whole level and a day of game time! He swung his sword threateningly back and forth to scare other fighters out of the way and set off with a grin. The sword''s voice sounded extremely self-satisfied. OrcSlayer immediately looked around in alarm. At first he couldn''t see anything special, then he noticed movement on the ground. Blood-red thorny vines were sprouting from the druid''s blood. Before he could even raise the alarm, the tendrils exploded into the air. Both friend and foe were enveloped. The thicket of thorns grew purposefully towards the entrance, where it completely blocked any further influx of reinforcements. Cries of pain could be heard from the undergrowth everywhere, where the thorns dug into living flesh and sucked blood to feed the growth of the hedge. Roots dug into the undead and used them as fertilizer. Only the skeletons remained unharmed, but they were densely bound. OrcSlayer immediately began to grumble loudly to himself: "Great. A druidic blood-magic revenge ritual. The stoner must have leveled up in battle and taken that stupid feat. I already had to experience the blood hedge spell a few times with my last character. I hate those stag cuddlers. If I catch him, I''ll kill him all over again." The shepherd was completely forgotten as he shouted commands to bring the situation back under control: "Everyone in the hedge, don''t move! The vines will only grab you tighter if you fight back! You can''t get out on your own. You there, chop the vines off whoever''s ensnared. The undead forward, watch our backs! If anyone has a spell against plants, now would be the time." Of course, he didn''t have a ravager druid with him when he needed one for once. He planned to recruit one at the next opportunity. When it came to fighting tree huggers and forest creepers, there was hardly anything better. A hot pain stabbed into his shoulder. When he reached for it reflexively, he found the shaft of an arrow. "Someone please take out those damned archers!" While his mages were distracted, someone once again shrouded part of the battlefield in darkness. This time he did not complain, as he was now no longer visible to the archers. As the most heavily armored fighter on the entire battlefield, it should actually have been his job to draw the attacks to himself. With his previous character, he had always acted as a tank and focused on taunting, attracting enemies and aggro management skills. With the new upgrade, the combat system had become more realistic, meaning that many of these skills only worked to a limited extent. Especially in PVP. Besides, he just didn''t enjoy it anymore. This time he sent other players forward as meat shields and cannon fodder. The shepherd boy emerged from the darkness on the other side of the brambles. Stooping, he rushed to a hairy ranger with jackal ears stuck in the blood thorns. He drew a dagger and then hesitated. OrcSlayer looked around, but didn''t notice any good targets for an attack at the moment. When he looked back, the shepherd boy was just pulling the dagger out of the ranger and retreating into the darkness. The ranger dissolved into a shower of sparks. A sword and a few coins fell to the ground unnoticed. OrcSlayer shrugged his shoulders. If his opponents assassinated each other, he would not complain. He dodged an arrow and dropped to his knees behind an ally caught in the thorns. Using the hedge and the assassin''s body as cover, he began to hack away at the thorns. "I don''t care." He ignored the protests and continued to slash at the vines. After the third blow, the sword began to vibrate in his hand, affecting his cutting action. He tightened his grip and ignored that too. He carefully thrust between the thorny vines and his ally''s arm and sawed through the last one. Then he pulled him out. Chapter 24: Malvorik The Dungeon Heart watched the battle intently. Now that most of the battlefield was an official part of him, he could analyze the magical structures of every used spell. His attempts to absorb the equipment of fallen fighters failed so close to the invaders, however. Whenever his servant defeated an opponent, he also received a message about the XP he also received. Opponent defeated: Thief (Level 6): 120 XP Duel fencer (Level 5) x0.8: 80 XP Skeleton Warrior (Level 1) x0: 0 XP Fighter (Level 5) x0.8: 80 XP Fair Play Bonus (20%): 56 Selvara, who was still trying to help with her few spells, stumbled: "What? I thought he was doing pretty damn well for a non-fighter class." Blood tendrils grew from the druid''s blood, adding to the general chaos. For the moment, however, the attack was halted as the attackers were busy freeing themselves or their trapped comrades. Some of the defenders had also been engulfed, however, as the tendrils of blood made no distinction between friend and foe. The young assassin held his head and cringed as he looked around frantically, "Who are you? Where are you?" "Does this pact have any other side effects that your familiar fairy didn''t mention?" Weylan acknowledged the instruction with a quiet nod and crept through the darkness. Sticking close to the wall, he cautiously peered out. The only figure caught in the thorny vines nearby was identifiable by his upturned jackal ears. He suppressed a curse and whispered: "That''s one of the rangers, I''m trying to get further into the cave." "I can''t kill an ally!" Weylan''s whisper was loud enough for the two cultists to take notice in the darkness and look around carefully. Malvoriks voice of thought became more urgent: Weylan hesitated for a few more breaths, then steeled himself and stepped out of the darkness, stooping low. A lunge brought him into range. The ranger recognized him immediately and his eyes lit up in anticipation of finally being freed. He refrained from shouting so as not to attract the attention of any cultists and simply nodded to Weylan with a grin. The noise of battle died away as Selvara cast a silencing spell over the area around Weylan. The assassin stared for a moment and then stepped even closer. Then his hand with the shadow dagger passed through a gap between the vines, directly into the ranger''s kidney area. The ranger''s mouth opened in an inaudible cry of protest. Weylan turned the dagger, pulled it out and stabbed again. The ranger tried to dodge, but only made the thorny tendrils wrap around him tighter. More thorns dug through his leather clothing. His movements quickly weakened. With a final reproachful glance at Weylan, he dissolved in a shower of sparks. Opponent defeated: Ranger (Level 6): 120 XP Fair Play Bonus (20%): 24 Weylan looked guiltily at his bloodstained dagger. The Assassin looked up, obviously deep in thought, "What?" That worked. He finally started moving. Malvorik rubbed his mental hands together and performed the steps he had already discussed with Selvara so as not to lose any critical time. Character class increased: Dungeon Master to level 7 Select trap construction plan... Select trap trigger... Select new monster race... Select feat... He ignored and delayed the other decisions and chose the feat for which he had needed the extra level: Sanctuary Sanctuary Prerequisites: Dungeon Master Level 6+ Additional dungeon classification. As an exception to the usual rules, this can be combined with other life-enhancing dungeon classifications. Cannot be combined with non-living classifications such as undead or constructs. Effect: Allows intelligent and/or non-intelligent creatures to stay in the dungeon permanently. Invaders can be offered a pact that makes them part of the dungeon. The pact does not grant immunity to traps or monsters, but allows the Dungeon Heart to exempt pact partners from some types of trap triggers if desired and to order monsters not to attack them. Enables the creation of real sunlight in which plants and living creatures can exist. Enables the Dungeon Heart to communicate directly with all pact partners. All duskgnomes, as well as Weylan and Trulda, received a message: Pact offer: Malvorik offers you the opportunity to seek permanent refuge in his sphere of influence. In return, he demands that you swear not to deliberately harm him and to keep his secrets. Accept Yes/ No? Selvara had already prepared everyone to expect this message, so Malvorik was immediately flooded with prompts that his offer had been accepted. No one refused. Skorr Collad (Tunnel Scout Ranger Level 6) has accepted the pact offer. Rhyll Marran (Mushroom Gardener level 5) has accepted the pact offer. Marrila Arrom (Teacher Level 5) has accepted the pact offer. ... He rushed through the relevant menus and gave up the outpost as a sphere of influence. Messages immediately appeared stating that there were no longer any intruders in his area of influence. Construction work was now possible again. Number of players no longer exceeding Golgoroths rules. Fair Play rules deactivated. Mana regeneration normalized. Mana usage speed normalized. Restrictions on the number of monsters normalized. Control limit normalized. Somewhat disappointed, he noticed that the influx of mana had reduced from the previous flow to a normal level. Malvorik had hoped that this would continue for a while longer. However, he only took a few heartbeats to skim over the relevant messages before he began to finish building the escape route. With full mana reserves, the dungeon heart drilled its way through the rock at maximum speed. At regular intervals, it formed the indentations that would serve as steps. He could now only keep an eye on the cave area from the outside and through Selvara''s eyes. Light and darkness flickered and the sounds of battle alternated with eerie silence as Selvara used up her mana reserves for the two spells. Enemy mages and necromancers invested time and energy in casting their spells again and again. They were getting more and more annoyed. One of the cultists had briefly seen the dungeon fairy despite her invisibility and informed the others. More and more nets, arrows and fireballs were fired at flickering shadows, forcing Selvara to slowly retreat. The blood thorns had used up their magic and were now nothing more than an immovable obstacle that only held out for so long because the cultists had problems cutting through the tendrils with daggers and swords. When the steep tunnel reached the end, Malvorik could hardly stop himself from digging further. The duskgnomes did not hesitate, but climbed up as fast as they could. After thirty meters, they emerged in a large room. Two long-armed humanoid creatures stood a short distance away and gestured to them to continue to the left. Meanwhile, the assassin had surprisingly managed not only to survive, but to retreat to the tunnel entrance. He, Skorr and Trulda stood right in front of the entrance as the last posse. Trulda looked at Weylan''s hand, which he pressed firmly on his stomach. "Are you badly hurt?" "All right." He ignored the messages from the world voice flashing in his field of vision. His life force was dwindling, but he would still be able to fight long enough. If the cultists stormed the tunnel in a few moments, he would die anyway. Skorr looked doubtfully into his face, then his eyes wandered to the blood-soaked shirt lying under Weylan''s hand. "I''m afraid I''m out of healing potions. Do you have any left?" Trulda shook her head: "Remind me to get some as soon as we get through this." The tunnel emptied. But not fast enough. Children were carried up, old duskgnomes were supported. Some had become stiff during the long break in the narrow tunnel. The glow of magic. Two necromancers strutted out of the tunnels. Two tall, gaunt figures. Beings made of a dark mass that kept flickering, allowing pale skeletons to shine through. There were red lights where eyes should have been. Fleshless faces turned around and looked disparagingly at those fighting. What Malvorik had previously thought were necromancers, turned out to be mere mage skeletons. Controlled and supplied with magic from afar by the real leaders of the undead. The zombies, who had come separately through the other tunnel from the surface, fell to their knees and submitted to their new masters. Malvorik could only watch impassively as the two necromancers began to mutter dark incantations. Pulsating black lightning gathered around their writhing hands. Arrows flew straight for their skulls, but two undead with large round shields threw themselves between them. They stopped the fire with their shields and upper bodies. The necromancers froze for a moment as they finished their spells. The last three rangers who were still wearily on their feet held their spears in a defensive stance. The necromancers raised their arms. Bundles of light-swallowing darkness swept up to the two archers entrenched on rocks. Shadows swept over their bodies, then their empty clothes fell to the ground. A bloody mass oozed out before dissolving into blue sparks. The cultists and undead charged forward with a cry of triumph and overpowered the last of the rangers. Without slowing down, they ran on towards the exit tunnel. About thirty duskgnomes were still crowded in the tunnel, waiting to escape upwards. Trulda stood a few meters inside the tunnel and pushed forward: "Skorr, cover my back. Only one can fight here. I''ll be the first to hold the line. If I fall, you take over. Then Weylan." Weylan wanted to object, but Skorr held his hand against his chest and shook his head: "She''s right. You''ll get your turn soon enough. Probably only a few heartbeats after me." He turned to Trulda: "You can hardly use your two-handed mace in this narrow corridor." She grinned at him: "I''ll manage. I''ve got another little trick up my sleeve. Stand back." Before he could ask what she meant, she took long strides towards the exit and stepped out into the cave. Malvorik watched in amazement as she gave up her only tactical advantage. The attackers stormed forward on a broad front. The two necromancers stayed behind. Malvorik watched them for a moment. Why hadn''t they used their magic earlier? Successful use of history knowledge skill. He remembered. Necromancers were immortal, but not invulnerable. An inner instinct prevented them from risking their potentially endless lives. They had never fought on the front line. They had only ever been seen when the enemy had been largely overcome. Then they emerged and dealt the enemy army the deathblow. These two would also remain in the background until the last obstacles had been overcome. Then they would enter his dungeon. He remembered a few cases where dungeons had been overrun by necromancer armies. Their dungeon hearts had soon after served as a focus for powerful incantations or had ended up at the tip of a mage''s staff. He suddenly remembered vividly the feeling of nausea he had known well in his life as a human. However, it quickly passed again in the crystalline body. Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on. The dungeon heart turned its attention back to the attackers, who were about to pounce on Trulda at any moment. They didn''t even bother to use spells or ranged weapons. Trulda took another step towards them and held out her mace like a staff. She spoke loudly and with an emphasis that seemed unusually formal and dramatic to Malvorik: "You... shall not... pass!" The warrior in plate armor with the glowing red sword braked abruptly and spread his arms. The other cultists also stopped and stood in a semicircle ten paces in front of the alewife. Trulda''s stance seemed to Malvorik as if she were threatening to strike the ground with her mace. One of the cultists at the back pushed forward a little: "What''s going on?" The warrior gestured for him to stay back, "I have no desire to walk into a trap." "There''s no bridge over an abyss! This is a cave. Solid stone floor!" "Can someone check the floor? How thick is the stone layer? Is there a hidden ravine or pit? I''ve walked into a lot of traps. We''re winning anyway, no need to fall into the depths of Moria or some such at the last moment. If they had a way out, they''d have disappeared long ago." Malvorik listened uncomprehendingly. Obviously it was about a cultural or historical background that he did not know. He analyzed the magical aura around the barbarian for a moment, but apart from her leather dress, he couldn''t detect any magic. The ground offered no obstacles either. The cultists'' mages were obviously terribly poorly trained in clairvoyance magic. So far, he had only observed mostly attack spells. Two stepped forward and pulled out scrolls with analysis spells. Casting spells on scrolls was a miserably slow form of magic and the Dungeon Heart began to mentally gnash his teeth as he heard the terrible pronunciation. One of the two was clearly barely able to read the runic script fluently. Selvara rolled her eyes: "Is this the right time?" "Don''t you have anything else? You always have a thousand plans and ideas." He transferred the image of a cat-sized creature with the body and head of a cow and four pairs of insect wings spread across its back. Instead of friendly cow eyes, it had huge compound eyes and instead of a snout, a huge pointed proboscis, which made Selvara feel slightly nauseous as usual. "Stop that thing already! Your Mooskito is the most hideous creature anyone has ever invented. Besides, you don''t have the schematics for a cow or a mosquito, nor the time to create one now." "How long would that take?" On the mirrored walls of the heart room, sketches and notes on further spell constructions raced by. "Can you use it to turn your rats into something more useful?" He ignored Selvara''s inquiries and began to complete the spell. Fortunately, everything was already mostly finished. He just had to add in the schematic for a rat and he had a transformation spell that would reduce a larger creature to a rat. Down below, one of the mages completed his clairvoyance spell. His scroll disintegrated while he looked at the ground with shining eyes and made testing movements with his hands. The second mage made a mistake while reading aloud and his scroll crumbled to dust without producing any effect. One of the cultists stepped forward: "There''s nothing! Let''s just run them down!" The thief next to him held him by the arm: "Don''t! This is madness!" Behind the thief stood a true giant of a cultist. Clad in three layers of leather armor, his shoulders as broad as an ox. Until now, he had followed the whole thing with an uncomprehending stare. At the exclamation of the cultist in front of him, his piggy eyes suddenly came to life. He knew the cue! With a loud: "This is SPARTA!" he kicked the thief hard in the back, sending him flying a meter through the air and then skidding another meter across the ground. Trembling, he quickly picked himself up again and looked around in panic. The mage with the shining eyes finished his examination: "There is no magic and no trap. The ground is solid rock. At least twenty meters deep." Trulda pushed the staff to the ground with a dramatic gesture... Nothing happened. While the cultists were still staring at the spot where the staff had thundered to the ground, she turned and ran back into the tunnel. Only after a slight bend that took her out of sight of the cultists did she stop: "Are they finally up there?" Skorr shook his head: "The last ones need another two or three minutes." Trulda nodded: "We can manage that." She gripped the mace near the center so that she could swing it better in the confined space. Shouts of protest and battle cries were heard, then the pattering of many feet. The cultists charged. Malvorik saw the warrior with the glowing sword send a few cultists forward with daggers and spears. Weapons that were far better suited to the narrow tunnel than his long sword and wide-ranging fighting technique. The dungeon heart cast the spell on his intended target, who had rushed over at his command and placed its furry hand on the crystal. It folded up with a loud smacking sound. The transformation took longer than Malvorik had expected. After a dozen heartbeats, however, the new rat ran away on wobbly legs. For the first few jumps, the rhythm wasn''t right, but then the body''s instinct took over. Skorr and Weylan had no room to fight next to Trulda. They had to stand idly by a little way behind her as two thieves tried to get at her at the same time. One struck with his spear, the second pushed past with daggers in both hands. In doing so, however, they obstructed each other considerably. Trulda leapt forward with a furious roar, grabbed the spear behind the point and deflected it past her to the side, causing the knife fighter to stumble. Then she slammed the mace into the spearman''s face in a backhanded blow. The skull bone cracked under the force of the barbarian''s fury. She reversed the direction of the blow with a vengeance and knocked a dagger out of the other''s hand. The second dagger dug into her thigh, but that didn''t stop her from ramming her knee between her attacker''s legs. Now in a dense tangle, she was able to show off her superior physical strength. Weylan had told her that she had increased her attributes evenly to 12. In fact, her physical strength and charisma were at 14 due to the increases she had received for level 5. Barbarian Fury increased her physical strength by a further 4 and also made her immune to pain, sleep spells and stuns. The dexterity-built revenants were unable to use their abilities in the confined space and were battered until they disintegrated into blue sparks almost simultaneously. Through the sparkles, a crossbow bolt raced up and slammed into her left shoulder without warning. The arm immediately went numb and fell uselessly. Even barbarian fury did not help when tendons and muscles were severed. Swinging the mace with her right hand, she rushed forward two steps, causing the attacker with the light crossbow to stagger back in fright. With the two spearmen right behind him, however, he was unable to dodge and took a blow to the kneecap, which cracked under the steel. With a shocked whimper, he collapsed to his knees... and immediately logged out. The body disintegrated, leaving behind a pile of equipment and clothing. Trulda thundered her weapon through the vacated space before the two spearmen behind could react. Malvorik analyzed the situation. The gnomes in the tunnel were hurrying their ascent, but the last three defenders would all be dead by the time they reached the top the normal way. It would be close. As long as there were attackers in the tunnel, he could not close the way. The steep climb was supposed to be forever defensible, but his plan called for a much more definitive method. At the top of the tunnel, the lurking stranglers came running up with a thick bundle of rope that he had sent them off with minutes ago. Weighted down with a stone at the end, one of them let the end rush down past the climbers'' backs. He waited until everyone was in position. The stranglers joined the duskgnomes on the ropes. The rope only stretched for a moment, then they started to move. Faster and faster. The duskgnomes in the tunnel skillfully braced themselves against the tunnel wall and accelerated their ascent with quick steps against the wall. Malvorik was surprised until he remembered that duskgnomes grew up in caves. If he had simply handed them a rope, they would probably have come up with a similar idea. Weylan looked around in irritation, still not used to the voice in his head: "Are you serious? As soon as we go out there, they''ll start pelting us with arrows. Here we can make up for their numerical superiority, outside they''ll tear us apart." Skorr agreed with him. Trulda didn''t answer at first, as she was already in another scuffle with a cultist. Then she growled: "We... have... already... discussed this!" She emphasized each word by striking a cultist in the face with her elbow. Due to the uncoordinated rush, the fastest opponents were the first to enter the tunnel. Something Malvorik appreciated, but disapproved of as unprofessional on principle. All lightly armored cultists without shields. However, Malvorik could already see someone with a short sword, shield and chain mail waiting behind the next enemy. According to his assessment of the fights so far, he would cause the barmaid massive problems. Weylan visibly wanted to object, but the duskgnome grabbed him by the arm. When he turned around, Skorr looked him grimly in the eye and shook his head. Trulda managed to break her opponent''s wrist and disarm him. She turned her head over her shoulder, seeing her comrades still standing in the corridor, undecided. Instead of getting angry, she began to grin and got an almost manic look on her face. Her voice regained the strange emphasis with which she had just confronted the horde of cultists: "Run, you fools!" The two turned around reflexively and ran off. Trulda bent down and rammed her current opponent in the stomach with her shoulder, lifting him up and effectively using him as a battering ram. Malvorik could see that she was using up most of her mana supply. Malvorik knew it wasn''t common knowledge among the general population, but mages weren''t the only ones with a mana supply. Everyone had at least a small supply of mana. Non-mages just couldn''t access it in a controlled manner. Certain special skills were an exception, especially for fighters. The barbarian obviously used a technique that massively increased her physical strength for a short time. Or accelerated or pushed her in some other way. When he looked for it, he could vaguely recognize a primitive form of telekinesis. Trulda let out a hideous roar as she ran. The rest of her mana supply disappeared into her larynx. Opponents further back hesitated or retreated from the entrance. A dense cluster of five enemies shot out like a cork from a bottle of Tasfaric sparkling wine. Construction functions reactivated. There are no more enemies in the area of influence. Malvorik immediately began to drive a small tunnel forward. The two of them braced themselves against the nearby tunnel walls. Meanwhile, his rats ran in two neat rows towards the hole in the ground. Each one bit into the tail of the rat in front of it, then the first ones jumped down. The rats at the top formed a kind of living rope that lowered their falling speed to a survivable level. Only a few of the duskgnomes noticed that one of the first rats had two small horns. The first two landed on Weylan''s head almost simultaneously and jumped past him from there. There wasn''t much room for them, but the living rope swept past him. Twenty, then thirty rats. Then the number of rats at the top was too small to keep the whole thing going. The last ones raced past them unchecked. Below them, a gap opened up in the wall. Then it widened to a round hole into which the duskgnomes head would have just fitted. Small drops ran out... Then water shot out under high pressure, foaming against the opposite wall. Malvorik turned his attention back to the fight in front of the tunnel entrance. The barbarian had driven and pushed the cultists out of the tunnel and was now standing a few paces from the exit in the cave. She tossed her opponent carelessly over her shoulder to face the armored warrior standing next in front of her. He raised his shield and sword to attack, but before he could move, a command thundered through the cave. OrcSlayer, the obvious leader of the cultists, lowered his glowing sword and shouted "Fire!" A dozen projectiles flew from the crowd of cultists. Almost all of them hit the unarmored barbarian. She collapsed to her knees. Blood seeped from her wounds and her weapon fell from her weak hands. She braced one leg against the ground and tried to stand up once more. Trembling, her leg gave way. She opened her mouth to shout something else, but only a gush of blood came out. She lifted her head once more... and grinned broadly. Then her body shimmered and dissolved into blue sparks. . Weylan arrived at the top of the cave, closely followed by Skorr, both of whom rolled to the side, panting. "What''s going on? How is Trulda? Is she coming after?" "What? Don''t talk nonsense!" The Assassin Shepherd began to stammer, but Malvorik had no time to listen to him. "I''m in a crevice in the ceiling of the cave. With a good view of our attackers. As long as I don''t do anything, they shouldn''t discover me." "They were dismantled and carried in bags of holding. They assembled them hidden in the background when the group stopped during Truldas performance. I think that was one of the reasons why they took a break in the first place. Crossbows have been of little use so far. They would have hit their comrades just as easily in the confusion. The archers also immediately took fire at anyone they saw with a ranged weapon." "Wait... Right now they''re discussing what kind of character class Trulda might have had and where she came from. The cultists are pretty sure they would have noticed her during the chase. Plus something about whether the Oktoberfest, whatever that is, exists in our world. Seems to be very important to them." "The two necromancers and all the undead have positioned themselves around the entrance and are waiting. The rats are probably still recovering from the descent, I can''t see them yet." "No problem. We dungeon fairies are used to going into a kind of hibernation for long periods when there''s nothing to do in the dungeon. When the revenants have gone, you just open the tunnel for me again and let me out." She was silent for a moment and then sent a nasty grin through the mind link: "There''s a little stream of water coming out of the passage. They don''t seem to like it; they''re getting all excited. Here come the rats!" She hesitated: "You do realize that they can''t leave your sphere of influence?" "Close it right away. Before something else goes wrong." Seconds later, he had dissolved the iron bar and the rock slid into the corridor as planned. As there were no intruders in his area of influence at the time, he was able to completely blend the edges into the surroundings. No one could get through for the time being. "There''s a small stream of water coming out of the cave now. The revenants are absolutely not amused. The rats are now at the entrance and are building up. There''s one in front that''s a bit bigger... and has tiny cow horns? What have you done there again?" Malvorik was able to see into the cave himself again thanks to his extended sphere of influence. He didn''t have as good an overview from his vantage point as Selvara had from above, but at least he had a good view. Most of the revenants had reloaded their crossbows and fired another volley. A few scurrying rats were hit, but most of the bolts crashed against rocks and shattered. The mages informed their leader that they really had run out of mana and mana potions for good and didn''t want to be disturbed for the next two hours. Rats were clearly not popular opponents. Nevertheless, OrcSlayer managed to send the melee fighters into battle. He was uneasy about the water ingress and wanted to catch up with the escaped duskgnomes before they managed to flood their escape route. Some of the cleverer fighters had taken spears and were stabbing the rats with them. With little success. Powerful sword blows were more effective in the crowd. At Malvorik''s command, the rats retreated a little and gathered closely around the entrance. When he deemed there were enough opponents in his area of influence, he dropped the transformation spell on the horned rat. A wave of magical energy swept the surrounding rats aside. The dust was whirled up from the ground in concentric waves around them. The rat stood up on its hind legs and grew... and grew... Three heartbeats later, the rat minotaur scraped its paws and ran against the foremost opponent with a mixture of a bull''s roar and a rat''s squeal. He hadn''t been able to take his weapons and armor with him when he transformed, but his strength and sharp claws made up for it. His opponents had no chance to prepare for the attack, so he was able to tear out a throat with each claw. Blood sprayed over the revenants. The boss monster swung again to disembowel the next opponent, but met with resistance. The warrior in chain mail, whom Trulda had feared to face, parried his right paw with his shield and countered with his left sword. Sharp steel against unprotected hand inflicted the first pain in the monster''s young life. The rat minotaur roar-squealed again and kicked, using its foot claws. They scraped ineffectually across the knee-length chainmail. As Selvara had already warned him, his boss monster was not a difficult opponent for a trained warrior in armor. At least not without his own armor and weapons. Crossbow bolts slammed into him from two sides. Then OrcSlayer ran up from the side and plunged his magical blade into its neck. Blood sprayed over the crowd again, then the Rattotaur fell to the ground. Selvara excitedly thought of a possible problem: "Malvorik, won''t he dissolve into loot now? That will give us away!" "Respect. Well planned." The Dungeon Heart watched with satisfaction as the rest of his rats were defeated. Having begun to personally intervene, OrcSlayer quickly organized his fighters into an efficient battle group. He then ordered a cultist dressed in dark blue into the tunnel. He ran into the tunnel and then climbed up a bit against the rushing water. Then, despite obviously having a very high-level climbing skill, he lost his footing and fell down. Skillfully rolling off, however, he took little damage and quickly returned to report back. "Okay, they''re gone. There''s a tunnel up there. The tread holes are totally worn and crumbly. Almost as if they''re disintegrating. Must be ancient. No wonder it took them so long to get out. At the top they pushed a rock over the hole. But I couldn''t get any closer as there was a water ingress underneath. The tunnel is filling up with water fast." "Damn!" The warrior jerked his sword around, almost costing the bearer of the bad news an eye. With a look, OrcSlayer made the man refrain from protesting, but put his sword away. He raised his voice so that everyone could hear him: "Okay, guys. That was close, but we lost. We''re retreating to the surface through that tunnel back there. We can forget about the extra XP for the quest, but I''ll negotiate with our client Umbramar to get some financial compensation. That chase sucked. It should be worth at least a handful of gold or a few magical artifacts. So let''s go. Grab whatever''s left of those tree huggers and let''s get out of here." Malvorik watched the cultists march out of the cave shortly afterwards. Now only the undead were left, standing motionless against the cave wall and staying out of the cultists'' way. They just stood around for a while. Then the two necromancers came into view. With a wave of their hands, they set all the undead in motion, back down the tunnel from which they had originally followed behind the duskgnomes. After the last undead was out of sight, the two necromancers turned around again in sync and let their eyes wander over the now empty cave. Then they wordlessly followed their army. Chapter 25: Ulmenglanz Princess Ulmenglanz looked down at the shepherd''s body. His chest was rising and falling weakly. She pushed up his top and looked at the wound. Blood still trickled out slightly. She could see no way of applying a bandage to his stomach that would be tight enough to stop the bleeding. She had heard from human traders that their healers sometimes sewed up such wounds with needles and twine. But she had neither the appropriate equipment nor any idea how exactly that worked. The duskgnomes had used up the last of their healing potions weeks ago. And none of them were healers. The rangers had all fallen. Her innate affinity for the magic of life made her feel his life force dwindling. She raised her head. In front of her stood the little fairy who had followed the last refugees upstairs. Her wings folded quietly behind her back, she looked down at the boy with concern. When the dryad looked at her questioningly, the fairy just shook her head sadly. She and her master could do nothing to help here. The duskgnomes crowded around. Men, women and children. All with small gray-skinned faces and resigned expressions. They had been on the run for a long time. They had seen enough fatal injuries to recognize them when they saw one. Ready to do the only thing they could. To be there when Weylan died. The human who had thrown himself into a slaughter until the last moment to allow them to escape. Ulmenglanz held his hand and remained silent. Slowly, she raised her hands to the back of her neck and undid the knot of the leather band on which her sacred symbol of Fliedabarr hung. Without looking again at the last reminder of her time as a priestess, she tossed the pendant aside. She closed her eyes and called up the character menu. As had been the case since the fall of Fliedabarr''slast temple, a notice flashed there: Character class "Priestess of Fliedabarr" no longer valid. She concentrated on the text and nodded. It disappeared and was replaced by a new menu. Selection of a new class possible. Based on the level previously reached, the level will be increased to level 5 Classes to choose from: Base classes (always available): Thug, skirmisher, thief, craftsman (simple trades), farmer Classes available by race (Dryad): Priestess (requires ordination by an archpriest), Ranger, Druid (requires training by a druid), Healer She hesitated for another moment. Then she energetically chose Healer and confirmed the choice. Chosen character class: Healer Level 1 Replacement class for "Fallen Priestess" Level up to healer level 5 Starting values of skills increased Skill learned: Healing Poison (Journeyman I) Skill learned: Healing Wounds (Journeyman I) Skill learned: Healing diseases (Journeyman I) Skill learned: Staff Fighting (Layman V) Feat acquired: Defensive fighting style Magic skills acquired Access to mana pool: max. capacity: 55 MP Spell learned: Heal Minor Wounds (Level 1) Spell learned: Cure minor poisons (Level 1) Spell learned: Pain block (level 1) Spell learned: Heal Wounds (Level 2) Spell learned: Healing Sleep (Level 2) The dryad pushed the messages aside with a weary gesture and placed her hand on Weylan''s chest. "Heal wounds!" Golden light shone from under her hand. The duskgnomes collectively took a step back in surprise. The fairy only raised her head. A glimmer of hope entered her small eyes: "You know healing magic? Do you have enough mana to stop the internal bleeding?" Princess Ulmenglanz ignored them and the hesitant questions of the others. She concentrated only on directing the spell at the most critical wounds. Uncontrolled, it would heal everything at once. Scratches and bruises would disappear, but the healing might not be enough to stop the bleeding. When she sensed that the spell was coming to an end, she cast it again. And again. And then a fourth time. The wound stopped bleeding on the third healing spell and closed on the fourth. Weylan''s eyes opened and he made an effort to sit up. She pushed him back gently but forcefully and leaned forward so that he could see her clearly: "It''s all right. You will survive. Get some rest." The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. He lay back down hesitantly. She tapped him on the forehead with her finger: "Healing sleep!" He breathed out heavily, closed his eyes and fell asleep. The tense silence lasted a moment. Ulmenglanz sighed: "Yes, he really will survive. I didn''t just want to comfort him." The duskgnomes cheered and fell into each other''s arms. The dryad was glad that her patient was in a magical sleep. Then she took her blanket out of her backpack, spread it on the ground and lay down. After a few more minutes, the exhausted duskgnomes did the same. Silence fell over the room. As a dryad, she didn''t need to sleep, but none of the others knew that. She had chosen a spot where she could keep an eye on both entrances to the room. Now she closed her eyelids almost completely and breathed slowly and deeply. Apparently asleep, she was highly alert. * * * Ten hours later, the first of the duskgnomes woke up, followed a little later by Weylan. He jerked up with a loud cry and looked around in panic. Seeing only the terrified duskgnomes, he quickly calmed down again. His hand went to his stomach as he remembered his injury. He pushed up his shirt and stared for a while in disbelief at the spot where he had been wounded. He carefully ran his hand over it. There wasn''t even a scratch or scar left of the injury. The skin in that area was only slightly pinker than the rest of his body. Ulmenglanz informed him about the few events he had missed. Now that everyone had recovered, she couldn''t put off the conversation she was dreading any longer. She stood up to her full height and marched over to the little fairy who was playing catch with the smallest of the children. Selvara immediately noticed from the look on her face that something was wrong. She asked the children to wait and fluttered over to the dryad. Ulmenglanz stared at her for a few heartbeats. Then she began to speak in an emotionless voice: "Is the horde of monsters coming for us now, or will you wait until we''ve triggered a few traps and are weakened?" The fairy froze and sank to the ground. Then she fluttered back up to his head height: "What are you talking about?" "This is a dungeon. I only realized it a few hours ago. You were good at hiding it. But you missed something." "I still don''t understand..." The dryad stroked a wall firmly with her finger and then showed it to the fairy: "The glowing substance on the walls is dungeon moss. It only grows in dungeons. Nowhere else. Without the magical field of a dungeon, it can only survive for a few hours. This may not be common knowledge, but I''m a dryad. I know everything about plants." "Well..." The fairy hesitated. "That''s all right. Dungeons also have their place in the food chain and in the cycle of nature. I''m not angry with you. You saved us from our pursuers and lured us into your dungeon so that you could eat us yourselves. I only have one request: at least spare the children and their mothers. We won''t fight back either." Secretly, she had already decided to settle for saving the children. But from her negotiations with the merchants in the border forest, she knew that she still had to allow herself some room for negotiation. The dungeon fairy raised her hands reassuringly: "Wait! You''ve got it all wrong!" The dryad was disappointed: "Come on. There''s no point in lying anymore." "No! All right... This is a dungeon. That''s right." The fairy suddenly looked up and seemed to be listening to something. Then she shook her head, "It''s no use. We can''t keep fooling them..." She listened for another moment. "All right, then. If you really want to." She turned back to Ulmenglanz, "The dungeon wants to talk to you himself." The dryad ducked into a defensive position, as a voice sounded in her head. Ulmenglanz remained silent and tried to fathom the truth in the voice. But she couldn''t get a feel for the dungeon heart. Malvorik continued: "You''re saying there''s a dungeon under one of the most important cities in the United Kingdoms?" The dryad looked demonstratively at the numerous children: "Do you really think everyone will keep this to themselves forever?" The fairy sighed and slowly sank to the ground, where she remained with her shoulders slumped and a tired expression on her face: "Not really. But I don''t see any other alternative." Skorr Callad stepped forward, "How much space do you have left in your dungeon?" The duskgnome shook his head: "I was thinking of more than a few days." "More than a week. We are duskgnomes. Our cities have always been under a stone sky. If you let us stay with you, we will have no opportunity to betray you. Those who do go out, will be able to control themselves. My word carved in stone and ore upon it!" The fairy looked at him in amazement from below. Then thoughtfully. Then she laughed. Malvorik joined her: "You''re an alchemist?" "Duskgnomes are the best alchemists! We don''t have one with the right class, but if you could teach one of us, I''m sure he wouldn''t let you down. Our bonuses for lab work are outstanding." The dryad coughed cautiously. When the fairy turned to her, she began to speak: "Well, I would like to stay. But I can only live where my tree thrives. Underground..." "It''ll love it." The fairy raised her hands reassuringly. "How is that? Right now, it¡¯s only surviving because of the magic my mother infused into the earth when she potted it." The dryad shuddered. Humans had terrible ideas about what could be used as fertilizer. And the way they cut trees and bushes into unnatural shapes... The thought alone made her shiver like aspen leaves in the wind. "I''ll be happy to try. If my tree can endure, I''ll stay. I have nowhere else. My home is a war zone, my mother has fallen and my god... no longer exists." The fairy flew upwards fluttered wildly between the duskgnomes, waving her arms. Exhausted from the constant flying of the last hours while checking up on everyone, she lost control and started to falter. A surprised duskgnome woman caught her carefully. "Ah. Thank you. Welcome! I''m sure we''ll all become very good friends." Chapter 26 - Trulda Trulda found herself in the small virtual room that she had thought she would never see again, even if that had, of course, been a completely unrealistic idea. Of course, she had to die at some point. The game was meant to be exciting, and the dangers were designed to push a player to their limits whenever they attempted quests of their level. This quest had been way beyond her capabilities from the start. She ran her hand over the places where the the crossbow bolts had pierced. It was a good thing she felt almost no pain in the berserker''s wrath. Otherwise, this would have been a very unpleasant situation indeed. Perms couldn''t set their pain sensitivity lower than 30%. Now, of course, she no longer had any wounds or pain. The virtual room was meant for recovering. She roamed around. She had spent the first few days here settling in. Now, it looked like a living room from the Victorian era. Muted colors, everything upholstered, overflowing with knick-knacks, bric-a-brac and scanned replicas of mementos from her life. She dropped into a comfortable leather armchair, took one of the photo albums from the shelf and pressed a small lever on the side of the armchair. The real armchairs from that era didn''t have a reclining function, but she wasn''t a historian after all. The album was only a virtual copy, but it was a very good one. Her youngest daughter had scanned every single picture. Trulda leafed through the photos of her three daughters. Mainly vacations, Christmas and, of course, the two weddings. At the end came the pictures of her newborn granddaughter. As she was about to close the album, she realized that it wasn''t finished yet. Frowning, she turned the pages and found a few more pictures of little Emily crawling across the floor. One seemed kind of blurred. When she focused on it, it started to move, and she could hear happy baby laughter in the background. Information: Perms are advised not to have contact with the outside world during the acclimatization phase. However, this acclimatization phase is now over. Your relatives have already sent numerous messages, videos and pictures. These can be accessed via the photo album. A regular computer terminal can be created on request. You can also send messages. If you''d like to make direct contact, the time acceleration will be canceled for the video call. Trulda laughed, the pain of her recent death and even the worry about her virtual friends momentarily forgotten. She tapped on the picture of her youngest daughter and dialed a video call. A free-floating black rectangle appeared in the air, in which the call symbol flashed for a while. Then it was replaced by a sleepy female face: "Who''s calling at this time of night..." Trulda glanced at the time displayed and then shook her head: "Sleepyhead, still in bed at 8:20 am? Some things never change." "What''s it to you? You''re not my..." The young woman blinked and then opened her eyes: "Mummy?" "In old freshness." "Old? You mentioned that you wanted to construct a younger avatar for VR, but you look like fifteen!" "Seventeen. I used footage from my prom." "I know your prom videos. We had to watch them often enough. I''m pretty sure you didn''t have such big breasts back then. Mummy! What are you doing in VR right now?" "Not much. Right now, I''m recovering from a battle between rangers, Nistrul cultists and necromancers." "Battle? Didn''t you want to chill in a remote village? Wait, I''ll get the others to join us." She fiddled around outside the field of vision, and shortly afterward, other, much more alert faces appeared slightly smaller on the screen. First, her two other daughters, then a few of her best friends joined them. She spent the next few hours in a video conference. She assured them that she had settled in well. She then swapped anecdotes from her time in VR for the gossip she had missed in recent weeks. After a few hours, she said goodbye and went to bed to catch up on the sleep she had missed over the last few days. Well rested, eight hours later, she picked up a book about Mulnirsheim. More than four hours flew by as she memorized plans of the fortress and trading town, traced the most common trade routes on the map and read up on the town''s history. At the very end was a highly topical entry. Less than a week ago, the governor had been replaced by a prince for the first time in over a century. She smiled as she read his name and that of his wife. Prince Othello and his wife, Desdemona. Players. They simply had to be players. The AI would never steal names from a Shakespeare play. With a bright flash, a portal opened on the wall of the room. Trulda tossed the virtual book aside, where it dissolved into thin air. She called up her equipment menu, changed her shoes and stowed away the giant two-handed mace in her Cleavage of Holding. Then she stepped through the portal. Her eyes squinted as she stepped out into the blinding midday sun. The marketplace around the spawn point had been cleared of stores and tents. Instead, there were suspicious soldiers everywhere and curious citizens in the background. Trulda felt uncomfortable under the disapproving gaze of the locals and quickly stepped down from the platform. She had already decided on a side alley, which she now stomped towards with her head down. "Trulda! Wait!" The familiar voice made her pause. Weylan came running up to her from behind. Before she could recover from her surprise, he had already approached and embraced her. She smiled and stroked his hair reassuringly: "It''s okay. It''s all right. I''m all right. Is everything all right with you, too?" She pushed him away a little and made sure he still had the correct number of limbs. He also had clean clothes on and no visible wounds. "So... you''re..." "I am a revenant. Yes. But let''s discuss this in a more comfortable place. According to the map, there should be a tavern with a roof terrace over there. It''s not particularly medieval, but it looked great in the pictures. The owner is one of us." * * * Shortly afterward, the two of them were sitting on comfortable wicker chairs on a roof terrace. Each with a small mug of beer on the table next to them. The terrace was otherwise empty, as they were between the usual times for breakfast and lunch. Trulda sipped her beer, nodded in satisfaction and then leaned back: "I assume you have a lot of questions." Weylan opened his mouth... and closed it again. Then he shrugged: "I don''t even know where to start. How can you be one of those monsters if you never disappear like the other revenants do?" "Heroes, as we players actually call ourselves, are not monsters. You fought together with the rangers. They risked a lot of time and experience points to save you." "Good, that''s true. But the others just slaughtered us for fun." "They had a quest from Nistrul. But you''re right. Nasty assholes. All of them." Weylan was taken aback by this profanity, which was entirely out of character for Trulda. She continued: "It''s true. They only come to this world to have fun and then leave again. That''s it. It''s different for me. I''m a permanent guest here." He just looked at her questioningly. "We call heroes like me Perms, an abbreviation for Permanent. You see, in our world, we have a body, just like you. When it is injured, it needs time to heal. Often a very long time. But in our world, there is no magical healing. We can''t heal some illnesses or injuries at all." "I don''t understand..." "While we revenants come to this world here, our real body sleeps in our world. We are here for a while; then, we return to our bodies. And go on living our real lives in our world. I don''t have a body that I can return to. Or at least not one I want to return to. I..." She hesitated but then continued firmly: "I had an accident. A car accident, but it would take too long to explain. Suffice it to say that I was very badly injured. My spine was damaged right at the neck. I can no longer move any part of my body. The man who caused the accident was drunk. The question of guilt was clear. He himself was distraught. To cut a long story short, he was wealthy and used his money to get me a lifelong place in a special hospital. There, I was hooked up to devices that keep my mind in this world. I can never go back to my world. I am here. Permanently." "Are there more worlds like this?" "Yes... No... It''s complicated. There are other virtual worlds. One that''s just like our real world, only quieter and more peaceful. Especially popular with older Perms. Then there''s a medieval world, which is a bit like here but without the magic. There are a few other historical worlds and a Star Trek simulation. But none of them are as real as this one. For a truly realistic simulation, you need an Omega-class artificial intelligence. It has to be specially constructed for each reality, but it can control almost any size together with cheaper, simpler AIs. Omega-class artificial intelligences are incredibly expensive. We only have four." "So, these omegas have four worlds like this?" Trulda laughed: "No. Only Nemesis controls a virtual reality world. One monitors our global economic system and prevents tax evasion and money laundering. You wouldn''t believe how that has changed our world. Criminal cartels, drug trafficking and terrorist organizations have practically disappeared overnight. The second Omega AI controls the global research and development network, the third controls the planetary logistics and transportation networks. Nemesis is the only Omega AI that has ever been financed by a private company. People pay incredible sums of money to be allowed into this virtual world. At the moment, only a few are allowed in to test whether the simulation still works correctly after the latest update. Soon everyone will be allowed in. That will be about forty million." "Forty... It''s impossible to fit that many in this town!" "Your world doesn''t just have this one city. There are many realms on several continents. More continents than would fit in the real world. Endless wilderness areas. There is also the underworld of caves and tunnels. There are mainly dwarves, stoneborn and other underworld races. Then there are the realms under the sea with the mermen, atlanteans, mermaids and kraken creatures." "How many will show up here?" "Mulnirsheim is a large city with around 200,000 inhabitants. As a fortified town, it is designed so that up to half again as many people can live here in times of war. But that would be pretty overcrowded. I reckon there will be more like 60,000 heroes here. Plus, quite a few in the surrounding villages and in the mountains. Not everyone wants to be in a war zone. Many just want peace and quiet." "Like you?" "I chose one of the quietest corners. At least that''s what I thought. This war wasn''t supposed to happen this way. I don''t think even the administrators expected it. The opening was postponed by a week, which caused a lot of anger and protests among the heroes. The four-week break they needed to prepare for the new instance was unbearable for many." "Four weeks? When was that?" "Around two hundred years have passed here in that time." He looked at her uncomprehendingly for a few heartbeats. Then he just decided to ignore it: "Are there more like you? Perms, I mean." "Maybe a hundred or so at the moment. Federova the first is also a perm, for example. We know each other from the training we perms get before we enter the game." "Training?" "It was quite funny. First, we had a hut in the forest where we could get used to our bodies. I was paralyzed for weeks before that. It wasn''t easy to get used to walking again. Not to mention fine motor skills. Then we had to learn how to use medieval tools and methods. Making a fire. Cooking without a microwave..." "Micro... what?" "A magic cooking pot that almost everyone in our world has. Heats things up in a few minutes." She waved it off: "Our world is different, but not better in many ways. You have magic. And skills. With the right skill, you only have to do part of the work. The rest practically takes care of itself. Everything goes much faster. I sprinkle a handful of herbs into the soup, and my cooking skill makes sure it''s perfectly seasoned." Weylan shrugged his shoulders: "That''s normal." "Yes, in this world. Anyway, then came basic combat training. We''ve never held a weapon in our world before. Even those little goblins they sicced on us were a real challenge. Afterwards, we had lessons in the available classes and were allowed to choose one. We chose our advantages and disadvantages and..." "You got to pick them?" Weylan had half stood up and was leaning over the table. Trulda moved the beer to the side so that he didn''t knock it down and told him to calm down. She took a quick look around, but still no other guests had appeared. "All revenants choose their advantages and disadvantages according to certain rules. Ulrike... I mean Federova the First spent everything on noble advantages. She can do almost nothing herself, but she gets to order people around. In our world, she was an educator. The fact that someone finally listens to her and that she gets to throw annoying people into the cesspit is the greatest thing for her." Weylan took a sip of beer: "Did you know that ''Live in interesting times'' only offers a life expectancy of just over a year after being triggered for the first time?" She was silent for a moment, then nodded: "Not at first. When you told me about it, I only knew very vaguely what the disadvantage meant. But I''ve since read up on it in the forums. For players, it''s an advantage, not a disadvantage. Having more adventures is not a problem for us. Heroes simply respawn when they die. After word got around that players with this disadvantage respawn really often, hardly anyone took it. But the disadvantage is not a death sentence! It simply means that you will always be dragged into the biggest mess there is within reach. You become part of every local quest and all random events. Random events become more extreme, but not necessarily worse. With the right class, equipment and training, you can survive." Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. "The dryad may even be able to revive the dead at some point. I know." Trulda frowned: "So the depressive plant can do something useful after all?" "That''s right. You were already gone by then. She''s become a healer. She was the one who healed me." "Healer... She didn''t think of that before?" "It must have been a difficult decision. She wanted to become a priestess again. Because she chose a different magic-using class, that''s no longer possible." Trulda was silent, then nodded thoughtfully: "Good. I can understand that at least. Choosing a class is already a difficult decision even for players." "I guess you can say that. I also have to decide whether to look for a teacher for my current character class or choose a new one." "If you tell me what you have, then I could..." He looked around quickly, leaned forward and whispered "Assassin" in her ear. She looked at him in surprise for a moment, then grinned: "Of course. You shoot someone in the back once, and wham! Hello, rare character class. Well, in that case, I can''t just post a request on the forum, can I? We''d best find a local master. That could take a while. But we''ve got a few days'' rest now. I''ll look for a job as a waitress in one of the local taverns and ask around. That way we can also earn a little gold to supplement our equipment." "Well, gold is not such a high priority for me. I still have a few tasks to do for a new client." "Client? Tell me!" "I''m not allowed to do that. He wants to introduce himself. At least you already know his name. Malvorik." "Our savior! Of course. Mages are first-class questgivers. Get this, investigate that. Find a unicorn and bring me three of its tail hairs, there are some cool stories in the forums. Most heroes would sacrifice their right hand for a mage as a patron." "Well... Before I take you to him, you have to sign a contract. He''s very attached to his secrets. So far, no one in the city knows he even exists." "A magician who demands an NDA? That''s getting more and more interesting. Give me that." He pulled out a scroll and placed it on the table. A glance around revealed only one other guest, who had just come up the stairs and sat down at the other end of the roof terrace. Weylan and Trulda chatted quietly about trivial matters for a while until the waitress had placed a cup of steaming drink in front of the guest. He leaned back comfortably with his back to the two of them and pulled out a book to browse through. Trulda finished reading the contract: "It''s one of those magical contracts. He really went to a lot of trouble." Weylan wordlessly pulled a small writing set out of his pocket. In the wooden box, she found an inkwell, a quill, a knife and a shiny finger-length crystal. She took out the crystal, frowning: "What''s this for?" "Leave it in the box until you''ve finished, then hold the crystal over it briefly. That will dry the ink immediately." Trulda drew her name in neat calligraphic lettering. Magic contract accepted. Please remember that Contract conditions will be enforced by the system. Weylan packed everything up: "Now we''re getting to the exciting part. I''ll pay, then we''re off." She followed him out of the tavern and into the city. He led her unerringly through smaller and smaller streets. In a narrow, windowless alley, he looked around in all directions. Then he took a hook with a handle from a pocket and pushed it into an opening in the floor. With some effort, he pulled a manhole cover out of its holder and pushed it aside. With an inviting gesture, he waved Trulda down. She looked down into the dark hole: "He lives down there?" "Yep." "In the sewers?" "The path leads through there." "A mage tower that can only be reached through the sewers?" "Something like that." He grinned. After a brief hesitation, she went forward and climbed down the metal rungs of the ladder that were embedded in the wall. Weylan followed her and pulled the manhole cover shut behind him. Downstairs, he took a pale glowing crystal out of his pocket, held it in front of him and set off. Trulda rolled her eyes, pulled her torch from her cleavage and followed him. At first she had expected that they would soon be climbing back up, but more ladders and steep channels led further and further down. Then Weylan touched a spot on the wall and a previously camouflaged door folded inwards. In the hidden room, there was a steep ladder leading downwards into a small circular room. A thick cloth covered the way out. "It''s about to get very bright. Don''t be frightened." Then he pulled the cloth aside, and daylight shone into the tunnel. He motioned for her to walk past him. The tunnel wall suddenly no longer appeared to be brick but smooth stone. Straight walls, dry floor. A tunnel measuring about three by three steps. Glowing crystals were embedded in the ceiling every few steps. Weylan took the lead again and kept to the left. The tunnel branched out several times. "Don''t touch the walls. There are occasional traps from here." She just nodded. A short time later, something fluttered towards them. The glowing wings immediately revealed the little fairy they already knew. The fairy beckoned them to follow her and guided them through a few more branches and then down a tunnel towards the middle of the wall: "This is just an illusion. Go right through here." Weylan followed the fairy and Trulda had no other choice. By now, she saw little chance of finding her way back through the maze. She reached out and carefully touched the stone wall. She walked through it without the slightest resistance. As soon as her head was through, she found herself in a huge cavern. The ceiling was covered with numerous luminous crystals. The cave stretched far into the distance, built on three terraces, each with only one staircase leading up. Numerous tables were set up in the lowest area. Empty crates and barrels stood around. Fireplaces had been prepared, but all had clearly never been used. Knee-high openings led into the rock, clearly not made for humans. "Do other fairies live in there?" "No. Just the rats." Weylan looked at her as if he was waiting for her to jump onto the nearest table, screeching. She just nodded and followed the disappointed assassin. Apparently, she¡¯d never told him about the two pet rats she had as a child. A narrow staircase led to the next level. Here, to her surprise, she found a few multi-storey houses. In between, completely useless paths and all the other decorations one would expect in a neighborhood. Even high torches at the crossroads. Here, for the first time, she saw life. Duskgnomes shook blankets from windows, hung wet laundry on lines between buildings, or hurried about busily. Children played behind the houses. Some of them were drawing a complex game with chalk on the smooth stone floor. They went up another flight of stairs to the last level. There was a magnificent manor house, surrounded by a small wrought-iron fence and a lawn. To the left of it, a solitary little tree stood a short distance away. The dryad was examining every single leaf and adjusting one or two branches. She looked up and waved to Trulda. The little fairy zoomed in and hovered in the air in front of Trulda. "Hello, welcome to our little kingdom." Trulda glanced around, frustration evident in her voice. "Alright, I¡¯m officially stumped. This place makes no sense. It¡¯s too small to be an underground city, but it doesn¡¯t resemble the buried remains of any kind of settlement, either. And then there¡¯s that maze at the back. That only makes sense in a dungeon layout. But dungeons this close to town? They¡¯re supposed to be at least a day¡¯s journey away, according to the beginner¡¯s guide. Did the mage Malvorik create this?" "He''d better answer that himself. " The fairy landed and was silent for a moment, then her eyes began to glow red. A little unsteadily, she took off again until she arrived at Trulda''s head height. "Greetings, Lady Trulda. Welcome. I am Malvorik. The heart and soul of this dungeon. I hope you like it. Selvara is lending me her body to communicate directly with you." "Dungeon? You''re... a dungeon heart? Man... I thought they couldn''t talk." "The others don''t do it often. According to the legends, they usually content themselves with curses and threats. Especially when adventurers approach their heart room. Before that, very few communicate. Travis, the library dungeon, is a very rare exception. However, this is probably mainly due to its unique location, in the middle of the lost city of..." "Stop! Wait! Before you tell nice anecdotes about other dungeons, one question. Are we prisoners here?" "What? No! Of course not. You can leave at any time. Weylan and Selvara will show you the way out. Unfortunately, we don''t have a direct way out, which makes transporting goods quite a hassle. As the only person who has agreed to work for me on outside errands, Weylan still has a way to come here. I can create non-living things, but I still need a lot of samples to analyze them. Various foods are also still on my residents'' wish list." "I could just leave? What if I tell someone that there''s a dungeon here... Oh yes. The contract. I understand. What if I accidentally slip up? Or someone follows me here without my knowledge?" "First I would be visited by heroes and a short time later by a group of dungeon killers. They would surely defeat me after a tough fight. I''m not really well-defended yet. That''s why I created this cave here, so that it would survive my death. The barrel vault ceiling is structurally stable. Not like those botched dungeons, which simply collapse as soon as the dungeon magic no longer stabilizes them. The glow crystals are created with my dungeon skills, but they are real artifacts that will continue to exist. The only problem is manually controlling the water flow for the underground river I drilled into. But a few of the duskgnomes are working on that right now. As a human, I never had anything to do with water weirs and sluice systems." "That''s all right! I''ll do my best not to give anything away. You seem to be a very cultured dungeon heart." "I''m only here because of a divine error. A miscarriage of justice, so to speak. Quite a long story. Which I will nonetheless tell you in detail. But not today. Make yourself comfortable for now. I''ve prepared a room for you in the academy. The leaders of the Duskgnomes wanted to stay down here in the city, but for you, Princess Ulmenglanz and Weylan, I''ve set up quiet rooms for guests of honor." "This is the big building here? Wow. Nice. But no, I''m sorry. I''m sure I''d love to come by, but I''d prefer to live upstairs. Is that a problem?" "No, no. Of course not. You''re welcome here at any time, but as I''ve already mentioned, you can leave at any time. I just have one small suggestion. But I''d like to gather a few of my guests for that." The dungeon fairy whirred away briefly to exchange a few words with the dryad, who now reluctantly parted from her tree and followed her. Meanwhile, Weylan returned with the duskgnome leader. When everyone was assembled, the fairy flew a little higher: "Friends, guests and contractors. You have agreed not to knowingly harm me and to keep my secrets. In return, you are always welcome here as guests. I have just one more suggestion. You may have heard that a new plague has begun. Thousands of revenants..." Trulda coughed: "Actually, it''s around forty million. For a start." A shocked silence fell over the group before Malvorik, seemingly unimpressed, continued speaking. "... countless revenants will soon infest our world. As we have now discovered once again, not everyone has set the welfare of the local civilian population as their highest goal. To put it mildly. There''s not usually much we can do. Revenants don''t fear death and spend all their time training, and in dungeons and quests." Weylan laughed snidely: "More like drinking and whor..." he looked into the raised eyebrows of both Ulmenglanz and Trulda and broke off, coughing. "Anyway, they have higher levels and better equipment than most of the locals. But I think you could form a group that could take on revenants one day. A group of real heroes who will take care of the problems that aren''t interesting for revenants, or whose solutions aren''t ideal for people who have to live with the consequences." Trulda looked around: "That could work. This is almost the traditional standard group of heroes. A fighter," she pointed at herself, "a healer," she pointed at Ulmenglanz, who scowled but nodded, "a thief," she pointed at Weylan, who indignantly corrected her with "assassin", "and a scout." Skorr just nodded calmly. "But that means we still need a mage. Unless the dryad can also learn analysis magic and battle spells." The dungeon fairy fluttered in a circle for a moment: "Well, as long as I take over Selvara''s body, I can take over the post. But that only works within the dungeon. For now. So, it won''t do us much good. If she wants to accompany you outside, she''ll have to learn to use magic herself." Trulda held her hand in the circle: "So I shall strike down our opponents in hand-to-hand combat." Weylan grinned and placed his hand on hers: "I¡¯ll ambush our opponents in the shadows, stab them in the back and remove traps. Once I''ve practiced that." Skorr Callad approached and added his calloused hand, "I spy on our enemies and can also meet them in close combat." The dryad shrugged and placed her hand lightly on Skor''s: "Fine by me. As long as I don''t have to be away from my tree for too long, I can patch you up." Malvorik clapped his hands together enthusiastically as a dungeon fairy and landed on the pile of hands: "Selvara will learn to use the art of magic in your favor." He flew to the center of the room and raised his voice: "And I myself... will do my very best to kill you all!" Everyone looked up shocked. The magician grinned, using the face of the little fairy: "What? I''m a dungeon. If you want to train here, I''ll have to make a serious effort to kill you. Otherwise, you won''t get any experience points. I''ve already thought up a few training levels. You''ll have fun. Or at least I will. We¡¯ll see." He paused a moment, then directed his attention at Trulda: ¡°If you want to join our merry group, I would recommend you also enter a pact with me so we can directly communicate and you have less trouble traversing my dungeon.¡± Trulda got a prompt asking her to join into a pact with the dungeon heart Malvorik. She agreed. The red glow went out, and the fairy swayed on the spot for a moment, disoriented: "I hate it when he gives up possession without warning me first. I''ll fall flat on my face one day. But to stay on topic: I will destroy your enemies with magic! Thanks to my bond to a dungeon heart, I can see magic. That should help me overcome most magical traps and obstacles." Weylan looked at her curiously: "What kind of battle spells do you have?" "Shock hand! A level one electric thing touch attack." "How strong is that?" "Well, one or two of those will kill any rat!" Weylan and Trulda looked at each other for a moment, clearly unimpressed. She shrugged her shoulders: "That''s the same damage as a blunt bread knife. But there''s certainly room for improvement. What class do you have anyway?" "Dungeon Fairy." "No, that''s your race. What''s your class?" The fairy hesitated. "I... I don''t know. I thought this was my class too?" "Does the dungeon only have one race?" "No. He''s a mage and a dungeon master." Trulda frowned: "Then that doesn''t make any sense. Try calling up the corresponding menu." Selvara nodded and looked dully in front of her for a while. Now that she was looking for it, she also found a corresponding menu. She read everything aloud, so the others wouldn''t just see her staring at the ceiling. Character class is available for selection. Available basic character classes (always available): Brawler, Skirmisher, Thief, Craftsman (simple trades), Farmer Race-specific character classes: (None available) Classes unlocked through actions: Familiar Selvara focused on the only interesting character class: Familiar Only available for animals (limited selection), fairy creatures and monster races (limited selection) that have been made familiars by a mage as part of the corresponding ritual. You have made a pact with a mage. Within a limited area, both partners can access each other''s magical abilities. The range for this area is [Error! Not available] [Error forwarded] [Analyzing...] [Error corrected; Global rule adjustment¡­] You have made a pact with a mage and/or dungeon heart. Within your shared dungeon, both partners have limited access to each other''s magical abilities. Outside of this area, you receive your own mana pool and can learn your mage''s spells. All magic skills and spells can be increased to a maximum of the mage''s level. Special features: As a familiar you will receive half of the experience points gained by the mage as a bonus for as long as you remain inside the dungeon. If you are outside the dungeon, all experience points earned by both of you are shared. Confirm selection (Yes/No)? Selvara grinned: "Yes!" Name: Selvara Race: Dungeon Fairy Class: Familiar Level 4 Mana pool: 60 Regeneration: 8/ hour Strength: 6 Dexterity: 16 Intelligence: 14 Willpower: 10 Constitution: 10 Charisma: 14 The following skills have been added by way of familiar bond: Dungeon Lore (Journeyman V), Trap Lore (Journeyman II), Magic Theory (Layman VII), Spell Control (Journeyman II), Alchemy (Layman II), Herb Lore (Layman IV), Geography (Layman V) Spells, all learned at Journeyman I Level 1: Stationary Zone of Silence, Unstable Invisibility Level 2: Self-Transformation, Shock Grip, Permanent Light The dungeon fairy blinked and looked at the group. The others had withdrawn their hands and Ulmenglanz had carefully sat down and placed her hand with the fairy on it on the ground. "My character class is now familiar. Practically like a mage." She tilted her head as she listened to an inaudible voice. "Malvorik still has a long list of things he wants you to get him when you get a chance. I''ll have him create them as a scroll." Trulda tilted her head, almost as if she was trying to hear the voice too: "A shopping list? What does a dungeon like this need?" "Various herbs, liquids, strange substances and glassware for his alchemistic experiments. Rare metals and gemstones for artifact making. Grimoires with spells. Food for the inhabitants and some exotic animals." "Animals?" "Better not ask. He would explain it to you in detail. Among other things, slag snails, chameleon butterflies and shield beetles. Plus, all kinds of poisonous snakes and scorpions." She listened again for a moment and then added: "Oh yes, and he wants you to get him a shrine to Golgoroth." Weylan rubbed his forehead as if he had a headache: "Are you serious? So, I¡¯m supposed to get the contents of the local mage academy, part of the zoo and the shrine of a god whose worship is forbidden in all civilized lands. We have the usual house in my village with shrines to almost all the gods, but no one has yet wanted to attract Golgoroth''s attention. Well, I was afraid I might get bored for a few days." Trulda raised her hands palms up: "Live in interesting times." Malvorik''s voice rang out in the minds of those present: Weylan just sighed and walked away to get a good night''s sleep before fate had more in store for him. Chapter 27: Umbramar CEO Sepp Kr¨¹ger leaned back comfortably in his leather chair and watched the presentation on the huge screen with his hands folded in a pyramid shape. He sat at the end of the large conference table. At his sides were the members of his board of directors. He nodded with satisfaction. A new building, several additional employees with the corresponding costs, but a lot of virtually free positive publicity in return. The plan presented was risky. The costs were high and would only be recouped through a significant increase in turnover. He would also hardly be able to lower prices if one of his competitors took advantage of the situation to start a price war. Everything depended on winning the goodwill of customers through its employee policy. He hired an unusually large number of people instead of replacing them with AIs like other companies. A very open personnel policy was also planned. Diverse groups of people would get a chance here. Risky, but if his competitors imitated his method, it would improve the entire labor market. Which in turn would be down to him as the pioneer. A small flashing icon appeared at the edge of his field of vision. A message he had been expecting. Only important messages were allowed through by his AI secretary during a board meeting. He raised his hand. The moderator fell silent and paused the slideshow. With an apologetic smile, Sepp called up the message. He was expecting a positive report from his followers in the virtual world. In addition, a confirmation that he had completed his most important quest and, of course, information about the rewards he would receive. Apart from the XP itself, Nistrul had not yet defined them precisely. "Master Umbramar..." Sepp Kr¨¹ger frowned after the first two words. OrcSlayer never addressed him formally unless he had bad news. Very bad news. He read on quickly. He ignored the fact that the board members were getting restless. "...just logged out. About half of the cultists survived, the rest will respawn tomorrow. The average level of the group is 7, which will drop a bit due to the respawn deductions. On the other hand, most of the combat skills have risen considerably. I''ve already been able to fit in a few training sessions along the way. The cultists have potential. To be honest, I''m really pleasantly surprised, as they were mostly dumb bastards when we started." The frown deepened. OrcSlayer was beating around the bush. Something must have gone really wrong. Had the dryad escaped? Had the duskgnomes turned into a new tunnel and the chase was still going on? "Unfortunately, I have to report the mission as a failure. The duskgnomes played us for fools. While the rangers stalled us, the little buggers dug their way to a higher tunnel level. By the time we realized it, their druids had summoned a bunch of rats and a minotaur and then bored an underground river or lake. They blocked the escape tunnel with a rock. No chance of catching them. We went up to the plain and then on to Mulnirsheim. On the way we received official information from the Nemesis AI that the quest had failed. At the same time, all players were informed that the duskgnome race has survived in-game and is now available as a character class for compatible player genotypes. The new duskgnomes will spawn underground in newly founded player cities. The location of the surviving duskgnome clan has not been revealed." Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site. Umbramar looked ahead of him for a while with a deadpan expression. His plans for advancement in the virtual reality had been set back a long way. He didn''t need to log in to know that his magical abilities were massively impaired. Without the benevolence of Nistrul, necromancers were a completely generic character class. He pushed the message aside with a gesture that was visible to everyone: "Unfortunately, someone has beaten us to it and is planning the same concept. There''s no point in being the second benefactor. The project is dead. We''re replacing the two existing call centers with AI bots and will use the freed-up budget for a normal advertising campaign. If we then go straight on the price offensive, we might be able to ditch our competitor before they can get started with their concept." He stood up and walked across the room with a sad expression on his face. At the front, he put his hand on the shoulders of the completely shaken project manager: "Mr. M¨¹ller-Kampski, you have put your heart and soul into the project and done an excellent job. I will propose your promotion to head of a new subsidiary for call center services. We will then outsource our call center employees to this company instead of laying them off. Think of a good name and a concept for it. I have every confidence that you will make it a success." He said goodbye to the rest of the board and walked out. Before he had even reached the elevator, he had arranged the promotion with the HR department. He then informed his project team that they should set up a subsidiary. Including staff changes and a budget for one year. After this time, it would either have so many external orders that it could live off them, or it would go bankrupt. But under a different name and with a well-timed advertising campaign that would divert attention away from the mass redundancy. The last time it had been enough to have several film studios and students at the various academies produce and distribute cat videos. Alone in the elevator to the underground car park, he wrote a reply to OrcSlayer as a voice message: "I am quite utterly discontented. But there''s no point in complaining. We have to look to the future. You and your cultists will get a small bonus. After all, you kept up a chase for days under very unusual circumstances. I have to give you credit for that, despite your failure. In return, however, I expect you to continue following me. I already have a new mission: find the NPCs who helped the duskgnomes. I need them alive. We have to find out where the duskgnomes have gone. Even if we have to torture every single NPC in Mulnirsheim to death for weeks. We will find the duskgnomes. Then we''ll sacrifice every single duskgnome to Nistrul and turn them into undead. That should get me back in his good graces." He left the elevator in the underground car park and went to his limousine, where his chauffeur was already holding the door open for him. In the car, he opened the monitor and keyboard. He could write messages with his implanted computer, but he still preferred the normal physical way. He composed an e-mail to Jezebel: "The quest has failed. The cultists are searching Mulnirsheim for information on the whereabouts of the duskgnomes, but this will take a while. The NPCs involved probably haven''t even arrived in the city yet. The tunnels may also end behind the Border Mountains. I will recruit more cultists in the hinterland and instruct spies and informants to keep their eyes open. The two of us will pass the time in other ways. For now, I have to work off my frustration. This failure has messed up all my plans. Without Nistrul''s favor, I can''t consecrate a temple and become an Arch-Priest. Instead, we''ll do what you jokingly suggested recently. We''ll wipe out a goblin village. Or several. If we can get away with it undetected, even one full of NPC humans. Let''s take a look. You can train your combat skills and I can replenish my undead army. We''ll meet at the agreed spawn point in two hours." Character Sheet: Weylan Name: Weylan Race: Human Class: Assassin Level 1 Strength: 12 Dexterity: 14 Intelligence: 10 Willpower: 10 Constitution: 12 Charisma: 10 If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. Advantage: Shadow affinity Affinity for shadow magic, shadows and darkness in general. Advantages when learning and casting shadow magic (not applicable without magic talent). Resistance to shadow magic. Increased chance to recognize illusions from shadow magic. Non-magical effects (increased for non-magicians): Bonuses to sneaking and hiding. Bonus to attack and damage rolls when in shadow or complete darkness. Disadvantage: Living in interesting times Increases the probability of non-standard events and quests. Increases the probability of very rare and unique random loot. Easier access to rare or forbidden character classes and abilities. Skills: Acrobatic Dodge (Layman IV) Analysis skill (Layman I) Climbing (Apprentice I) Crossbow (Apprentice V) Dual-handed combat (Layman I) Knives and daggers (Apprentice III) Mind Block (Journeyman I) - Skill feat (Journeyman): Protected sleep (Mind Block remains active even during sleep and unconsciousness.) Picking locks (Layman I) Poison lore (Layman I) Sneak attack (Apprentice III) Stealth (Apprentice I) Streetwise (Apprentice III) Character Sheet: Malvorik Name: Malvorik Race: Dungeon Heart Class(es): - Dungeon Master Level 7 - Mage Level 5 Strength: - Dexterity: - Intelligence: 20 Willpower: 16 Constitution: - Charisma: 12 Dungeon Name: [not yet chosen] Dungeon Classification: Chimaera/ Sanctuary Crystal size: 6 Build range: 200 steps Manapool: 200 MP Mana regeneration: 26/ hour Construction plans for traps: - Pit trap - [not yet chosen] Construction plans for trap triggers: - Standard trigger - Pressure plate - [not yet chosen] Construction plans for esoteric trap triggers: Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.- Magical activity of a certain strength - Spells of a certain class - Specific spell Monster Breeds: - Lurking Strangler - Shrill Rats - Rat-Minotaur - [not yet chosen] Dungeon Master Feats: - Automatism I - Automatism II - Chimerology - Esoteric trap triggers - Mirror of thoughts - Possession - Sanctuary Mage Feats: Artifact crafting (weapons and armor) Artifact Crafting (Minor Artifacts) Brew alchemical elixirs Magic theory spell research Summon Familiar Spells: Level 1: Hand of the Adept, Telekinetic Shockwave, Stationary Zone of Silence, Stationary Zone of Darkness, Unstable Invisibility Level 2: Self-transformation, Shock Grip, Permanent Light Enchantments: Level 3: Permanent Light Skills: Alchemy (Master II) Armor Lore (Layman II) Artifact Enchantment (Journeyman V) Crystal Theory (Apprentice III) Dungeon Architecture (Apprentice II) Herb Lore (Journeyman IV) History (Master IV) Magic Theory (Master IV) Monster Lore (Apprentice I) Rock Lore (Layman III) Spell Control (Master II) Trap building (Apprentice I) Weapon Lore (Layman III) Glossary Tiers Character levels, skills and quests are often divided into different tiers. The transition to a higher tier offers a significant increase in abilities or danger level. Skills can be increased to a maximum of one tier above the characters tiers. Character Tiers: Level 0 Layman Level 1 to 5 Apprentice Level 6 to 10 Journeyman Level 11 to 15 Master Level 16 to 20 Grand Master Level 21 to 25 Legend Skill tiers follow the same progression. Skills Players can basically do anything they could do in the real world. If one demonstrates exceptional proficiency in a game-relevant ability, the game registers this by awarding a skill at the level shown. Applications at the game accepted level are partially automated, so they are easier and go much faster than in the real world. Skill usage at a lower level become even faster and easier. A skill can only be increased if it is challenged. New challenging areas of application or use under stress and danger can increase the skill. Skills are increased at every level from I to X (using roman numerals). To increase the skill from X to the next level with a starting value of I, an outstanding deed must be accomplished at the level to be reached. This may even have happened some time ago, if the Nemesis AI deems it appropriate. NPC Non-player character. All sentient beings within the game world that are not players. The development of sentient AI systems is the greatest technical revolution of the past centuries. However, these systems require a quantum computer as the hardware basis. Even with maximum miniaturization and optimization, this basic system fills an entire city block and requires an enormous amount of energy for computing capacity and cooling. This basic AI can supply an enormous number of AI cores. Each of these AI cores is a separate piece of hardware within the AI system. If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. NPCs come in different quality levels. Those that come into frequent or intensive contact with players are supported by their own AI core and are fully sentient. Animals and NPCs that have little involvement in their environment or little interaction with players are controlled by virtual software segments, are not sentient and are not capable of creative work. These NPCs repeat complex but fixed procedures. If such an NPC comes into direct contact with players, it is assigned an AI core and a complete personality plus background story is created spontaneously. The character is awakened. Revenants/ Heroes/ Players Player characters are called "revenants" by your NPCs, as they are resurrected at the next spawn point after death. The players themselves usually call themselves "heroes". Death Player characters lose a level when they die, but drop back to a minimum of level 1. The experience points are reduced to the minimum required for the reduced rank. The corresponding special skills and abilities return when a character is raised to a previously reached level. A new choice is not possible. Attributes that have already been increased are retained, but cannot be increased again. With every death, there is a chance that the player will lose an important item or money, which then remains as loot. NPCs that die remain dead. The part of the AI allocated to them is redistributed to another NPC. Memories and abilities are (usually) lost. Character classes Every player and NPC must choose a character class. Players can choose from a list of almost all classes and can even suggest new classes. NPCs have a more restricted access to classes. Basic classes that are always available for NPCs include: Brawler, Skirmisher, Thief, Craftsman (simple trades), Farmer. More depending on area and race. More complex classes require prior knowledge, special training or proof of aptitude through special deeds or completion of quests. When advancing to a higher character class tier (i.e. when increasing to level 6, 11, 16 and 21), the AI may allow you to change the character class or upgrade to a more specialized class after special achievements, deeds or quests. Multiple character classes It is usually not possible to have multiple character classes. It¡¯s impossible for players during character creation and can only be achieved in the game under rare circumstances. Character classes must then be increased as evenly as possible, as different levels lead to severe XP deductions. Chapter 28: Malvorik Dungeon heart Malvorik had found no peace since the underground battle to save the last duskgnomes. The underground city he had created for fun, and to test his builder skills, was suddenly full of life. Duskgnomes scurried through the houses, picked a spot and made themselves at home. Someone always had a request. He was currently working on installing functioning hinges on the doors, which had previously only served as decoration. Malvorik only had a vague idea of exactly how a hinge was constructed and how it worked. Selvara watched in the heart room using the mirrored walls that showed what the dungeon heart was looking at, "Are you kidding? You can''t make that thing square. It has to be round, otherwise the hinge can''t turn at all!" "Anyone who uses doors?" Malvorik ignored her and reformed the hinges according to her instructions. After a few more adjustments, the duskgnomes managed to open their doors with a squeak. He created bandages, clean water and blankets. Then he came to the subject of food. That was a little more problematic. The only halfway edible animals he could make were rats. He created a summoning circle and made a few rats appear. Selvara hovered a few steps above the ground and looked down critically at his activities: "Can''t you create them dead? Butchering rats would be a lot of work for that little meat." Malvorik paused and rummaged through his menus. As he had done before, he could also create dead monsters to use as bait, traps or decoration. "Probably for dungeons with an undead theme. See if you can leave out the skin as well." A few bloody rat carcasses appeared. Malvorik and Selvara looked down at the pile, indecisive and slightly disgusted. The living rats that had been summoned shortly before reacted more directly. They immediately pounced on the food provided. "Can you..." She made a vague gesture. The carcasses that now appeared looked more appetizing. But they were still very recognizable as rats. "What do you mean?" A pile of vaguely cube-shaped chunks of meat appeared. Selvara flew down for the first time to take a closer look. "Yes, that works. No bones, no weird bits of organ, no fur. You got it right this time. Now no one can tell exactly what it was. Create a new summoning circle in the kitchen of Gnome City and then we''ll see what the duskgnomes think of it." A picture of the largest kitchen in the tiny village appeared on one of the mirrored walls. Malvorik had extended it considerably and equipped a large room next to it as a canteen with long tables and rows of benches. Some duskgnome women were busy unpacking their few supplies. They familiarized themselves with the arrangement of the cauldrons, which could be swung over the hearth fire on a swivel arm. When the incantation circle burned itself into one of the stone shelves on the wall, they stepped back nervously at first. Then the chunks of meat appeared. A short time later, a duskgnome chef had already mixed the goulash in one of the copper kettles together with the herbs she had brought with her and began to heat it over the fire. She fished out a spoonful and tasted it while three other duskgnome women watched her expectantly. She smacked her lips demonstratively and paused dramatically as she chewed and swallowed the morsel thoughtfully. Then she grinned broadly at her audience: "Excellent. I haven''t had rat meat this good for years." The duskgnome raised his head in surprise and banged against the top of the bunk bed he was putting together in a room. "What?" Skorr waved it off: "It''s all right. I just wasn''t prepared for a voice in my head. What was that about meat?" "Well, what we can get. On the surface, I personally like to hunt rabbits. In the tunnels of the underworld, there are a few types of lizards... and rats, of course. Lots of varieties of rats." He smacks his lips, "Dire rats are the size of pigs and have a similar flavor." The next day flew by. The dungeon heart let its gaze flit through its dungeon, but found no urgent problems. He removed the water ingress he had used to keep the revenants out of the shaft, cleared the passage downwards again and lowered some duskgnomes down. Two groups of five duskgnomes nodded and marched off. At the edge of Malvorik''s sphere of influence, they found a pile of hammers, chisels and pickaxes. All created from the best tools they had brought with them. Tools that their people had transported over years of migration and hundreds of kilometers. The image in the mirror wall followed the two groups until they were out of sight of the dungeon heart. The image switched to his play city. Although he liked to think of it as a city, he had to admit the term village would be more fitting to its size. He let his gaze wander from duskgnome to duskgnome. Some mourned fallen kin. Others just stared wearily ahead. Most, however, wandered through their new home like wide-eyed children. He had saved all these children and their parents. Now he would make sure that they could grow up in safety. No one would ever harm them again. Not without defeating his dungeon first. Down to the last monster. The leader of the duskgnomes came into his field of vision. He stared unfocused in front of him and wiped his hands through the air in annoyance. Was he just managing his last level up? What had he done to have to move so many menus around? "Not quite. As the nominal leader of the duskgnomes, I''m now the mayor of a village. I really have no idea what to do with all the menus. There''s so much to do..." Legal reassessment... Congratulations. Malvorik is now mayor of [insert name of village] Current number of inhabitants: 241 (Note: monsters are not counted as inhabitants). His field of vision filled up with messages and new menus. Insufficient living space: population growth -60% No hospital or comparable facility: risk of epidemics: +20%; wound healing -20% No designated latrines: risk of epidemics: +20%; morale -10% No designated training areas for military personnel: training time +50% No school or comparable center for teaching: Learning times for knowledge skills +50% No cultivation areas available, food supply unclear, supplies still sufficient at the moment: morale of the inhabitants -20% No defenses: Morale of the inhabitants -40% Check... Objection accepted. Sufficient defenses: morale of the inhabitants +30% No established trade routes: Trade income = 0 Please select a form of government: Monarchy, dictatorship, oligarchy, chieftaincy, gerontocracy, magocracy... Chosen form of government: Dictatorship Malvorik went through the individual points in more detail. When he focused on one of the messages, a control menu for the development and control of the village opened. Each entry branched out into numerous options. Numerous buildings and resources were necessary for the village to survive. A number of positions had to be filled. Military leader, healer, architect, master builder, teacher and many more. There were also a number of trades and activities. Depending on the quality of the building or the skills of the person, it had an impact on the productivity, morale and loyalty of the villagers. It also affected population growth, general health and a number of other values. Skorr read through a message from the world voice, grinned and wandered off, whistling happily. He scrolled through menus, read the few explanations and began to write an overview. One of the walls in his heart room filled up with notes and cross-references. Some of them developed into full-blown equations. Selvara flew through the heart room on her way to her room, hovering in the air to watch. "Ideal living space coefficient? Building regulations? Consolidation? Development planning? Efficiency deductions for mixed use? Supply and disposal statistics? What exactly are you doing right now?" "Why? Food, accommodation, fun. Done." "Stop it! Eww. You can solve that on your own. Why don''t you start with the most urgent problem first? Food." "Did you pay attention to how much mana that cost? You can''t feed the duskgnomes permanently with that." "We don''t have any mushrooms in the dungeon. The duskgnomes have brought some bags of spores, but it will take weeks for them to grow. We¡¯d also need special soil or bales of straw." Malvorik drew a plan of the dungeon on the mirror and then selected an area into which he could drive several tunnels: Selvara flew through the dungeon. She looked around frantically and pounced on Skorr as soon as she found him. She flew in tight circles around him while talking at him. He thought for a moment and then spoke up into the empty room, "Growing mushrooms isn''t hard if you can control the humidity and temperature. But you''ll also need to put in a little light. The duskgnomes used small solium crystals for this. People often think that mushrooms don''t need any light at all. But that''s wrong." He was silent for a few minutes, then the heart crystal flashed: Selvara floated to the crystal and placed her hands on it: "You feel tense. Is something wrong?" "What do you mean?" "This is only temporary. We''ll find more resources over time." The dungeon fairy flew up and looked around: "What do you mean? Are we being attacked again?" "That''s right. Some of the new ones seem to be really vicious." "They need proper equipment for that. Magic weapons, armor, artifacts and elixirs." "Theoretically?" "How about we buy weapons cheaply and then you enchant them?" "What about elixirs?" "That sounds more complex than I imagined." "Couldn''t we buy normal equipment, you learn the patterns and improve them?" "What do you suggest?" This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings. Shoes, leather, quality level: journeyman Shirt, quality level: Journeyman Shirt, quality level: Journeyman Cloth trousers, quality level: Journeyman Climbing rope: Quality level: Journeyman 3x throwing dagger, quality level: Master 2x short sword, quality level: Master Bag, enchanted: Bag of Holding ... Enchantment learned: Extra-dimensional storage space Focus crystal: Diamond Material: Variable Enchantment costs: depending on volume, size of opening and material Guide value: cm radius x 100/ m3 Complexity: Master Sample patterns: Always full bottle Material: Crystal glass Storage volume 3000l, opening: 2cm diameter Enchantment costs: 600 MP Recommended additional enchantment: Unbreakability, Water Extraction Loot bag Material: Leather from the skin of phase wedges Storage volume 2m3, opening: 20cm diameter Enchantment costs: 6,000 MP Recommended additional enchantment: Stasis container "6000 mana points? How is anyone supposed to gather that much mana? Is there a trick?" "Wait, what are you doing with a primrose?" "So, you¡¯d need two weeks for a loot bag?" He fell silent. Selvara waited a moment, then tapped the crystal? "Malvorik? Is something wrong?" Displays appeared on the mirrors of the heart room. Malvorik scrolled through his status and went through the messages he had recently ignored. Sanctuary Bonus: Mana regeneration rate +12 (+1 per 20 contracted residents) Mana regeneration rate: 35 MP/hour He was silent for a moment. "Then you can start mass production. That solves our financial problem!" "Crap." Selvara was about to say something when the light from the crystal turned pink. "What is it?" "I don''t understand..." "We''re right below the mage academy? Didn''t you realize that?" "Won''t that set off an alarm upstairs? Surely mage academies are secured against magical intruders?" Malvorik sent out an amused laugh: "I can feel your big grin. What''s in this room?" "What are we supposed to do with broken artifacts?" Selvara thought she heard the mental rubbing of hands. <... Artifacts are made of the very materials we need most. Before they are disenchanted, the components can no longer be reused. However, it takes a lot of time and mana to disenchant them again. It is also not without danger, especially with larger artifacts. The more mana is bound, the higher the risk of a catastrophic mana discharge. For artifacts storing more than about 5000 MP, you normally do this outside the city. Far outside. Unfortunately, you can no longer use the gems, as they disintegrate into worthless dust when disenchanted. Artifacts that have no valuable components other than the gem usually end up in the back corner of the cellar forever.> Selvara nodded thoughtfully and watched as a cross-sectional drawing of the dungeon appeared on a mirror in the heart room. A column of claimed territory formed along the mana line. Malvorik limited himself to only a one step radius, the absolute minimum. Selvara used the waiting time to browse through some menus. "Tell me, you still haven''t chosen some of your traps. Now would be a good time to secure the entrances to the dungeon better. A few corridors filled with traps would be useful." Selvara shrugged and spent the next hour looking through the trap menus to make a shortlist. "Trapdoors and automatic crossbows, of course, the classics. We need those. Flamethrowers... Acid showers... Oh! Swinging axes! They''re so stylish! Best on a bridge over lava. Too bad we don''t have lava here." The inscriptions that Malvorik read off the crates appeared on a previously empty mirror in the heart room. Darkness or other crates pressed against the labeled side played no role in his dungeon view. Texts and sketches of the contents appeared in a long list. The entry was marked red and pushed aside very carefully. This entry was also highlighted in red. More names of artifacts appeared and were sorted. He managed to make his view of the room appear on another mirror. Selvara looked somewhat disappointed at the cellar room. To her, it was just several boxes in a dusty room. "What did its creator do wrong?" "What was that?" "Ouch." Selvara spotted something in the mirror that wasn''t hidden in a box: "What''s that over there? It looks like an open barrel full of swords." "Because that would leave only a non-magic sword?" "A sword that, like all materials for artifacts, must be masterfully forged?" Malvorik stumbled, then his crystal heart began to glow brighter. A few swords appeared on the floor of the heart room. "Shouldn''t you set up an armory somewhere?" The field of vision in the room shifted to the farthest area, unreachable due to whole mountains of wildly stacked crates. Malvorik made some crates transparent in the display. Hidden beneath more crates, two crates with metal rings three steps in diameter became visible. Covered on all sides with runes and gemstones. "What exactly does this thing do?" "What went wrong with that?" "So, it doesn''t work after all?" . "That''s... pretty short." "Let''s better leave it alone and find something else." Selvara''s gaze was already wandering when Malvorik replied, "Does the connection equalize the mana levels of the destination and origin?" "Then it would emit a wave of dungeon-affinity mana at the destination. You can as well set up a glowing sign at the market." The light in the dungeon crystal flickered while Malvorik pondered. The two metal rings appeared in a room in the dungeon. The empty crates remained in the academy. Malvorik hadn''t had this much fun for a long time. He sorted, analyzed and acquired. A storeroom grew out of the ground in the village and filled up with magical items. "You should put up a warning sign so that no one uses one of the broken artifacts before you''ve disenchanted it. Especially not one that explodes." "Can we finally talk about traps then?" "How do you prevent intruders from taking the easy way out?" "Could you open the portal in the basement of the academy?" "You could camouflage the easy way. But thieves and some other character classes have skills that allow them to discover the best secret doors." "I have no experience with sanctuaries. They are very rare and usually keep themselves secret. As soon as there are intruders in the dungeon, some traps work differently and cannot be switched on or off. What is the current route?" Malvorik showed the structure of the dungeon in a mirror and highlighted the way up. The sewers were built in three levels. On the top level, there were many small channels that collected the sewage. Here there were pipes one and a half steps in diameter with no path, where you had to walk bent over through the middle of the cesspit. Larger collection sewers had a one-step wide path on one side. The second level had only a few, but larger canals with wide elevated walkways on both sides. The canal workers moved through this level until they reached a ladder downward. On the third level, there was only one main sewer and a few side tributaries. The sewer carried all of the city''s wastewater to an underground river. The entrance to a secret room was hidden in one of the canals on the second level, where you could fold up a trapdoor hidden below a bed to reach the ladder down. From there, a spiral staircase led down to the actual dungeon. "The spiral staircase ends in the labyrinth level. That''s a good start. It''s the easiest place to hide several paths." "It''s terrible! Even a blind person can find their way through in no time. No traps, no hidden locations for guards, no rotating walls." Malvorik remained silent while Selvara stared at him critically with her arms crossed. For the first time in a long time, the dungeon heart no longer felt like a gigantic dungeon, but really like a tiny crystal. *** The strangler slowly pulled the sandbag towards him on a rope. The floor, walls and ceiling of the corridor were decorated with an even square pattern. Selvara fluttered up and down excitedly over his shoulder. The square under the sandbag sank down a finger''s breadth under the weight. It clicked audibly. A column dropped from the ceiling behind him. For a moment, a tightly stretched spindle of blades could be seen, then the column reached the floor and the mechanism unlocked. Steel springs discharged and whirled blades at five different heights around in a circle. The lowest one shredded the sandbag. "Five points out of ten." "The trigger sinks in too deep, giving adventurers too much warning. A clever thief will take the pressure off the trigger before he has even activated it. The spring construction will not trigger if the column is not touching the ground. If someone stands in the way or even puts a foot under it, it will be a dud. The blades move in a circular motion. Easy to block. They are also stopped even by cloth armor. Stabs get through armor more easily. The direction of rotation is counter-clockwise. It would therefore hit the adventurers from the side where they are carrying shields. You can hardly make it easier for them to parry. Shall I continue?" Malvorik was sadly silent. "I told you, it''s not that easy to build traps without a plan. The pitfall trap was quite good. You also managed the pendulum axes. But traps with complex triggers are... complex. Shall we choose a few construction plans from the list?" "All right then. Then let''s take a look at the next course." The strangler wandered a few meters further and saw a visually identical corridor. Here, too, a rope lay ready, with a sandbag at the other end of the corridor. "Is that the spear trap?" "Then forget the punching bag. Just let the strangler run in." "You won''t. I''ll give him a few instructions, he''ll be fine." A few instructions later, the strangler wandered into the corridor on his short feet. After a few steps, the floor clicked down and a piece of the wall hinged open. Or was about to, before the strangler knocked the cover back again. The spear trap clicked ineffectually inside the wall. "The cover should disappear into the wall. Never build something that can be easily blocked." The strangler stopped at the end of the corridor and, on Malvorik''s instructions, threw a small sandbag into it. Wall, floor and ceiling sections hit into the corridor in rapid succession, driven by thick steel springs, and were pulled back again. The sandbag was flung up, hit from the side and exploded into a cloud of sand and shreds of burlap. More plates hit the aisle from all sides. Selvara landed on the strangler''s shoulder and looked into the corridor with wide eyes: "Seven out of ten. Blunt damage, but with a really good bang. Spread over a wide area. I''m impressed. I didn''t even notice the trigger." "Fine by me. But after that, we''ll finally start securing the entrance to the dungeon." "It''s a walk in the park. Even a five-year-old elf would get through it." The dungeon crystal exuded a self-satisfied feeling. "Of course not. We were here the whole time... What did you do?" Malvorik didn''t respond to any further questions as Selvara flew up through the corridors. From the city, she flew up a spiral staircase. The spiral staircase ended in a hollow column in one of the five rooms of the labyrinth. It remained suspended in the air right at the exit. Where the floor, walls and ceiling had previously consisted of smooth, bare stone, there was now dense undergrowth. Creepers grew over irregular grids and poles up to a step away from the walls. The floor was covered in earth with ankle-high grass growing on it. Wide creepers stretched somewhat less densely along the ceiling. Light crystals that had previously been placed at regular intervals in the middle of the ceiling were now scattered irregularly along the walls and ceiling. Partially overgrown, they shrouded the corridors in a web of shadows. Selvara fluttered slowly in a circle. "By Golgoroth''s tusks. I am speechless. Where did you get all this?" "It just looks gigantic. The diffuse lighting, the curved corridors... Wow." "Why would I..." Selvara broke off with a shrill scream as a hand snatched at her from the curtain of vines beside her. She whirled to the other side of the room. A figure burst through the ceiling vines and fell on top of her. Intensive training during her schooling in the fairy realm enabled her to dodge again with maximum acceleration of her wing beat. The strangler that had grabbed at her emerged from the tangle. The monster that had almost buried her stood up. Three more lurking stranglers emerged from their hiding places. "Golgoroth''s hairy ass! Where did they come from? There''s nowhere to hide!" "I don''t understand. What does that mean?" Selvara fluttered around the room for a while, thinking. "And who will you give this blade stick?" "Of course. I thought he was dead a dozen times. But somehow he wriggled out of every mess." "Too bad you didn''t get any XP for saving the duskgnomes. Maybe that would have been enough for another level as a mage." The crystal next to her suddenly turned pale. "Malvorik?" Previously unread messages from the voice of the world flashed past on the mirror wall. He stopped at one of them. Quest completed: Save the duskgnomes Success rate: Significant contribution. Bonus for long-term accommodation Reward: 500 XP Material reward (gold) cannot be applied to dungeon hearts. Alternative reward required... The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation. Additional patterns learned: Simple furniture (chairs, tables, stools, beds) Simple household items (wooden buckets, wooden plates, wooden spoons, wooden cups) Simple house components (doors, windows, trap doors, shutters) Food (gnome bread, trail rations, mushroom stew, mushroom soup, rat goulash) Malvorik''s crystal sparkled with delight. "Yes, great. We get a horde of gnomes on our doorstep and as a reward for taking them in, you get the necessary interior design patterns." "Feel free to increase your mage class. More than two levels difference will result in heavy deductions on further XP gains. I don''t want that either." Character class increased: Mage to level 6 Cannot increase mana capacity: Incompatible race. Cannot increase mana regeneration: incompatible race. Select Level 3 spell from list... "Battle magic?" "I actually meant for me. I don''t want to be selfish, but..." A long list of spells appeared on the mirror. Selvara read through it with increasing confusion. "I don''t understand most of the names. With the others... What''s the difference between a firebolt and an ice projectile? There are quite a few spells that sound like battle spells, but which is the strongest?" "I can tell from your emotions that you don''t agree." "What would you recommend then?" "Keep it short. No matter how hard I try, I have too little prior knowledge to make a decision here myself." Selvara thought about it for a moment: "Sounds good. I''ll take it." Spell learned: Level 3 - Frost breath (Layman I) Malvorik tested the spell and a light blue cone of concentrated cold traveled from the heart crystal across the room towards the entrance of the heart room. Frost spread across the floor where the cone touched it. Flowers of ice covered the stone wall around the door. The rat minotaur looked in through the entrance in alarm, but immediately calmed down at a mental signal from the dungeon heart. Selvara whistled through her teeth in awe: "Wow. Now let me have a go!" She concentrated on her familiar connection and the spell also appeared in the list of spells she knew. She carefully read through the detailed description of the spell, flew out of the heart room into the antechamber and beckoned the rat minotaur to take cover behind her. The massive figure shuffled reluctantly into the corner. Selvara concentrated and cast the spell. As stated in the description, she deliberately exhaled strongly with the last syllable and a cone of cold spread into the room. However, it was much smaller and weaker. Where Malvorik had covered almost half the room with hoarfrost, in her case it was at best a two-step wide area. Information: The effect of spells of the "Breath" class scales with the size of the user. As a dungeon, Mage Malvorik counts towards the maximum size level and therefore achieves the maximum permitted effect for a level 3 spell. "That''s all right. It''s still very practical. At least I can use it near the rest of the group. At least indoors, otherwise it would be far too dangerous." Select feat from list... Malvorik displayed the feats on the mirror wall. The list was almost endless. Advantages with certain types of spells. More complex artifact possibilities. The ability to create golems, animated armor or flying self-fighting weapons. Names of feats appeared on another wall, where he sorted them and kept removing or adding them. "There''s no end to it. Mages who don''t spend their lives on quests and in dungeons normally only get to level 6. Do they then have to choose six feats from this endless selection?" "You did it pretty quickly the first time." "What will you choose now?" "That means? Don''t make it so exciting." Malvorik''s mental voice felt very self-satisfied. He made the descriptions appear on the mirror wall, where Selvara could study them. Limited Spell Matrices Enables the creation of artifacts with spell matrices with spells up to level 2. Spell matrices can also be used by non-mages. The spells used must be defined in all variables and produce a significantly reduced effect. To use them, you only need to say a command word and physically aim the artifact. The artifact drains the required mana from the user, even if he normally has no access to his mana supply. The mana consumption is adjusted in proportion to the reduced effect. Predecessor (but not required for) spell matrices. Spell Matrices Prerequisite: Mage level 5+ Enables the creation of artifacts with spell matrices with spells up to level 2. The user can use the full scope of the spell cast with all variables. Can only be used by mages. Requires the utterance of a command word. Mana consumption increased by one level. Prerequisite and required for reinforced magic matrices Reinforced Spell Matrices Prerequisite: Mage level 6 + and Spell Matrices Enables the creation of artifacts with reinforced spell matrices with spells up to level 3. The user can use the full scope of the spell cast with all variables. One of the variables can be increased. Can only be used by mages. Requires the utterance of a command word. The mage must be able to cast spells at least one level higher than the desired level of the artifact spell. Mana consumption significantly increased. "Isn''t the one in the middle better?" "What kind of spells do you intend to use for this?¡± "How exactly do you imagine that. We''re broke. Should Weylan just bludgeon a novice in an alley and steal his grimoire?" "I think Weylan and Trulda are already busy looking for work." Chapter 31: Weylan The queue stretched along almost the entire block. Weylan stamped on the spot and pulled his cloak tighter around him. It wasn''t actually that cold yet, but the queue in front of the guild house was in the shadows of the buildings. It took what felt like an eternity each time before he took a few small steps forward until the queue came to a standstill again. Around him, the people waiting had taken out books or manuscript scrolls and were reading. The young man directly in front of him was whittling away at a piece of wood. The result would either be a clenched fist made of wood or a sheep. Weylan wasn''t sure yet. He hadn''t brought anything with him and called up his character sheet. No changes. Still Assassin Level 1. With a suppressed sigh, he began to scroll through the messages from the World Voice. He had missed a lot after his injury. Now he had the opportunity to see if there was anything important... Quest completed: Save the duskgnomes Success rate: Decisive contribution. Reward: Attribute bonus: Constitution +2 300 XP 100 gold Shoes of the Assassin He felt his pockets getting fuller and heavier and stifled a grin. He glanced around, finding no unexpected shoes on the floor, and certainly none in his pockets. Lifting his foot, he realized these were not the shoes he had put on that morning. The ones his father had accompanied him to the shoemaker in the neighboring village to purchase. No one who spent the whole day in the field would save on shoes. The new ones looked only slightly different. If he hadn''t worn his old shoes for two years, he wouldn''t have noticed any difference. But they fitted even better. They were lighter and more flexible. He could also feel the ground through the soles. As if he were walking barefoot. When he stomped firmly on them, he heard only the slightest noise. The rest of the news did not contain any surprising XP, but he still found a lot that he had missed during the underground battle. He was so absorbed that he didn¡¯t hear the gatekeeper, who was in charge of managing the entrance to the building, until he called him out a second time: "Hey! I said next! If you doze off, I''ll let the next person in, and you can wait for another three hours." "Excuse me." Weylan hurried up the three steps and into the building. He went straight into a long room with desks on either side. Behind the desks sat uniformed employees of the city administration, on the other stood a colorful mix of people. Old and young, well-dressed and in rags. In the open aisle in the middle stood a man in a somewhat more elaborately decorated uniform: "Stop. Please stand still for a moment. Status analysis." Analysis Skill resisted. Skill increased: Mind Block (Journeyman II) Weylan ignored the message from the voice of the world and tried to remain calm, even though he was tense inside. The man looked bored into the air in front of him and sighed. He beckoned Weylan to follow him and walked past a few desks until he came to one where the clerk was free. He motioned Weylan to stand in front of it and then turned to the man sitting comfortably behind it: "Shepherd, level 1. Have fun." With that, he turned around and received the next newcomer. If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. Weylan nodded politely to the man behind the desk. A discreet sign gave his name as "Sifridus Federwei?". The first strands of gray ran through his otherwise black hair and his beer belly showed that he didn''t get out of his chair often. The man had his eyes slightly closed and was rubbing his right temple as if the news was causing him pain. His voice was bored: "Another shepherd? Is anyone still looking after your flocks on the plains or have you all left?" He didn''t wait for an answer: "Never mind. We may have a few flocks, but we already have more than enough shepherds. With only one level, it wouldn''t cost you much experience to switch to another character class. Would you be interested? I''d highly recommend it, while you still can." "I don''t know. It depends. What else is there? City guard? Soldier? Bodyguard?" Sifridus opened his eyes and casually scrutinized Weylan. The corners of his mouth twitched briefly in a disparaging manner. He suppressed a laugh and shook his head: "No. Combat classes are only taught to residents of the United Kingdoms. Citizens of neutral territories are excluded. The risk of spies and saboteurs infiltrating is far too great. Besides, you hardly have the required attribute values for a fighter class. "I have physical strength at 12 and dexterity at 14!" Sifridus tilted his head and looked at him more closely for the first time: "Really? What about intelligence?" Weylan bowed his head and answered reluctantly: "Ten." The municipal employee rubbed his chin thoughtfully and then shook his head: "Too bad. He wanted at least intelligence 12. I once suggested someone with 11 to him, you should have heard him. But that doesn''t matter. That was before the plague." He leaned to one side, pulled open a drawer and, after rummaging around for a while, took out a sheet of paper. "Here''s the address. Report to Master Ruttgar." While Weylan held the sheet in his left hand, confused, and read the name of a tavern, Sifridus shook his other hand: "Welcome to the exciting world of sculleries!" "No!" Weylan dropped the paper as if he had burned himself. "If you have nothing better, I''ll look for a job myself!" The man shook his head: "Without a job, you have no income. At least not a legal one. And since we don''t want any criminals or beggars in the city, you either take what you''re offered or you''ll be thrown out of the city." Two tall city guardsmen appeared out of nowhere behind Weylan. Only now did he notice the dark alcoves in which they had been standing ready. They were not yet making any threatening gestures or faces. The one on the left even smiled reassuringly at him: "Don''t worry. We haven''t had to throw anyone off the rampart wall for a long time. We only do that on the second offense." The other guardsman scowled at him. "Is there really nothing better than a dishwasher in a tavern?" "Nothing you''re suited for without the right class." "I already have enough XP for the next level, then I can increase my intelligence." "Then why didn''t you automatically level up?" Weylan hesitated for a moment and then bowed his head as if embarrassed by the answer: "It''s a disadvantage." Sifridus spread his arms wide: "You have Dependent Apprentice as a disadvantage? That''s fantastic! Only being able to level with a master really shouldn''t count as a disadvantage. You can use it to choose your next class. You really already have enough XP for the next level?" The grim-faced city guard intervened: "Wait a minute, where does a milk slurper like you claim to get XP from? From sheep fu..." The other guardsman elbowed him in the side, causing him to end up coughing. "From a wolf attack." "Why didn''t you level right after that?" "My teacher was my father, the village shepherd." "Then he would have... oh... I see... the wolves?" Weylan just nodded. Even the grim-faced guardsman looked somewhat sympathetic. Mr. Featherwhite recovered the fastest: "Well, anyway, you can learn a new class extremely quickly this way. They urgently need a few more domestics in the castle. These are house servants who mainly take on more demanding tasks and organize the other servants. The baron''s steward is urgently looking for an apprentice. Smart, skillful and capable of learning. If you learn domestic as a character class after just a few days and increase your intelligence at this and the next level, he will probably be satisfied. Until then, just try not to be too stupid. So? Interested?" Weylan nodded. Anything would be better than washing plates and glasses all day. Or herding sheep. Chapter 32: OrcSlayer The warehouse by the river outside the city walls looked dilapidated and unused from the outside. However, a good observer would have wondered why people kept turning inconspicuously into the side alley next to it and being let in through a side entrance. Thick cloths darkened all the windows so that the light from the numerous illuminated crystals in the hall could not be seen from outside. From the inside, the countless cracks and holes had been carefully sealed. Numerous figures crowded around one end of the room. One by one, they crossed the open space in the middle to be questioned in front of a desk. There was a murmur when one of them joined a small but growing group at the other end of the hall, beaming. Others, however, left the hall with their heads bowed or walking upright and grumbling. The Dark Paladin ran a relaxed hand through his orange hair and leaned back in his chair. He leafed carelessly through the papers on the wooden table: "So... a Defiler Druid... I''ve never worked with one like that before. What can you do?" The anubian bowed with one hand to his chest. His jackal ears were proudly erect and his black fur was carefully brushed to shine. His voice rang confidently through the room, "I am quite good at elemental combat magic, but my focus is on body control magic. Especially when it comes to creating pain. My class is also very good at fighting plant creatures and non-magical animals. We get a lot of bonuses for that. My spells draw additional mana from the life force of animals and plants in the area." OrcSlayer nodded, made a note on the papers and pushed a bowl of freshly steaming chocolate cookies across the table: "You''re hired. Welcome to the League of Evil. Have a cookie." The anubian hesitated uncertainly. The Dark Paladin sighed: "You''ve come to the right place. We are the Brotherhood of the Heralds of the Return of Nistrul, but League of Evil just sounds better." The anubian grinned and walked away, chewing and scattering crumbs. The next contender stomped forward. OrcSlayer had already seen him in the group of waiting noobs, so he could pretend he wasn''t impressed at all. The aspirant towered almost three steps tall, consisting of two-thirds upper body. The legs were disproportionately short and stocky and the head looked like something that had been stuck on after the creator had almost run out of material. Green wart-covered skin covered muscles that bulged over other muscles. "Okay. I''m rarely impressed. But you are really something special. How on earth did you manage to play a troll as your race?" The troll looked at him for a while, then scratched his head. He held something in front of his eye with three fingers, looked at it with interest and then put it in his mouth. Only then did he reply in a low, slow voice: "Umblai not play troll. Umblai troll." "Trolls are not a permissible player race." The troll just looked at him uncomprehendingly. "Well, just tell me your background story." More staring, followed by head scratching. OrcSlayer sighed, "Where... do you... come from?" "Umblai pulling cart of dogface boiling smelly stuff. Many colors. Smoke also colorful. Then robbers. Robbers kill dog face. Robbers stab at Umblai. Umblai do not like. Umblai crush robbers. Then thirsty. Umblai look for drink in wagon. Many small bottles. Uselessly small. Umblai put whole flasks in mouth. Chew. Crunchy. Strange taste. Then someone cursed Umblai! Not seen who. Otherwise crushed!" Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit. "You emptied the wagon of an anubian Alchemist and drank all of his elixirs at once? Oh dear. That must be the worst case of elixir poisoning ever. Apart from a troll, nobody would have survived that. Still, if you drank an entire wagon, you should have gotten some permanent drawbacks. You look perfectly healthy. I can''t see any debuffs with my skills either. How does this curse affect you?" "Umblai struck with curse of problem. Everything easy before. Suddenly everything problem. Complix... Comlikei... Difficult." "You''re not a player at all, are you?" "Umblai not good with board games. Too small. Always crush." The Dark Paladin shrugged his armored shoulders, "Well, why not. What advantages do you have?" "Umblai Troll." "How exactly does that manifest itself as an advantage?" The troll placed his large paw on the table and pulled a meat cleaver from his belt. It looked like a toy in his hands. Without hesitation, he swung it out and chopped off a finger. Green blood splattered across OrcSlayer''s armor. He wiped a few drops from his face. He couldn''t show weakness in front of so many observers, so he watched calmly as the wound immediately stopped bleeding and closed up. The skin bulged out and the finger was soon as good as new. OrcSlayer whistled through his teeth, impressed: "Do you have any disadvantages?" "Umblai Troll." The Dark Paladin stifled a sigh: "How exactly does that manifest itself as a disadvantage?" "Umblai sometimes crush too much. Sad afterwards." OrcSlayer looked closely with an analysis skill and then noted "Advantage: Regeneration. Disadvantage: Bloodlust." Then he looked up again: "Have you chosen a character class yet?" "Umblai now berserker." The Dark Paladin nodded: "The wilder version of the barbarian. That fits. What talents did you choose at first level?" "Umblai did not choose anything. Voice tried rushing Umblai. Umblai not like rushing. Umblai ignored. Then voice decided." "You let the deadline expire and your talent points were randomly distributed? What did you get?" The troll opened a pouch on his belt, which would have been worn as a sack over his shoulder by normal people. He pulled out a shapeless bundle of wool with two long sticks sticking out of it: "Umblai now good at knitting and crocheting. Also good at recognizing letters." "You can read?" The troll nodded, "Recognize letters." OrcSlayer drew a large "A" on the back of one of the application forms and turned it towards the troll. "What''s this?" The troll bent down, narrowed his eyes, frowned and looked at the sheet for a while. Then he straightened up: "Letter!" "Yes, but which letter?" The troll shrugged his big shoulders. "Letter." "You are enlisted. Welcome to the Brotherhood. Have a cookie and wait with the group over there. You and I will go find a class trainer for you tonight and order custom armor and weapons from the local craftsmen." The troll carefully picked up the bowl of cookies with two fingers and tipped them into his mouth all at once. He chewed three times and swallowed. Then he put the bowl down again and stomped off. "Next." A woman in a knee-length leather dress approached, swaying her hips. Her pointed neckline went almost to her navel and the leather creaked under the strain of keeping her breasts in check. In her hand she carried a magic wand with a shimmering sphere of countless mirror facets that would have looked good on the ceiling of a disco. OrcSlayer grinned at her, "You''re hired. Name and class?" The mage smiled seductively at him and leaned slightly over the desk: "Shannara, mage level 5, specializing in mind-control magic." "Do you really need magic to make everyone do what you want?" "It depends on what I want." "Does mind-control magic also work on berserkers in bloodlust?" He looked meaningfully over at the troll. "Domination doesn''t normally work on enemies in a bloodlust, but trolls are particularly susceptible to mind-control spells. Otherwise, they couldn''t have been enslaved everywhere and used as draft animals." "That''s what I thought. You''ll be on my personal team with the troll and the anubian. You and I will meet tonight at the inn to discuss whether you are immediately suitable for a leadership position in the Brotherhood." "I''m sure we''ll come to an agreement. By breakfast at the latest." She ran her finger over the bottom of the empty bowl and then licked the crumbs without losing eye contact. Then she walked away in her knee-high leather boots. OrcSlayer watched after her until she had left the room. He shook himself briefly, stood up and adjusted his armor. He walked over to the other candidates and surveyed the group. "I''m now through with the applications from the unusual candidates. You''re all noobs, but with useful standard classes. The Brotherhood needs a lot of helpers for its plans. You''ll all be recruited at the rank of novice. There are packages of equipment in the crates at the back. Weapons of journeyman quality and armor with set bonuses. In addition, everyone takes two healing potions and a berserk elixir. This should get you through the beginner quests and level you up to level 6 in no time at all. Anyone who hasn''t managed this in a month''s time is out." The noobs rushed at the crates with shouts of joy. With above-average equipment, a month was a very generous amount of time to reach the desired level. Chapter 33a Ulmenglanz The dryad stood at the back of the dungeon''s city cave and watched as the rock floor slowly sank in a circular area four paces across. She was about to protest that the area was far too small, when she realized that the hollow was widening considerably towards the bottom. A few duskgnomes watched with interest at first, but wandered off after a while. Ulmenglanz, on the other hand, stayed with the patience of an oak until the hole was finished. Selvara flew up and took a look down as well. She nodded in satisfaction and then flew to the pot with the dryad tree. She dug both hands into the ground up to her wrists. Ulmenglanz hurried to her and watched anxiously at what she was doing. The dungeon fairy smiled reassuringly at her: "The tree has a powerful magical aura that Malvorik can''t work in. But he still needs a sample of the potting soil so he can copy it." With both hands, she lifted out some of the heavy black humus soil and flew a little to the side. On the way, it began to shimmer around her hands and the earth disappeared. A little later, the hole began to fill up. Again, the dryad watched with interest. In the end, a hole exactly the size of the clay pot remained free in the middle. She looked up at the ceiling in amusement: "You don''t have to be so formal. Ulmenglanz will do." She called a few of the duskgnomes over to help her carry the pot next to the hole and then carefully replanted the tree. Ulmenglanz stepped back. The tree now stood alone in the middle of an area of bare ground. All around it, bare gray rocky ground stretched out in all directions. She crouched down and stroked the ground with her hand. "Can you recreate the box when we leave your dungeon again?" "I didn''t know there was a spell on the box." The dryad loosened the leather straps and flipped up the lid. The contents were hidden for a moment by a reflective surface, then the magic dissolved with a sparkle and numerous pouches and bags became visible. Malvorik did not hesitate for a second to acquire such a variety of new patterns. The contents sank together as he absorbed one container after another. "What did you find?" A very small pentagram with a stylized bee in the middle formed as an engraving in the stone floor. The lines filled with luminous energy, then it flashed and a single bee appeared. Selvara carefully flew back a little: "Wait! That''s a normal bee!" Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation. "No, you''re a chimera dungeon. As such, you lost the ability to control common animals and insects, even if you create them." The heart crystal shimmered, while Malvorik tried to give the bee orders. Then he gave up. The dryad princess held out her hand and the bee flew up to settle on her palm. "Don''t worry, it won''t hurt you or your fairy." Malvorik did not answer. Another pentagram appeared next to the first. Insects appeared above both pentagrams. Selvara flew close enough to recognize a wasp and a bee. Below both, a white, honey-like mass appeared on the ground. Both insects settled down and ate. A circle formed around both pentagrams. The insects lit up and were drawn towards each other in jerks. Where they met, they disappeared in a whirling knot of light. More wasps and bees appeared above the pentagrams and were immediately drawn into the vortex of light. Small flashes of lightning flashed out. The dryad watched patiently while Malvorik worked. Occasionally, more insects or parts of insects appeared and were added to the vortex. The little dungeon fairy had meanwhile sat down on her shoulder and leaned against the dryad''s head. At last, the vortex of light went out with a final flare. In its place, a fist-sized insect that looked mostly like a wasp became visible. Its body was covered in a jumbled pattern of black and yellow spots. Four wings protruded like those of a dragonfly. The sting was clearly visible and disproportionately large compared to bees or wasps. It looked menacing, especially when it bent its long hind body forward. Selvara and the dryad backed away. Selvara didn''t take her eyes off the little monster: "What exactly did you just make?" The dryad stepped a little closer and inspected the new chimera: "Good proportions. The length of the legs fits. The wing size also seems correct to me, but you can only really tell when it''s moving. Let her fly." Selvara flew closer to Ulmenglanz and kept the dryad between herself and the besp, which shot off with a shrill whirring sound. After a lap around the room, she flew a few spirals and even a loop. Ulmenglanz nodded with satisfaction: "Faster and more agile than I expected. But pretty loud." Selvara waited until the besp landed on the ground again, before coming out from behind the dryad, "That thing is scary, but is it really strong enough for a level 1 monster?" Malvorik briefly studied the information that the world voice gave him about the chimera: The three of them studied the new dungeon monster for a while, looking for ways to improve it, until even Selvara admitted that Malvorik had done a really good job here. Princess Ulmenglanz carefully checked once again whether her tree felt comfortable in its new place. She stroked the bark, examined the leaves and felt the earth. She lifted some of it up, smelled it and rubbed it between her fingers. She nodded in agreement. "Now we just need some water." Malvorik directed water into fine channels in the cave ceiling and a light drizzle fell from above. Ulmenglanz caught some water with her hand and tasted it. "Acceptable, but a little too many minerals and too strong an affinity for ore." Ulmenglanz wrinkled his nose: "Are there no other sources of water? Something more direct from the surface?" "I don''t think that will be necessary. This will do." The dryad gave him precise instructions on the quantity and frequency with which he should water. She stepped back a little and looked up at the stone sky. Countless tiny stars shone there, illuminating the underground chamber. She spread her arms and tried to feel the light. In vain. She wearily lowered her arms. "Malvorik, can you show me the way up? I desperately need some sunlight." "I know. I can survive here. But it doesn''t feel like real sunlight." "No problem." Chapter 33b Ulmenglanz Princess Ulmenglanz lifted the manhole cover of the final channel and looked out cautiously. Something flew straight towards her face. She turned her head to the side. A small object flew past her and down into the shaft. She let go of the manhole cover with one hand and grabbed it reflexively. The cast iron grating hit the side of the opening. She pushed herself further up the ladder and pushed the cover out of the way. Three pairs of large children''s eyes stared curiously at her. She lifted the trapped object before her eyes. A glass marble. Turning her head, she spotted more marbles lying around a black target ball in the street. She held the marble out to the children: "Is this yours?" A red-haired boy of about six raised his eyebrow: "What are you doing down there?" "I check whether the sewer channels are clean." "You don''t look like the other sewer workers." The dryad slid out of the shaft and closed the lid behind her to stall for a moment. "I''m part of the secret sewer guard." The children looked at each other briefly, but didn''t seem convinced. Their spokesperson put it into words: "Never heard of anything like that." "We are the Guardians of the Deep. You''ve never heard of us, of course. Because... we''re so secret." "You don''t lie often, do you?" She leaned down to the redhead and sighed, "No. I really don''t." "I can tell. Can I have my marble back?" She flicked the marble behind her, where it came to rest close to the target ball. Then she stood up and walked away. Turning the corner, she closed her eyes and spread her arms wide. She expected to be greeted by sunlight. At last. After so long underground. The light from the sun crystals in the dungeon could keep her alive, but it just wasn''t real sunlight. The expected warmth failed to materialize. She opened her eyes. She had been sure that she had ended up here on the south-facing main road. She looked around. She was indeed on the right street. Except that she was still in the shadow of the wall fortress. She sighed and marched off to the north. The dryad looked around. The walls all around were whitewashed and covered with a pattern of exposed beams of dead wood. The floor of the alley consisted of tightly laid square stones. She saw only a few plants that had managed to make their way to the surface. She bent down and touched a small white flower that was bent over and sticking out between the cobblestones. A tiny amount of healing magic flowed into the plant. She straightened up again and the flower opened once more. The people of Mulnirsheim were out and about in the alleyways. Simply dressed men and women, as well as a few children playing. One young woman immediately stood out from the crowd for Princess Ulmenglanz. Dressed in black skin-tight clothing, she crept through the alleyway, bent over close to the wall. She jumped up to a window on the second floor and swung herself up onto the window frame. From there she jumped up to a window on the second floor, held on to a window frame with one hand and swung herself upwards. Her outstretched hand didn''t quite make it to the next window frame and waved briefly in the air. The woman waved her hands frantically and barely managed to hold on to the window frame again as she fell. She tried to push herself up again with her feet, but slipped off. Now she struggled frantically under the window. Plaster trickled down under her feet. The dryad clasped her hands behind her back and sauntered beneath her. "You do realize that your feet are barely two steps off the ground? Just let yourself fall." The woman stopped fidgeting and looked down: "I could break my legs!" Ulmenglanz rolled her eyes and raised her arms: "Just let yourself fall, I''ll catch you." "You don''t look like you could hold me." "I''m stronger than I look." "Sure?" The dryad lowered her arms and turned to leave. "It was just an offer. I''ll ask around the main street to see if anyone bigger and stronger wants to help. From what I could see, the bigger streets are crawling with revenants." The woman squeaked and then quickly called her back: "Wait! Help me down. I don''t want the other players to see me like this." As soon as the dryad was under her again, she let herself fall. Ulmenglanz caught her by the waist and slowed her down so that she hit the cobblestones with hardly any force. "Thank you." "What exactly were you looking for up there? Swallows'' nests?" "What? No. I¡¯m practicing parkour. I''m great at it in real life, but my dexterity here in the game is obviously too low. I thought twelve was enough, but that was far too optimistic. I''ll only get the skill for it if I can convince the AI that I deserve it. The dryad nodded slowly, even though she hadn''t understood a word. "I take it this is a climbing technique?" "The best! This will make me extremely agile." She dramatically raised her fist to the sky: "I''m going to be the best thief in VR!" The dryad princess didn''t sound impressed: "Maybe I''m old-fashioned, but wasn''t it always a tradition for thieves not to tell anyone that they are thieves?" "I don¡¯t mean a thief who steals things. Every adventuring party needs a thief. Someone who finds and disarms traps. Or attacks enemies by surprise from ambush." "Then why didn''t you choose dungeon-scout as a class? They lack pickpocketing, but they''re better at finding traps." The thief flinched. She waved her hands in the air as she called up a menu. "Why didn''t I see that? There''s a whole bunch of new classes popping up. What''s a master of the dark arts supposed to be? Plus three new types of scouts, Dark Paladin and... Clown? Can they just add new classes like that?" "The voice of the world alone can permit new classes. In the history of the world, it has always done so when the balance of order was disturbed and new paths had to be taken. A new plague has begun. So it is only natural that some new classes will be added." "World voice?" The thief raised an eyebrow. "Only the NPCs call the AI that." "I''m a local, if that''s what you mean." "But then how do you know so much about character classes?" "The revenants who fought on our side were very talkative." The thief visibly lost interest as soon as she learned that Ulmenglanz was an NPC. "I''d better find another terrain to practice on then. Maybe I''ll practice the basics again first. Four-point landings, rolling and precision jumps." She walked to the end of the alley in the direction she had come from. Shaking her head, the dryad turned around and walked in the other direction. She didn''t make it five steps when a shrill cry of terror rang out behind her. She sighed and looked back. The thief stood trembling at the mouth of the alley and peered around the corner. The dryad walked back to her: "What else is there now?" "Monster! There''s a giant troll in the middle of the city!" The dryad pushed past her. The wider road was designed for wagon traffic. There was indeed a troll standing in the middle of the road. Over three steps tall with the usual green warty skin, short legs and more muscle in its upper body than would be needed for a creature twice its size. Thick belts stretched around his chest. He also wore an iron collar. The dryad looked at him calmly, then turned to the thief: "Have you never seen a troll wagon before?" "Troll wagon? What are you talking about?" "What do you revenants actually learn before you come here?" The thief crossed her arms: "I read the info file." She hesitated. "For the most part. I''ve at least skimmed the important stuff." "Well, our mages have discovered that trolls are particularly sensitive to certain mind-control spells. After the troll raids near the troll swamps became rampant, an army of almost all the mind-control mages on the continent marched there. All those who could not flee fast enough, and trolls are very reluctant to flee, were dominated and given a yoke collar. This makes the spell permanent. They can''t be used for much, but they can pull wagons really well. One troll replaces about four oxen. They are also more frugal and easier to maintain. Trolls prefer meat, but can also live on practically all plants. They have no diseases and heal wounds in minutes." The thief looked at her in disbelief: "You''ve got to be kidding me. When is that supposed to have happened?" "About fifty years ago? Wait till you see one of the troll palanquins. Two trolls carrying a war palanquin or the royal palanquin. No idea if they can even get through a town. Probably only on the main roads. Even though I don''t really like dead wood carvings, the High King''s palanquin is really impressive. Masterful carvings, inlays, gold and copper... I hope I see it here again sometime. It only passed through the Border Forest twice, when High King Cariolus made his rounds through the realm." The thief peeked around the corner again: "Sounds fascinating. Short version: trolls are harmless?" "Trolls in town or harnessed to a wagon are harmless. When in doubt, see if they are wearing a metal collar. Free trolls are still among the most dangerous monsters you''ll find on the road." The revenant nodded and ran off without another word of thanks. The dryad shook her head and walked after her a little. As soon as the narrow alleys became streets, she saw more and more of the annoying revenants. She moved back into the narrower alleyways, where mostly locals moved about. Stones under their feet, walls around them. The sky was barely visible between the three-storey buildings. She trudged on. The locals moved out of her way. After a while, the alley opened up into an open square with an active construction site. She looked around, looking for a safe way through the many people carrying materials and hurrying about. The dryad stopped. She had never seen people building a house before, but this struck her as unusual. Humans weren''t usually this hectic. She stopped a construction worker who sprinted past her with a bucket of mortar. He simply tried to push past her, but she stood in the way, smiling kindly. "Hey, I''ve got to get through here." "Forgive me, stranger. I''d just like to ask a question." "What is it?" "What are you building here? And why are you in such a hurry?" The man put down his bucket and wiped the sweat from his brow. A gesture included the construction site. "We need more accommodation for all the revenants that are suddenly appearing everywhere. Baron Othello has ordered the construction of numerous new inns. The bonuses he promised us if we finish quickly are insane." This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there. The dryad sighed: "Gold. It''s always about gold. Thank you, I won''t interrupt any further." The construction worker looked around quickly and then leaned forward conspiratorially: "They say that if the revenants log out inside a safe room inside an Inn, they reappear there later. Instead of just on the spawn points as usual. This spreads them out instead of constantly clogging up the main streets. Even with the new spawn points. Everyone benefits from this." "New spawn points? I''ve never heard of new spawn points." The man shrugged his shoulders, picked up his bucket and hurried on. Ulmenglanz looked after him and then weaved her way through the piles of wooden beams and the construction workers hurrying around. A block away, her path was blocked by another building site. Here, however, the work had come to a standstill while a dozen men and women huddled around a spot on the ground. Annoyed, she pushed her way through until she could see what was upsetting everyone. A man was lying on the ground between splintered pieces of wood. His leg had a clear bend in the shin area, indicating a double fracture. Two men tried to straighten the leg while two others held the screaming man on the ground. Despite a belt strapped around his thigh, he was still bleeding. The dryad concentrated on her mana reserves. She felt just enough for a light healing spell. It wouldn''t be enough to fix the leg. She whistled through her fingers. The workers around her turned and the chaos of conversation quieted for a moment. Before any annoying questions could arise, she straightened up: "Out of the way! I''m a healer!" She pushed herself forward, scolded the man who had just started to aggravate the internal injuries by shifting the bones all wrong, and got down on her knees. She placed her hand on the wounded man¡¯s chest and concentrated. His screaming stopped in surprise as she numbed his pain. She pulled a dagger from her belt, cut his pants fully open, tightened the belt, straightened the bone with practiced grips and applied a bandage. She placed her hand on his chest again and grimaced. She looked around and quickly identified who among the bystanders was in charge. An older man, who stroked his long gray beard with concern and by now had sent most of the bystanders back to their work. She searched his gaze: "His bones are splintered. Splinters and sharp bone ends have damaged numerous blood vessels. He is bleeding internally. If I loosen the belt, he''ll bleed to death. If I don''t, his leg dies. I no longer have enough mana to heal him. You have to get a healing potion or another healer. Fast." The man nodded reassuringly to her: "Don''t worry. I already sent one of our journeymen out to buy a healing potion immediately after the accident. Normally we always have one on the building site for emergencies, but we used it yesterday to heal a carpenter who had a roof tile fall against his back. He was lucky that it only damaged his spine, but didn''t sever it." The dryad nodded gravely. A severed spine was one of the most difficult injuries to heal. It required one or even several extra strong healing potions or special elixirs. The only healers who could heal such a wound with magic were in the capital. She kept an eye on the injured man''s vital signs until a boy came running up. He slowed down, braced his hands against his knees and struggled to catch his breath. The foreman held out his hand impatiently: "Give me that, Mikhail." The boy continued to gasp for air, but shook his head. "Merchant... had... none..." "Then why didn''t you just go to the next one? Or the mages'' guild. They''re more expensive, but what the hell." The boy just shook his head, panting, then slowly caught his breath: "Sold out. Sold out everywhere. The revenants are buying up everything. Potions of all kinds, but especially healing potions. Everyone wants one. The merchants have already raised the prices several times." "How much?" "The simplest healing potion, brewed by a journeyman, costs fifty gold pieces." The foreman flinched. His bushy eyebrows did their best to cover his high forehead: "Fifty? Before the plague, it was five. How can we afford that? What happens if someone gets hurt?" He looked down at the injured worker: "What about Dalen?" Princess Ulmenglanz intervened: "Haven''t you been able to find another healer or cleric?" "There are only three real healers in the whole city. Revenants hired them and went out with them. Healers have few opportunities to level up in the city." The dryad narrowed her eyes for a moment, then nodded: "In the long run, that''s a good thing. The revenants will powerlevel the healers. After that, they can use much stronger healing spells. In return, the revenants have a much better chance of surviving their first adventures. I just wonder where they got so much gold for healing potions so quickly." The foreman spat out, "Pah, I can tell you that. They march from the spawn point straight to the Temple of Peituwin and trade those weird green translucent rectangles they summon out of empty air for good gold." "So, healers aren''t available, but the clerics of the local temples won''t just run off like that, will they?" The foreman looked questioningly at the journeyman, who had almost completely recovered by now. Ulmenglanz nodded at him, impressed. That required a clearly above-average constitution. The boy noticed the questioning looks: "What? Oh, the clerics. The cleric of Peituwin only works for gold and is busy keeping the onslaught of revenants under control. I didn''t even get into Pallandur''s temple because of all the adventurers, Gjodsel''s clerics are all out in the fields, trying to stop the madmen from burning down the crops and all three of Lieselotte''s clerics are out settling disputes. No one in her temple knew exactly where they were." "Are there any other temples with clerics in the city?" The journeyman shook his head: "Only if you think Cofefe''s cleric can help you." Ulmenglanz just grimaced: "Cofefe''s clerics have no magic whatsoever. And no other useful skills either." The foreman just laughed tightly: "Ha, we could try to find the secret temple of Llurd, of course." The injured man couldn''t help but laugh, but this ended in a loud groan as he moved his leg. Ulmenglanz put a reassuring hand on his chest, but could do no more. "The painkilling spell has stopped working. His wound is still bleeding. I''ll have to change the bandage soon. I''ve already loosened the strap a bit, otherwise his leg would have died due to the lack of blood flow." She briefly considered lying, but immediately rejected the idea. The man deserved to know the truth and be prepared for it: "Too many veins are damaged. If we don''t get magical healing here in the next hour, you''ll bleed to death." The last remnants of the laughter disappeared. He paled a little more, but then just nodded with a fixed expression on his face. "Can you... can you tell my wife Magga? Tell her... tell her that I love her." The foreman straightened up: "We still have one option." He raised his voice and declaimed loudly: "If only a hero would appear who could heal poor Marvin..." A red exclamation mark briefly lit up on his forehead... and then went out again. Quest "Heal Marvin!" has been added to the Adventurers'' Guild questbook. Ulmenglanz saw the same message from the World Voice. "There are dozens of active quests. It will take too long for someone to find them even at the best of times." She stood up from her crouched position beside the wounded man, "I''ll look for a healer myself." "There is none. We''ve just clarified that!" "Not a native. In the legends, there were also healers among the revenants. Not many, but they do exist. Healers, clerics, or simply one who carries a healing potion. I''ll bring one here, if I have to carry him." She hurried off through the alleyways. When she reached the main street, she looked around. She climbed onto the pedestal of a statue and used the elevated position to get an overview. Farmers on their way to market, craftsmen, guardsmen from the city watch, people of all ages. Humans, elves and the occasional dwarf shuffled about. She hurried towards the first group that stood out from the crowd. A troll, a scandalously scantily clad mage, an anubian and a motley bunch of humans of various classes. The dryad stood in the way of the group and tried to see who had the say. The anubian eyed her and let out a suggestive howl: "Hellooo. What brings a daughter of the woods to town?" The Anubian had well-groomed black fur and looked at her with a lecherous but friendly puppy dog look. Still, the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. Something about this guy was... creepy. Wrong. But maybe it was just because he was a revenant. She pulled herself together: "Greetings, heroes from distant lands. I would like to draw your attention to an urgent quest. Just a few alleys away lies an injured construction worker. If you have a healing potion or healing magic, you can quickly earn a few experience points." The mage pushed herself forward: "A dryad. Fascinating. But I don''t see a quest giver sign." "The quest is in the Adventurers'' Guild quest book, but the patient will be dead before you can get it there. If you fulfill the quest objective, it counts as such." The mage tossed back her long hair: "Nice try. We''re supposed to follow an unknown NPC into the narrow alleys. On a quest that only consists of healing another NPC. This can only be an ambush." Princess Ulmenglanz blinked: "What? No!" The Anubian put his hand on his weapon: "She''s right. This is not a challenge. So it can''t be a quest either." The dryad threw up her hands in annoyance and stepped aside. The group marched past her. She questioned other groups and individual revenants. None had a cleric or healing magic with them. Most pushed past her without a word and paid her no mind. They were already on quests or wanted to do something else or meet friends. Not even the green skin of the dryad healer attracted any attention worth mentioning in the confusion. She sat down on the steps at the entrance to the house and bowed her head. She didn''t know the construction worker. Nevertheless, she felt responsible for him. She had started to help him. She had given him hope. False hope that was now crumbling. She had only prolonged his suffering. At this moment, the bandages were getting wetter and redder. Blood was flowing in the tissue of his leg where it had no business to be. The gangrene was probably already starting. Rested, she could have healed him effortlessly. But she wasn''t. She was tired. So tired. "Are you all right?" She looked up. Bending over her stood a young elf in a white robe. The bottom edge was stained with mud. His smile was infectious. But not infectious enough. She just twisted the corners of her mouth wearily, "Nothing''s wrong." She scrutinized him a little more closely. His magic staff was covered in copper runes and had a ruby tip. A battle wizard. Probably specialized in fire magic. She shook her head, "You''re a battle mage, not a healer. You can''t help." She hesitated, "Unless you have a healing potion to spare?" The elf mage shook his head and looked at her worriedly: "Are you hurt?" "No, but someone is dying a few streets away." "You''re a dryad, aren''t you?" "Keenly noticed." She forced a faint smile onto her face. "Then you have mana with an affinity for healing. You''re wearing the golden bracelets of a healer. What''s the problem?" "My magic is exhausted. I can''t do anything." "That must be bad." He put a comforting hand on her shoulder. He considered: "I don''t have a healing potion, but we could try casting the spell together. You create the matrix and I''ll feed my mana into it." "That doesn''t work." "Magicians know a ritual for this. I''ve never tested it in practice, but this would be a perfect opportunity." The dryad opened her eyes and stood up hastily. "Let''s go then!" She led him to the construction site. He cleared the area around the already unconscious worker and drew a large circle around him with a piece of golden chalk. He and Ulmenglanz sat down on either side of the injured man with their legs crossed. The elf pulled out a knife, cut his left hand lightly and motioned for her to do the same. She hesitated: "A blood companion ritual? Normally it''s customary to invite your partner to dinner beforehand. Then an evening of wild dancing, honey wine and intense..." She broke off when he stuttered and tried to say something. Then she continued teasingly: "I don''t even know your name." The elf''s long ears turned red at the tip. "I... Legolias. Legolias Firebrand. A blood ritual is the quickest way to synchronize our auras. We could also try a longer meditation..." The dryad waved it off and cast a guilty look at the injured man: "Forget it. That was inappropriate." She scratched her hand and the two clasped hands. The elf placed a finger on the golden ritual circle and the line began to sparkle. After a few deep breaths, the air around them also began to sparkle. The dryad breathed in and out deeply. The air tasted slightly metallic. Her eyebrow raised slightly, "You''re saturating the air around us with mana?" "That''s the only way. At least the only one I know. The method is extremely ineffective. I''ll lose all my mana so you can cast a healing spell." He waited a while longer, then nodded as his supply of magic was depleted. "Do it." She drew air and magic deep into her lungs, placed her free hand on the injured man and cast a healing spell. His face contorted in a rictus of pain as the bones in his body rearranged themselves and splinters were pulled into place. The veins healed and the bones were joined together in a makeshift fashion. The sparkle went out before the wounds on the surface were completely closed. The foreman, who had been watching the two nervously, handed her pieces of wood and bandages. She changed the bandage and then applied a splint. The elf mage helped her, even though his hands were shaking. She concentrated and then nodded: "The internal injuries are closed. The rest will heal on their own or he can see a healer in a few days when one is available again. Thank you." She looked at his trembling hands, "Are you alright?" "I''m all right. I''ve used up all my mana reserves in one go. I''m sure I''ll feel better again in a few minutes." Both looked up as a message from the world voice appeared in their field of vision: Quest: "Heal Marvin!" (completed) Reward: 5 XP Ulmenglanz winced at the ridiculously small reward and waited for the mage to protest. He grimaced briefly. Then he laughed: "Of course. No attack, no ambush, not even a few stray cats to disturb me during the complex ritual. It''s a wonder there was a reward at all." "Aren''t you mad? You won''t be able to do magic all day. You can hardly start another quest with that." He waved it off: "I was planning to take on one of the easy quests near the town. But then I''ll just have a look at the town today. I''m in no hurry. Most of us want to level up as quickly as possible to be the first to get to the important world quests. I think that''s the wrong tactic. I want to get to know this world better. Its inhabitants, its secrets... There''s still time for combat and quests." He stood up. "It was an honor to help. Perhaps we''ll meet again sometime?" She smiled at him, "I hope so. I take it you''ve already joined the guild?" "Of course." "Then I''ll leave a message there when I''m in town." "Unfortunately, that probably won''t often be the case, since you''re a dryad." He waved to her as he left. She looked after him. Only when he was out of earshot did she reply: "I''m not so sure about that." Then she set off again to finally find a place with direct sunlight. Maybe she could climb up one of the larger buildings? Chapter 34: Weylan The door opened and a servant looked at Weylan in irritation: "What do you want?" "I''ve been told to report to Chamberlain Jago." "Then go to the servants'' entrance!" The man looked after Weylan as he hurried away, shaking his head: "Always these completely haphazard villagers..." The side of the large building was much busier. Men and women came and went through a plain but large portal flanked by two guardsmen. The two leaned lazily against the wall. Only when a man who was not wearing the blue and red clothing of the baron''s servants like everyone else wanted to pass did they become active: "Stop! Who are you?" "Wilfred, you know me! I deliver the elderberries." He lifted the large wicker basket. The two guardsmen relaxed and waved him through. Weylan walked straight up to him, "I... um... I''m supposed to report to Chamberlain Jago." "The steward is very busy. Who sent you?" "Mr. Federwei?" The guardsman thought for a moment and then shook his head: "Never heard of him. Get lost." "He¡¯s from job assignment. I am to be trained as a domestic." "Let me see your hands." Weylan complied with the request. "Clean enough. Come along then." He beckoned Weylan to follow him, while the other guardsman continued to guard the entrance. They walked down a long corridor, turned left twice and then up a narrow and slightly too steep staircase. At the top, they turned into another corridor that was so narrow that they had to press themselves tightly against the wall to let a servant pass. Shortly afterwards, the guardsman stopped at an unmarked door and knocked. "Come in." The guardsman opened the door, pushed Weylan through and closed it again behind him. He found himself in a large room. On the walls were bookshelves full of files. Several large blackboards with notes attached with long pins and a slate with a list of names and dates covered the remaining walls. Narrow windows at ceiling height let in very little light. However, a white sphere hung in the middle of the ceiling, brightly illuminating the room. Opposite the door was a massive desk behind which a man sat writing in a book with a large pen. His hair already had more than a few strands of gray in it, but he was still sitting upright. He put the quill aside, picked up an abacus and deftly moved a few balls back and forth. He rubbed his pointed goatee, picked up the quill again, tapped it into the inkwell and made a few more notes. Weylan folded his arms behind his back and stood still, waiting for the steward to finish his work. Whatever he was doing seemed to require his full attention. He didn''t want to disturb him. He was used to watching sheep graze for hours, he had a lot of patience. Time passed. He shifted his weight from one leg to the other. When the man began to speak without looking up, he winced: "You''ve passed the first test. I hate people who can''t even stand still for a few candlemarks. The last person I was offered as a servant started whistling to himself after less than one. The penultimate one disturbed me before the door had properly closed behind the guardsman. Introduce yourself." He pushed a few more balls aside on the abacus and continued writing. Weylan swallowed, cleared his throat and then began to speak clearly: "My name is Weylan. My father was a shepherd and trained me. I am shepherd level 1, but in a fight against wolves I gained enough experience points for the next level up. Mr. Federwei? thought you might be interested." "You have the disadvantage of being a Dependent Apprentice?" "Yes, sir." "Excellent. It will only take a few hours of tuition to get you a level in house servant. Provided you agree to take this class." It sounded more like a statement than a question, but Weylan replied, "I need work, my lord. If I can best serve you as a house servant, I will level in that class." The steward casually reached to the side with his left hand, picked up an empty glass and threw it casually at Weylan. Reflexively, he caught it with one hand. When he heard no clanking, the steward nodded as he worked. "Excellent. Not completely clumsy. Can you read and write?" "I get by." "Algebra?" "What?" "Doing math. Counting without fingers." "I can count an entire flock of sheep, calculate how much wool they''re likely to produce and what we''ll get for it from the dealer. Well... roughly." The steward still did not look up, but shook his head slightly disapprovingly. He made a few more calculations and entered more figures in his book. Weylan was not phased by this. He had rarely really been put to the test in his life. This was a test. A test that he would pass. He continued to stand at attention. Ready for the next question. "What is five times three?" "Fifteen." "Seven times nine?" "A little more than sixty?" "If you buy fifty kilos of flour for two copper pieces and the trader offers you a 12% discount, what is that?" "Fraud. Dealers do not offer a discount on their own initiative. There must be a catch. I would take a very close look at the flour. It probably has mealworms and the retailer wants to get rid of it quickly." The steward looked up for the first time. Gray eyes scrutinized him from a face that looked chiseled. Fine wrinkles creased into a visibly unfamiliar smile: "That''s not quite the intended answer, but it''s basically correct." He put the pen aside, stood up and walked around the desk. "I''ve been looking for someone to train as my right-hand man and possibly even my successor for almost a year now. To date, none of the candidates have seemed suitable." Weylan''s chest visibly swelled until the man continued: "I have already rejected two candidates who were much better suited than you." He sighed: "Now we have a new baron and the return of the plague of revenants. I''m simply running out of time. Every young man who can walk and is reasonably intelligent either already has an apprenticeship or has set his mind on becoming an adventurer. House servant used to be a coveted position. Now I have to make do with what''s left." Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings. He waved him off when Weylan made a protesting noise: "Nothing against you personally. Ten years ago, the best boys in town were fighting it out in the alleys to get a place here for a selection interview. I''ll give you a try." He took a walking stick with a round bronze knob from a stand with several similar walking sticks and leaned lightly on it as he walked. He beckoned Weylan to follow him and walked out of the room. "Before you decide to become my apprentice, you will accompany me for a day and see what your duties as a house servant will involve. Remember that you will spend many years in this position. With no guarantee of ever being promoted. Because that''s for the baron to decide, not me. He may want to appoint one of his minions as steward by then. He''s only just moved in, so I can''t judge him well yet." "I''m used to herding sheep during the day. In the evenings, I had to do everything else that goes with running a household. Chopping wood, churning butter, cooking, washing, mending clothes, repairing the leaking thatched roof, digging up the vegetable garden... The list goes on and on." "Didn''t you have a woman in the house? Some of this sounds like women''s work." "My mother died a few years ago while fetching water in winter. She slipped down the bank and fell in." The steward hesitated. Weylan sighed: "We were too far away from the village well and had to fetch water from the river. It was almost right next to our house. We villagers all built a footbridge together years ago so that the women no longer had to wash their clothes on the muddy banks. In winter, however, even that became dangerously slippery due to the ice. On washing day, almost all the women in the village would have been there to help, but only the Miller twins were around at the time. They saw my mother disappear into the water. My father said she probably passed out quickly due to the cold shock. As soon as the woolen clothing became soaked with water..." Jago coughed and patted him awkwardly on the shoulder. He led him further along the corridor and down the stairs. Then another flight of stairs. "All goods arrive down here from outside. The corridor here leads to the cellar stairs. We have an ice chamber and a vaulted cellar. Goods that need to be kept warm and dry, such as salt and spices, are stored up here. Back there is the kitchen. The food for the baron is brought up directly to the dining room above us by an elevator. One of my jobs is to keep an eye on what''s in stock and order new goods in good time. Letting someone rush to the market is a sign of a poorly organized household." He opened the door to the kitchen and hot, muggy air wafted out. There was a hustle and bustle. A piglet was being roasted over a large fire. A boy was slowly turning the crank. Another poured liquid over it with a ladle. Cooks stirred in large pots, maids picked apart a mountain of lettuce heads and washed the leaves. Jago walked around the room attentively, looking over people''s shoulders and nodding with satisfaction. Weylan noticed a satisfied smile on many of them. Even though no one looked up from their work and seemed to be working a little faster. At the end of the room were a few serving trolleys, each with two large metal hemispheres covering the food: "These are the serving trolleys for larger celebrations. Two people can also carry them up the stairs." "Won''t the food get cold on the way?" "Good question." Steward Jago lifted one of the lids and turned it over. On the inside, at the highest point, was a red gemstone surrounded by a circle of carved runes: "A keep-warm spell. As long as the lids are on, the food stays exactly the same temperature. That''s why the lids are only removed just before serving. They are then placed down here in the trolley." "Aren''t you afraid that someone will steal the gemstones?" Jago laughed dryly: "You might expect that. But once a gemstone has been bound into an artifact, it can''t be removed without crumbling into dust." "So, you can''t recycle them. Do you need gemstones for all artifacts?" "Of course. How else are you going to store the magical structure? It also makes it easier for us non-magicians to recognize magical artefacts and assess their effects. Rubies stand for fire, aquamarine for water, emeralds for nature magic, rock crystal for clairvoyance, citrine for light magic and so on. Knowing the complete list is part of your training later on so that you can quickly classify artifacts." "I''m allowed to work with artifacts?" Weylan beamed. The corners of Jago''s mouth flickered up briefly. He shook his head and beckoned Weylan to follow him. "Fetch and clean up. Don''t even think about using an artifact. Or drinking one of the magical elixirs. Now come on. I''ll show you the wardrobe. That''s where a house servant''s day begins. You lay out the baron''s clothes in the dressing room. After you''ve made sure that everything is clean and wrinkle-free, of course." "When does the baron usually get up?" "He hasn''t been there long enough to be sure if this is normal, but so far he usually gets up around the seventh hour. I hope that''s all right with you?" Jago had already tried several times with effeminate sons of merchants and impoverished nobles. They could read and write, but it had been impossible to get them out of bed early enough. Not to mention work. "I''m not sure... I''m not used to sleeping in this late. Maybe I''ll do another hour of sport first." He looked around the kitchen and thought for a moment. Then he sighed: "Or I''ll read through your accounts. I have no idea how much you use in such a large household. It will take me a while to get a feel for these quantities." The steward glanced at him unobtrusively out of the corner of his eye to see if he was pulling his leg. Weylan spoke more to himself as he was still looking around with his eyes open, obviously trying hard to memorize the layout of the manor. "You better remember that you have to get here first thing in the morning. As long as you''re only on probation, you won''t get a place to sleep here in the house." "I''ll even get a room here later?" Jago just nodded and continued on his way. He had actually only wanted to give him a brief overview of the scope of his duties, but now he extended the tour without further comment. He systematically showed him the main corridors and also the steep stairs and narrow corridors of the servants'' quarters. Some of the entrances were real secret doors, others were simply placed in inconspicuous places. Weylan was a little disappointed that they weren''t really secret. Everyone who worked in the house knew them. If there were real secret passages, he was understandably not shown them. In between, they had a quick meal and then went straight on. The duties of a house servant were very extensive. Jago planned to leave as many of them to him as possible. With a baron in the house, he had to take care of new tasks. He simply no longer had time for routine tasks. Towards evening, Weylan found himself back in the steward''s study. "Well, are you still interested?" "Of course. It''s not a bed of roses, but anything is better than herding sheep. Or washing dishes." "Then you''re employed here until further notice. Two pieces of silver a day and free food. I hereby declare that I, as your master, accept you as an apprentice and that this was your first lesson." Then he looked fixedly in front of him and seemed to be waiting for something. At first Weylan didn''t understand what the steward was waiting for, then he saw the message: Do you accept Jago as your teacher in a master and apprentice relationship? Weylan accepted and saw Jago nod with satisfaction. He remembered again what he had learned about the apprentice system in the village school. His master would be able to see all of his apprentice''s reports that were directly related to his training. Use remaining XP for Level up? He hesitated. Would he be able to choose how many levels he wanted to climb later? He had collected enough XP to level up at least four levels. A bit much for a wolf raid. He should have thought of a good excuse beforehand. If he went up to level 5 or even 6 right now, his teacher would certainly be pleased, but would just as certainly demand an explanation. Weylan noticed how the gray eyes looked at him impatiently. He accepted the level up and hoped that he would now be asked how many levels he wanted to go up. He would take two and then claim that he hadn''t wanted to show off. He would think about everything else later. Before he could read the next message from the voice of the world, the room whirled around him. His head hit the floor unabated. Stars swirled before his eyes. He didn''t understand what had happened. Dizzy, he tried to sit up, but stopped when something sharp dug into his throat. He put his head back on the ground and tried to focus his eyes on the object. Something metallic. A few heartbeats later, he recognized a narrow blade resting on his throat. The handle of the weapon was firmly in Jago''s hands, who stood over him with a stony face. "Did you think you could sneak in here so easily? Admittedly, you almost succeeded. I must be getting senile. You''ve even outsmarted my analysis skill." "What are you talking about? I don''t understand..." Then he read the last message from the voice of the world. A message that his teacher had obviously also received: Level up: Assassin to level 6 (5) Attribute points available (5) Feats available for selection Chapter 35a: Trulda Trulda wandered through the alleyways, whistling happily and enjoying the hustle and bustle. She had deliberately chosen a remote village to stay in the VR. The time with the wandering people had been wonderful. Afterwards, she enjoyed working in the tavern of the tiny village. A place where she soon knew everyone by name and everyone greeted her in a friendly manner. But after a few months of rest, it was good to have new, fresh faces around her again. Most of the players were forced to log out while the system underwent an update, but the few perms could stay. She hadn''t found any clear evidence of this yet, but had a strong suspicion that her small village had been completely excluded from the time acceleration. While two hundred years passed in the rest of the world, it was only a few months in her village. It had been a relaxing time, and she had needed it. But now she was eager for a little more action. Weylan''s departure for adventure had suited her just fine, even if she would have accompanied him in any case to protect him. She enjoyed the big city atmosphere of Mulnirsheim. Countless new people and other races. A dwarven merchant occasionally passed by in the village, but otherwise she had only seen humans. Here she also saw harefolk, anubians, elves, the odd dwarf and the occasional orc. Weylan had been a little annoyed when he learned that she already had city citizenship rights as a Perm. That meant she was free to choose where and what she wanted to work. A little asking around had brought her the address of a decent tavern that was still looking for a barmaid. She stopped at the end of the cobbled street. The Golden Cauldron was four stories high. Polished wood and real glass panes. The door sign with the golden cauldron swayed back and forth on a well-oiled pole above the inviting door. The guests who came in and out looked clean and well-mannered. There were also quite a few women. She could settle in well here. She hesitated. Did she really want to work as a barmaid again? Well, she knew what was coming. What other choice did she have? She hadn''t had any talent for any craft in real life and hadn''t acquired any relevant skills in this world. What she had learned was some cooking, cleaning and everything else needed to keep a tavern running. What else could she do with that? Her eyes wandered up and down the street. Saleswoman? It didn''t take much. There were plenty of stores in the town. But was that much better? She set off again. Along the street, without a destination at first. Then she followed the paths along which the most interesting passers-by moved. She spent an hour crisscrossing the city. Then she came to a halt in front of a building that was quite different from its surroundings. A wide staircase led to three large open entrance doors. There was more traffic here than she had seen anywhere else in the city. Six guardsmen were busy doing nothing but controlling the crowds. Many were sternly turned away and sent back down again. Trulda approached one of them: "What kind of building is this?" He replied without looking in a annoyed memorized singsong: "Admission for members of the Adventurers'' Guild only." He turned and his eyes focused on her chest. He paused, then looked up at her face, "Sorry, citizen. Force of habit. What was your question again?" She smiled winningly at him: "What kind of building is that?" "The guild headquarters of the Adventurers'' Guild. Down here is the entrance for guild members. If you want to apply for membership, you can do so at the side entrance back there. Just wait at the end of the queue." He glanced in that direction and sighed, "That should be somewhere three blocks that way." "You can''t keep up right now?" He laughed humorlessly: "Not even close." "Do you need help?" He looked her up and down in surprise: "I don''t think you''re up to it. Some of the revenants can react very aggressively if things don''t go their way immediately." She stared him firmly in the eye: "Tell me that again to my face." He opened his mouth... and closed it again. Then he grinned, "Well... come along." He turned and made his way through the crowd into the main entrance. The crowd parted in front of them, grumbling. The guardsman stomped his halberd on the ground. The wood lit up and a shockwave swept over the crowd. Strong enough to whirl hair around, but not so strong that it knocked anyone over: "Make way people, I have a new employee with me. You want this to move faster soon, don''t you?" That was enough to open a path for him. Through one of the three archways, they entered a room that took up almost the entire basement. In front of the walls on the left and right were continuous reception counters, behind which stood stressed guild employees. At the back, two wide staircases led up the sides. On the large wall opposite the entrance door were large pinboards with countless notes. There was a door in the middle from which employees kept coming and going. While Trulda was still getting an overview, an adventurer who was looking around with wide eyes wandered towards the left staircase. Directly in front of it, runes flashed in a line on the floor and he bumped into a barrier, visibly irritated but unharmed. A metal sign next to the stairs lit up to draw attention to the finger-high inscription: "Access only for guild members of Gold rank and above!" "Down here, adventurers can sign up for guild events, accept special guild quests, collect rewards for successful quests, buy information or hire trainers. A lot of quests are given out by Questgivers all over the city, but if someone is looking for something specific, they can ask here for tips on where to find a suitable quest. Unfortunately, the creator gods seem to have decided to give us a particularly large number of revenants. We are not yet prepared for such an rush." He led her to the back. In front of the door, he held his hand in front of a rune on the wall and a glowing semicircle of runes briefly flashed red on the floor, turned green and went out. He waved Trulda through. At the back was a much cozier room. Tables and chairs were scattered everywhere. On one side there was a self-service bar with various drinks. Steam rose from a few jugs. The smell of coffee, tea and sweat mingled in the air. People sat around in small groups. Large hourglasses stood on the tables. At one table, the last of the sand was just running through and a soft gong sounded. The three women at the table interrupted their conversation, quickly finished their drinks and went back through the door to the front. The guardsman led Trulda to the back to an elf who stood a head above the average of the crowd. Not least because she stood stiff and upright. Her snow-white hair was combed back tightly. Her attention was focused on a map several paces wide that showed the city and its surroundings in detail. Numerous colored dots were scattered across the map. Most of them in the city and its immediate surroundings. The guardsman stood at a polite distance behind her and coughed. Without taking her eyes off the map, she said, "Rutgar, I''m curious why you left your post. If another adventurer has tried to sneak past the queue unseen..." If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. "No, Master Gerelda. I have someone interested in a position with us and..." "... we urgently need more staff." She finished his sentence. She turned around and looked at Trulda. She shook her head and pointed to the exit: "Go!" Every muscle in Trulda''s body began to move without her input, making her turn and walk away on the spot. After the guardsman had taken her inside because of her intransigence, she was prepared for something similar. She used every ounce of willpower she had to stomp hard on the brakes with her mental foot. Except that someone had obviously cut the brake hoses. After a slow and reluctant quarter turn, anger flared up inside her. This was no way to deal with her. No one just ordered her around like that. No one! Her eyes seemed to blaze as the fine veins turned red and anger welled up inside her. She stopped and turned back emphatically. "No." The elf nodded. "Good, someone who can be shooed around with such a simple spell is useless to us. That look on your face... barbarian?" "Steppe-Barbarian." "Nice. Something different. We''ll try it with you. I''ll assign one of your new colleagues to teach you everything you need to know. In two to three weeks, you can throw yourself into the chaos out there." Trulda took the outstretched hand and shook it briefly with a firm grip: "I won''t let you down." She hesitated for a moment: "It may be the wrong moment, but... What do you actually earn in this position?" The guild master was just opening her mouth to reply when a young man rushed in through the door, took a quick look around and then hurried through the hustle and bustle to the guild master. She sighed softly: "Good news is never delivered like this." "Master Gerelda! The spawn point!" "More revenants?" "Dozens at once! All in cheap armor and visibly disoriented." Master Gerelda held her hand in front of her face. An expression of weariness flickered briefly across her face. "Dozens of noobs..." She stared in front of her for a moment. Trulda hesitantly intervened in the conversation. Normally, she wouldn''t have dared to do so with the guild master''s authoritarian air, but there was still a bit of barbarian rage and courage coursing through her veins: "Mistress Gerelda, how about setting up a stall in the marketplace? A sort of outpost? With two or three people, you can offer the most important services right there. Membership to the guild and a few simple beginner quests. The cheese merchant wanted to give up his stall this morning. His normal customers are no longer coming with so many revenants around. And the revenants are mostly interested in weapons, armor and alchemicals. Not cheese. I''m sure he''ll rent out his stall cheaply." The master looked ahead for a moment, then grinned and made a decision: "Excellent idea. I''ll arrange it immediately. I''m afraid we don''t have time for the usual training this time." She walked along the wall and placed her hand on an unmarked spot. A circle of runes flashed into view. She spoke a few words that were too quiet for Trulda to understand. A round part of the wall folded out, revealing a safe. The Guildmistress took something out and slammed the vault door shut again. She held up a black coin with a gemstone in the center: "A skill crystal. It contains everything a good employee needs to know. I actually wanted to keep this for emergencies, but if this isn''t one, I don''t know what is." She pressed it into Trulda''s hand. She hesitated: "But that has to be worth at least..." "It''s worth as much as someone is willing to pay for it. Nobody would spend vast amounts of gold to save a few weeks of learning." Trulda nodded and pressed the skill crystal to her forehead. Skill: Administration (Adventurers'' Guild) acquired: Journeyman (V) Skill: Bookkeeping learned: Journeyman (II) Skill: Knowledge (Adventurers'' Guild) acquired: Journeyman (I) Skill: Geography (Mulnirsheim and surroundings) learned: Journeyman (I) Skill: Politics (Mulnirsheim) acquired: Layman (III) She had heard of skill crystals, but had never used one herself before. With NPCs, she understood how they worked. You could simply add additional data to programs. She had never quite understood how it worked with humans. Weapon skills and crafting skills made the job easier. With a high enough cooking skill, she simply sprinkled a handful of spices over the food and the skill provided the desired flavor. The wife of the innkeeper she had worked for even had effects that could not actually be created with spices. She had always thought of knowledge skills as a kind of help function. When she asked questions, she got some kind of Wikipedia entry or something. This was completely different from what she had expected. Colors and images flashed incomprehensibly before her inner eye, then the glow of the crystal went out again. She looked around her. Things that were previously unknown were now completely familiar to her. The map of active quests hung on the wall. A magical artifact that was present in every major guild headquarters. The clairvoyance spells of the powerful artifact marked every quest assigned by a Questgiver. Depending on the viewer''s rank in the guild, he could read further information. Content of the quest, name of quest giver, objectives, reward amount, possible penalties for failure and much more. She looked around the room with wide eyes. She suddenly knew everyone present by name and their position within the guild. Or almost everyone. "How old is this skill crystal?" The guild master smiled mischievously, "Why do you ask?" "I don''t know all the employees in this room. I assume they were hired after the skill crystal was enchanted?" "Excellent. You think for yourself. I think you''ll manage." She pointed to two female employees at one of the tables. Both women were only slightly older than Trulda and reminded her of before and after shots from a diet advertisement. Both looked quite similar with blonde hair and about the same height. The chubbier one had talked incessantly during the time Trulda had been vaguely aware of her in the room. The slim one listened patiently and nodded occasionally. "You two, take our new employee Miss Trulda and rent the cheesemonger''s place on the market square. We have to keep the new arrivals busy first to gain time. Chase the noobs through the basic quests: rabbit hunt, herb hunt, the missing dog and..." She hesitated for a moment to think: "...the messenger quest." The two had nodded along, but now hesitated. The slender one looked briefly at her colleague, but when she had nothing to say for a change, she grimaced and answered herself: "Not the messenger quest! If more than three are active in the quest at the same time, chaos breaks out in the city all the time. It''s almost as if the quest causes disasters just so someone has to deliver a message." "That''s superstitious nonsense. But fine. Keep that one in reserve. The mages have a long list of required ingredients, which should exhaust the herb hunt. Remember that they will be attacked by highwaymen after the second round. So make sure you don''t send out a group too well equipped for combat. The Thieves'' Guild won''t be amused if their contribution to the quest ends in death." The three of them hurried off. One block further on, they slowed down. The plump one held out her hand: "I''m sorry. When the old dragon gives orders, I always react with panic. You should see how she gets when someone doesn''t respond immediately to a friendly request to get moving. Last time, my ears were still ringing three days later. I''m Sindri, by the way." She pointed to her slender counterpart: "And this here is Indris." Indris just nodded silently. "Are you twins?" "What gave us away?" "Monozygotic or dizygotic?" "What?" The two looked at Trulda, completely uncomprehending. "Just a figure of speech. I am Trulda. Do you know the quickest way to get to the marketplace? It must be somewhere in that direction, but..." "Of course. We go around the corner at the butcher''s and then along Crooked-street. It runs straight through the southern part of the city. That brings us to the main street, but we should take a side street parallel to it, there aren''t so many carts there. Ever since the magicians replaced the cobblestones on the main road with this layer of liquid stone, they''ve been driving like maniacs. Life-threatening, simply life-threatening!" Sindri led the group through the city, continuously pointing out sights to Trulda or recounting anecdotes from city life. Indris stomped along silently behind. Chapter 35b: Trulda (Introducing lots of new PCs) When they arrived at the marketplace, they found the cheese merchant packing up. Sindri took over the price negotiations and after a few minutes the merchant handed over his stall for a very reasonable stall fee. Trulda felt sorry for him as he clattered away with his goods on a handcart. "Did you have to bargain him down that far? He has to make a living too." "Konris? He inherited the stand from his great-grandfather, who in turn received it as a reward for his service in the army. It doesn''t cost him anything. What he gets now as a stall fee, he might earn on his best days selling cheese. If at all. He also gets a few weeks'' paid leave. Believe me, he''ll start dancing through the streets laughing at the next corner." As soon as Indri had laid out the books and a bronze disk on the table, a translucent red exclamation mark appeared in the air above the stand. Like moths attracted by the light, a few of the revenants immediately approached. Trulda didn''t have to call up the help function to find out what she had to do. She didn''t even have to think about it. She just knew. "Welcome to the Adventurers'' Guild. Would you like to join?" The foremost revenant, a tanned teenager in armor made of large pieces of bark and armed with a simple staff, looked at them indecisively: "Is that compulsory? Is this part of some kind of tutorial?" "No. Of course not. You can just as easily go adventuring independently. The guild provides structure and a source of quests and tasks for those who prefer that." "How much does it cost?" "Membership costs 5 silver plus ten percent of the income from the quests we arrange. We''re sure to find you a nice quest in return." "Something deadly dangerous?" "Beginner quests. So, if you want to join, I need your name and class." "Percy Alcott, Druid, Level 1. At home, I volunteer with the Forestry Commission and regularly give guided tours for school groups. I''m also a vegan! There was no other choice. I definitely need a quest where I can show off my superior forest and nature skills." He lifted his finger: "But, I want something special, not some plain boring quest." Sindri was already reaching for the flyer with the directions for the herbal quest when Trulda grabbed her hand without taking her eyes off the druid. She opened the quest book and skimmed the list of current quests. She had already read through the low-level ones and immediately found what she was looking for: "No problem. This quest will fit perfectly. You''re accompanying a few mage students out of the city and north into the mountain forest. They''re completely helpless in the wilderness, so this is just the thing for you. You''ll look for an ingredient for the alchemists at the mage academy and then come back. Simple as that." "Great!" The druid paid, received directions and a password for the mage academy and trotted off whistling happily. Sindri looked after him and then turned to Trulda with a raised eyebrow: "You sent him out to get the hearts of cuddly squirrels with the mage students? The students don''t get anything right, are too squeamish. As their guide he¡¯ll have to gut all the captured animals himself at the end and put the hearts in the jar of preservative. He looked far too fond of animals for that. The quest is also recommended for revenants of level 3 and up. Cuddly squirrels are completely harmless, but the wild boars in that area are pretty dangerous." "Vegans. I hate these arrogant preachy health apostles. This will bring him back down to earth a bit. Next time he turns up, we''ll give him the herbal quest. Believe me, it''s better for our nerves in the long run." The spawnpoint distracted them from the discussion when it lit up unusually brightly. The glow grew brighter and brighter until they had to squint. Then it went out and the squinting onlookers saw a whole group of revenants standing on the platform. Five... people. A colorful mix of hair and body colors in a wide variety of sizes. One of them towered over the others by a full two heads, while the smallest would just reach a human''s navel. The five of them formed a circle, put their hands together and simultaneously raised them with a loud "Reeee... spawn!" Then they jumped down one after the other and looked around. Trulda was still busy guessing races and classes when one of them ran up to them. The size matched humans or elves, but its face jutted forward a bit, like one of the jackal-like Anubians, though not as far. The towering ears also matched, but he only had heavy body hair and a short trimmed full beard, rather than proper fur. He stopped right in front of the stand, leaned forward and sniffed excitedly, "Hello! Are you from the Adventurers'' Guild?" Trulda pointed to the plaque on the stand with a smile: "Well noticed." The hairy figure leaned over the counter and gesticulated expansively with his hands: "We''ve just finished our first quest. We all died! TPK! A true bloodbath! But it was worth it. Epic last stand! Totally epic! We saved the duskgnomes! Did you see the message from the World Voice?" Trulda couldn''t help but grin at so much enthusiasm: "Yes, we did. Good work." The revenants looked vaguely familiar to her, but there had never been much visibility in the dark and confusing cave. She hadn''t had time to make a round to introduce herself or exchange names. With any luck, he wouldn''t recognize her in the completely different surroundings. Something dimmed the light and shrouded the stall around Trulda in shadows. Surprised, she spun around and stared directly into a vast cleavage that held an expansive hillside within its confines. In real life, she might have spontaneously felt envious, but her avatar here was also well enough proportioned. Only much smaller in proportion. She turned her head back and looked up. From a height of almost two and a half paces, a huge but friendly face looked down at her. Trulda registered the colorful and loose cloth clothing and a red cloak. A muscular man with protruding canines stepped past her and bowed: "Ladies, may I introduce ourselves: My name is Gronk and together we are the adventuring party: The Half-Brothers!" Trulda cast a questioning glance at the half-giantess. She shrugged her shoulders: "I was outvoted. It was hard enough to get the gang to agree on a name in the first place. But let''s leave it at that. We''d like to join the guild." Now Trulda was in familiar waters: "No problem. Five silver per member, plus ten percent of your income from guild quests. It also costs five gold pieces if you want to be registered as a group. However, this gives you access to group quests and tasks that are above the level of the individual. You start at Iron rank. The next ranks are Bronze, Silver, Gold and Ardamant." "Adamant?" "Ardamant. It''s a magical metal. A hundred times more valuable than gold, very rare and has an absolutely characteristic violet-gold color. In the guild headquarters there are seals on the wall made of the material. You can take a look there. Just don''t touch it, the protective spells are absolutely murderous." She took an admission form from the pile, tapped the pen into the inkwell and looked at the group promptly: "Well? Name, race and character class please." The excited bearded one began, "Chigaru, half-Anubian, Ranger." Indris and Sindri threw themselves forward in sync and stared at him with open eyes. Sindri spoke faster: "A half-Anubian? I thought they didn''t exist. The Anubians are..." Indris overtook her: "... very concerned about her racial purity." He fell silent and looked down for a moment. Then he shrugged his shoulders: "Long story. I had entered a complex character history into the system. I actually wanted to be a half-orc, but I completely forgot to specify the race. I was a bit surprised when I turned up here with these ears. It''s no wonder that hardly anyone wants to play Anubians. Black and white vision and a sense of smell that doesn''t allow you to concentrate on anything. Terrible." The two took the ranger between them and pulled him a little to one side to bombard him with questions. The second tallest of the group looked after him with a grin and then bowed again: "Gronk, half-orc, thief." Trulda studied the almost two-step-tall figure, the muscular upper body and the powerful paws with doubt. Only then did she notice the equipment, some of which was sticking out of the large backpack: crowbar, throwing hooks and a bundle of rope. At his side, he carried a rapier and several throwing knives scattered around. Leather shoes with soft soles and dark brown leather clothing also fit. She nodded and noted everything. "Furoras, half-elf, sorcerer." The sorcerer''s mage staff was a sturdy short spear decorated with inlaid runes that rose just above his head. The tip of the spear was made of transparent reddish glass or crystal. The short hair emphasized the pointed ears. A face appeared from below in front of the counter. The revenant barely reached a human''s navel, but looked as if it had been knotted together entirely out of muscle: "BamBam, halfling, barbarian." "Halfling is not a..." The halfling interrupted them: "Counts anyway!" "That''s all right. At least it starts with half. Barbarian is an unusual choice for halflings." The small beer-bellied barbarian adjusted his fur vest and scratched his hairy chest. He braced his two-handed wooden club on the ground and leaned on it. The weapon came up to his chest. He looked up at her calmly: "Halflings are ideal barbarians." Trulda "Without a bonus to physical strength and with the short... range?" "We are the toughest breed of all. Plus three on constitution! Yeah, baby. The higher the constitution of unarmored barbarians, the more damage, spells and diseases we can simply ignore. Name me another race with a constitution bonus that high. Can''t think of one? There aren''t any. The programmers have fully realized what Tolkien wanted. We wear the One Ring and it doesn''t itch us at all." He nodded, put the club back on his shoulder and stepped back with a grin. Trulda emphasized the word barbarian in her form. She looked up to speak to the nearest of the revenants. Then she continued to look up until she had leaned her head fully back on her neck. "Rhea, half-giantess, bard." "Bard? Seriously? The attributes of half-giants just scream barbarian." The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement. "I always wanted to play a bard. I took the race on the advice of my psychotherapist. It''s worked well so far." Trulda was unsure how to respond. Rhea wiped her hand through the air: "I don''t mind talking about it. I''m over 2.20 meters tall in real life. It just causes problems. Does body dysmorphic disorder mean anything to you?" Trulda nodded before remembering that she couldn''t possibly know that as a npc. Fortunately, her two colleagues were busy handing out the guild pins and weren''t paying attention to the conversation. Many players had played characters of a completely different size and build at the beginning of virtual reality. Mostly without any problems, but around fifteen percent of players had developed serious psychoses after a few weeks. They had become unaccustomed to their bodies in the real world and increasingly perceived them as foreign bodies. Centaurs and Nagas were therefore quickly removed as player races. Sea creatures were only available after extensive psychological aptitude tests. Without special permission from the moderators, you could only create a character that was within narrow limits of your own natural body. "Being even bigger didn''t seem like a good idea to me, but I just gave it a try and... I love it! When I''m back home, my body is graceful and almost too small in comparison. Three weeks in VR have done more than years of therapy." "But bard?" "My father is quite wealthy. He made a generous donation to Peituwin and in return he adjusted the character class a little for me. Less deductions for dexterity, but less robust and without the usual immunity to poisons. My free points all went into dexterity and charisma. You wouldn''t believe the lung volume I have in this body. Shall I blow up the bagpipes?" Trulda looked with widened eyes at the huge bag with the arm-length metal flutes attached to the bard''s backpack: "No! I mean... there''s no time for that here right now. Maybe later." The bard grinned. The reaction was nothing new to her: "So, do you have a quest for us now?" Trulda paused and thought. Nothing. She turned to her colleagues: "Do you have any ideas?" Sindri nodded enthusiastically: "Of course. There''s really only one thing for groups: Dungeons!" Trulda''s heart stopped for a moment. Did they know about Malvorik? Would the dungeon appear in one of the documents? What if a quest was spontaneously created now? Sindri continued without noticing her frozen expression: "What level are you?" "We are now all at level 6 after the level deduction for the respawn." "Too bad. The next dungeon accessible via the guild is the Mine of Meklang. Metal elementals, iron spiders and golems. Recommended for experienced hero groups of at least level 8." The half-giantess waved her hand calmly. The breeze from her large hand swept a few leaves off the table. "Never mind. We''ll do that when we''re ready. After the chase through forests and tunnels, we could use something simple. Rats in the sewers or something." Trulda froze at the mention of the sewers. She covered it up by frantically reaching for the quest book and leafing through it again to check if there was indeed a quest in the sewers. Sindri interrupted her immediately: "You don''t need to look for it. The Sewers Guild goes to great lengths to keep things quiet down there. Complaints from local residents about rats and the like are the guild''s absolute nightmare. The idea of it becoming a quest and adventurers constantly roaming the sewers like during the last plague..." Sindri stroked her chin thoughtfully, then snapped her fingers: "The Konnroot Decimation Quest!" She reached for the quest book and quickly flipped through it. Trulda noticed that some of the text changed before her eyes as quests were updated in real time. With some delay, her knowledge skill informed her that this was indeed the case. All of the guild''s quest books always contained the same knowledge. If one was changed, they all changed. "Konnroots are mouse-sized... well... bundles of roots. Or brown tentacles. The critters are hard to describe. They''re only found in the Forest of Orden, half a day''s journey north of Mulnirsheim. They are actually completely harmless scavengers and herbivores. They only become a problem when there are too many of them. Then they join together to form larger clusters. When this happens, a decimation quest is declared. It happens regularly every three or four weeks." Trulda looked over her shoulder: "The date there is three months ago." Indris joined in from the other side: "That''s impossible. We always had waiting lists for the quest. All the hero groups in the city were fighting over places." Sindri shook his head: "The Five Knives have gone to the desert to attempt a new exploration quest. The Dirty Dozen joined the dryad queen in the Border Forest. I haven''t heard from them since. The other two groups in town are now too high level and are currently attempting the Meklang Dungeon." Indris pulled the book towards him and leafed back and forth wildly: "Someone should have noticed that!" Sindri laughed humorlessly: "With the chaos of the war in the border forest over the last few weeks?" Trulda intervened: "Is that bad?" The two twins thought and then nodded in sync: "Konnroots are sneaky and often jump down from trees onto their opponents. With sharp weapons and halfway decent armor, they are quite easy to defeat. But if they''ve been able to multiply for so long now, they could form much larger clumps. No idea how dangerous they are now. The quest is normally for levels 3 to 5." All three looked down at the description. Behind the name of the quest was written in thick lines: "Recommended for hero groups of at least level 3." Quest update: Recommended level increases to 6 Sindri took the pen with trembling hands and wiped the back of it across the number 3. The writing disappeared without a trace. She pulled herself together and wrote a 6 in its place instead. Trulda looked at the others: "Does this happen often? I mean, the world voice interfering?" Sindri shook her head: "New quests are sometimes dictated by the world voice if there is no suitable questgiver or if they are parts of the world quest. But changing an existing quest? That''s never happened as far as I remember." Hero group "The Half-Brothers" accepts the Konnroot Decimation Quest (Level 6) Everyone looked up at Rhea, who shrugged her shoulders calmly: "A quest that the Voice of the World thinks is rated too low? We can hardly pass that up." She raised her fist to the sky and the motley group followed suit: "Half-brothers... Onward!" The whole group took off like one man and stormed down the road and out of sight as a cohesive bunch. The guild members looked after them with smiles. Sindri with slightly dreamy eyes: "That''s what I call enthusiasm!" Indris seemed less enthusiastic: "I call it a bad sense of direction." Sindri nodded without letting her smile fade: "Too low or no orientation skill at all. That happens a lot with beginners. Hopefully they''ve at least bought a magic map." Trulda looked from the half-brothers disappearing around the corner back to the mismatched twins, "Is that the wrong direction?" Indris nodded: "That''s the way to the northwest gate. They can get there that way, but they have to walk halfway around the city and take a detour across the fields. The north-east gate would have saved them two hours on foot." As soon as the half-brothers had disappeared, the next revenant approached the stand with wide eyes: "Do you have to become a member here?" "Of course not. It''s completely voluntary. It''s just easier for you to have a guild to support you." The revenant had everything explained to him, said goodbye politely and then left to look around. The next new arrival on the platform even attracted the attention of the remaining revenants. A woman, completely clad in red and gold lacquered plate armor. Slender and perfectly fitted to her form. Especially the chest part with its glowing blue and white crystal set in the middle. She elegantly jumped off the platform and looked around. Her hand pushed the golden faceplate upwards. The face of an older woman with graying hair, crisscrossed by deep laugh lines, appeared. She wandered from one person to the next, greeting and shaking hands. No one seemed to know her, but her cheerful laugh was infectious. When she saw the guild''s stand, she immediately approached it: "Girls! Those are some great costumes. You three are scrumptious! My nephew said this was better than the cosplay conventions when I was younger, but I didn''t believe him at the time. This is going to be so much fun!" Trulda closed her open mouth and pulled herself together: "Welcome to the Adventurers'' Guild. Shall I explain the benefits of membership?" "That¡¯s not necessary. My nephew said I absolutely have to join your guild. Five silver, right girls?" "Uh... yeah." Trulda picked up a blank sheet of paper, entered the date with a flourish and then asked, forced professionally: "Name?" "Iron Ma''am." Trulda flinched briefly, but immediately regained her composure. Grinning broadly, she wrote down the name and then continued: "Character class is probably Avenger?" Her colleagues looked at her with irritation. Sindri intervened: "There is no such character class." The woman laughed: "No, unfortunately there really isn''t. So I chose Arcane Knight. That''s the closest to my concept. I got the armor, but I still need gloves with a shockwave spell and a flying belt to complete the set." Trulda nodded in understanding, while Sindri and Indris looked back and forth between the two in confusion. The iron lady laughed merrily, "An allusion to an old story from the Classic 2D times." "Should we wait for a hammer-wielding blond giant and a green skinned troll?" "No, Gertrude and Henriette claimed they were too old for that." She put one foot on the stool next to the stand and struck a dramatic heroic pose: "Ha!" Trulda smiled: "Do you still need a quest or do you want to see the city first?" "Just tell me where you need a hero the most." Sindri and Indri looked at each other indecisively: "That''s an unusual criterion. What exactly do you mean? Battle or gathering quest?" Trulda shook her head and frantically leafed through the quest book. She muttered quietly to herself: "Which quest hasn''t been accepted for the longest time... No gathering quests..." She tapped Sindri and pointed to a page: "That one?" "Good choice." She turned to the knight: "Look for the village of Mushroom Grove. It''s northwest of the city, about two days'' journey away. The inhabitants have problems with poisonous snakes. You are practically immune to them in your armor. Take a spear with you. The moss vipers are fast and agile." "I''ll take it to heart." She wandered off with the pounding of the iron shoes on the pavement. Sindri looked after her: "The shoes could do with a leather sole. Otherwise, the armor makes a good impression. The color scheme is fantastic." Trulda nodded and then turned to the next revenant. A slender young man with black hair tied back in a ponytail lifted his slightly too long black robe with both hands to prevent it from dragging on the ground. He went to the other side of the square first and chatted with a few other revenants. One of them pointed to the guild stand and then left. The man lifted his robes again and came to the stand: "Greetings to all the gods, ladies. I would like to join the Adventurers'' Guild." Trulda gave him a friendly smile: "Of course. That''ll be five silver coins." She took out the membership form and put pen to paper: "Name?" "Darken O''Mighty" Trulda hesitated: "Seriously?" He nodded, grinning broadly. "Character class?" He struck a pose: "Master of the Dark Arts." She took the pen off the paper: "That''s not a character class." "I have customized it. A mixture of sorcerer and mage. Limited and specialized in some exotic fringe areas. NEMESIS approved the combination right away." All three women leaned forward in synchronization. Sindri was the quickest to ask, "Which fringe areas?" He lowered his voice and spoke slowly and menacingly: "Dark aromatherapy, dark homeopathy and dark osteopathy." "What in Cofefe''s name is dark aroma therapy?" "You''ll see when I''ve worked it out a little better." Indris nudged Sindri, "The World Voice hasn''t accepted any new character classes suggested to it for generations." Sindri sounded thoughtful: "Could be related to the plague. Everything is always turned upside down during a plague." Trulda interjected: "Maybe it just thought the character class was funny?" Darken straightened and spoke emphatically low and threatening, but couldn''t suppress a slight smile around his eyes, which took the edge off, "Funny? You mock the darkest of arts?" She put her hand on her chest in mock horror: "No way! I quake and tremble at the very idea of being cursed with... Dark Homeopathy." "It''s not for curses, it''s a subspecies of alchemy." "Then with a curse of aromatherapy." "This is another specialization of alchemy." "A curse of dark osteopathy?" "That¡¯s is an unarmed combat technique." She took her hand off her chest and became serious: "You''re serious?" "Would you like me to demonstrate?" She shrugged her shoulders and stepped next to the stand. Then she made the "come on" gesture with both hands. He glided smoothly towards her and grabbed her arm. She prepared to counter a judo throw, but he only twisted her wrist slightly. Sharp pain twitched through the joint and her whole left arm fell asleep. He spread his arms out in a triumphant gesture: "Well, what did you think..." A blow to the stomach caused him to collapse. Trulda pulled her fist back: "Ups, sorry. That was a reflex." Still hunched over in pain, he raised his hand and coughed: "It''s... fine. It... hardly hurts..." Afterwards, a crowd of revenants arrived and, after a quick glance at the stand, wandered off into the city. Sindri looked after them in confusion: "Should we put up a bigger sign?" Trulda shook his head: "No. I think they''re all craftsmen. Look at the clothes. Sturdy, but not armored. No weapons or wands. They''ll probably be looking for an apprenticeship and open a store later." Indris looked confused: "Aren''t revenants all adventurers?" "No... I mean... in the stories of the last plague, many revenants were mentioned who simply followed a trade. Blacksmiths, carpenters, stonemasons. Plus quite a few artists or inventors. Sometimes they get bored and go off with adventurers to gather some rare materials, but mostly they spend their time in the city." "They come to our world to... What? To make tables?" "Some of them do. The skill system enables them to learn things in days that would take them years at home. Many are also not physically suited to manual work in their world. They are too weak, too clumsy or even ill. Or simply too old." "But all revenants are stronger than us." "In this world. Not necessarily in their own as well." She noticed that they were both looking at her very intently and added somewhat weakly, "At least that¡¯s what I''ve heard in the stories." Before anyone could say anything, she hurriedly turned to the next customer. The rush only died down after a few hours. Chapter 36: The half-brothers The group of revenants jogged along the path through the forest. The half-Giantess Rhea took one step for every two of the others while she set the rhythm in a loud voice: "Rangers sneak through thorny weed...". The others completed the verse in chorus: "...because it is too cold to sleep." The quality of the verses only continued to decline over time until the group came to a halt, giggling and snorting. The half-Anubian held his stomach. His whimpering jackal laugh was the last to die away. He straightened up and pulled a vial from one of his many belt pouches, flicked out the cork and downed the contents in one gulp. He shook himself briefly like a wet dog. "Well, enough of a break. Let''s march on." Rhea looked at him sternly from above: "Chigaru, how many stamina potions have you drunk today?" "Three. Why? I''ve bought enough for a whole week." "Have you never heard of elixir poisoning?" The half-Anubian scratched the fur on the back of his head thoughtfully. "Not that I know of." The half-giantess held her hand to her face: "Every elixir, every alchemical product also contains poisonous ingredients. Too much and you''ll fall ill with elixir poisoning." "Ouch. That doesn''t sound good. What are the symptoms?" "Nausea, vomiting and ultimately death." Gronk, the half-orc grimaced so that his canines protruded even further: "I swallowed five healing potions in a row during the battle in the cave. Kept me alive." The half-elven sorcerer snorted, "Yes. That really worked a treat." The half-orc looked at him in confusion: "Why do you sound like you''re not serious?" "Don''t you remember how that ended?" Gronk shrugged, "I fell under an onslaught of undead." Rhea seemed to look down from even higher up: "Seriously? That''s the last thing you remember?" "Yes, of course." "A zombie cut off your arm with an axe. You fell back while we shielded you. While we fell one by one, you poured yourself a healing potion and went down puking." The sorcerer nodded as Gronk looked at him questioningly: "Actually, I think you choked on your own vomit. We were too busy to help. No one wanted to take a close look." The half-Anubian whimpered, "I thought they got him with a poisoned arrow." "Nope. Fifth healing potion. Couldn''t have gone well." Gronk protested: "They were all weak healing potions, the cheap ones." Rhea sighed: "Gronk, the poorer the quality of the potions, the more toxins they contain. Next time, take a closer look at the label. There''s a value for toxicity. If you consume more toxicity per day than you have constitution, the symptoms of poisoning will start. You''ll be dead by the time you''ve doubled it. Depending on your constitution score, you may take damage even earlier. The small, beer-bellied barbarian who had been running at the back of the group and had been struggling to keep up shouted a warning: "Attackers! Konnroot twiglings." He pointed to some bundles of twigs that had crept out of the forest on twig legs. Once they had been spotted, they rushed in, creaking and cracking. The group formed up in a flash. The sorcerer hurled fireballs and Rhea blew mightily into her bagpipes. The bag filled up with shrill whistling. Before the first opponents came within melee range and were greeted by BamBam''s mace and Gronk''s rapier, she began to play a magical bard''s tune. The movements of her companions became faster, while the twiglings were visibly unsettled. Instead of running the heroes down with their charge, they bounced weakly against their legs, where they were picked apart by weapon slashes. Rhea put down the bagpipe and laughed: "That was easy. I thought it would be worse. For a level 6 quest, I would have expected bigger enemies." Gronk had cleaned his rapier with a cloth and was just about to put it back in its sheath when he hesitated. Three human-sized bundles of twigs emerged from the forest. Gronk grinned: "That looks better. Second round." The Konnroot whirled around with their twig arms and pointed sticks flew through the air towards the group. The heroes scattered wildly. Rhea was too slow and a stick dug into her thigh. She yanked it out and looked at it briefly before saying again, "Damn. Wooden throwing knives. Now wait!" She tossed the projectile carelessly over her shoulder and reached for the bagpipe''s flute again. A loud, multi-toned sound rang out. The air around the group shimmered and shook, then began to move in a whirl. More pieces of wood flew through the air, but were now whirled aside. Two more Konnroot stepped out from behind trees and hurled branches. The half-brothers clustered close around Rhea as more of the wooden knives flew in. The Konnroot went into a frenzy when their attack was unsuccessful. The wooden knives flew faster and faster. Where they hit the wind barrier, however, they were hurled away without effect. The meadow in front of the group began to fill with projectiles stuck in the ground and lying around. BamBam hit the floor with his club: "By all the gods, Rhea! Without you, we''d look like wooden hedgehogs now. When I consider that I made fun of your bard songs at the beginning, because you can''t throw fireballs..." Gronk raised his open hand to the right height for the halfling to strike. The battle at the border forest had been exciting and dramatic, but losing in the end still left a negative taste. A quest that was a little too easy due to their combination of skills was now just the thing... He narrowed his eyes. Had the tree further into the forest just leaned against the wind? Yes. It had. As had the next one. Something was pushing its way between the trees. Trees that weren''t really close enough to make that necessary for normal-sized monsters. The fur on the back of his neck bristled. "Hey guys..." Before the others understood what was going on, the human-sized Konnroot stormed out of the forest and ran in an arc around the group. Two to the left and the other two to the right. A dozen or so bunny-sized bundles of twigs charged straight at them like the first attackers. The half-elven sorcerer pointed the red crystal tip of his spear staff at one of the larger Konnroot and concentrated: "Curse of burning!" A beam of red-yellow light connected the spearhead with the Konnroot. The light disappeared sparkling in the tangle of branches. Nothing happened for a moment, then the creature flared up from within. Flames flickered out in all directions. Twigs whirled in all directions and a few twig knives flew away, glowing. The creature collapsed on the spot. The half-orc thief gripped his rapier tighter and stepped towards the smaller attackers. Rhea took the bagpipe from her mouth and slid her squeaking instrument onto her back by its leather straps. The wall of wind was dissipating, but for the moment at least, her opponents were refraining from ranged attacks. She guessed they couldn''t move and throw at the same time. Bardic music was what she enjoyed most in the game, but now it was time for a more direct approach. "Hey, Gronk! I need my weapon!" The half-orc did not look up from his fight, but continued to stab at the small bundles of branches: "Don''t you have your hand axe on your belt?" "I need a real weapon." Gronk thrust his rapier straight through one of the creatures, causing it to flinch. Then it collapsed. He kicked another creature three steps away through the air and then took a few quick steps towards the half-giantess. There, he turned his back to her so that she could reach his backpack. One section contained a Bag of Holding effect, from which she pulled out a halberd. She twirled the polearm once, then leapt forward and swung it two-handed at one of the large Konnroot s. Pieces of branch flew out and amber-colored resin splattered across the area. To her surprise, however, the creature stopped and struck back with a tangle of branches that cut deep gashes across her forearm. A crash from the forest made her look away from her opponent briefly, which immediately earned her another set of cuts to her other arm. But the brief glance had been enough to see the next opponent approaching. Pushing trees aside, a troll-sized creature of arm-thick branches became visible, cracking and crackling as it reared up and braced spurs against the ground, no doubt ready to sprint now that it had a clear path. The sorcerer had just ignited his second opponent and also whirled around at the noise. "I can still use the curse once! Stay away in case he takes a while to die. A burning monster can be dangerous." Then he cast the curse and red-yellow light connected his spear staff with the monster. The light shone into the tangle of branches. Nothing happened. "Guys, my spell isn''t working!" Gronk defended himself from a group of three Konnroots who had surrounded him: "Then do something else, I''m busy right now!" The last of the ranged fighters chose this moment to stop and throw branch knives again. Gronk saw the swarm of projectiles flying towards him out of the corner of his eye and threw himself to the ground. Right in front of one of the small creatures, which unfolded almost completely and then snapped. Countless branch ends dug into his ear and scraped across his cheek. The pain was only a faint echo. As always, he was glad that he had set his pain sensitivity to the lowest level. Otherwise it would have been really unpleasant. He had no problem keeping his presence of mind to draw his dagger with his left hand and ram it into the creature. The pieces of branch dug deeper into his flesh. He poked around in the tangle of branches. His rapier had found a target in the middle of the creatures. A core or some kind of heart. He would find that again now. He felt resistance with the blade and thrust. This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. The creature''s grip loosened. Gronk took a few deep breaths, carefully removed the remains of the Konnroot from his head and then straightened up. The situation had changed considerably in the short space of time. The smaller Konnroot had gathered and pounced on the sorcerer, who was struggling to defend himself with his spear staff and could no longer cast spells. Rhea charged towards the largest Konnroot with her halberd swinging wide. The first opponent she had encountered so far that was bigger than herself. The Konnroot did not roar, growl or bark. They made no sound other than the soft crunching and cracking of their branch tentacles. The troll sized Konnroot formed six leg-like extensions and came towards her. The halberd struck the body with full force. Branches cracked, but the halberd remained stuck in the tangle. She tried to pull her weapon out. The branch tentacles tightened around the tip of the halberd and held it fast. Rhea braced herself against the ground. The creature leapt towards her, but the halberd was stuck. Wooden tentacles extended from its body. Hands with sharp wooden claws unfolded and lashed out. Then the Konnroot struck from both sides as if in a vicious embrace. Rhea let go of her weapon and fell backwards. A claw drew three scratches across the chest of her leather armor. She fell onto her back and pushed herself away from her opponent on her hands and feet. Before she could get her not inconsiderable mass upright again, the huge Konnroot was already on top of her. The mass opened up and pointed branches opened into a wooden mouth, while the tentacles with claws were already reaching out to grab her and pull her inside the creature. Before Gronk could move to help her, he felt a pain in his leg and lost his balance. As he fell, he saw two more ranged Konnroot emerge from behind trees and start throwing knives. Another branch knife pierced his upper right arm more or less by accident. He sighed and slumped back. At least he wouldn''t have to run back to town. A loud roar brought him back from his fatalistic thoughts. Splinters of wood and pieces of branch flew through his field of vision. Closely followed by a half-naked and completely furious halfling barbarian. BamBam broke through the middle of the largest Konnroot with his club and raced towards the edge of the forest. Branch knives smashed into the ground around him. Some hit him too, but bounced off, leaving only minor flesh wounds. Rhea took advantage of the moment when her opponent was distracted by the barbarian''s attack and went back on the offensive. She grabbed a bundle of branches and dragged it out of the creature while kicking more pieces into the ground. "Ha, take that!" Her shout of triumph died away. She could not tear the bundles of branches out of the creature. They gave way, lengthened and coiled around her hands. Held her tight. The kicks pressed parts of her opponent into the soft meadow ground without doing any significant damage. More branches whipped around and wrapped around her legs. Pushed higher and higher. Pressed down. She needed help. Someone with an axe or a saw. Which, of course, no one had. She cursed herself. She should have prepared for the quest better. They had strolled off carelessly, not inquiring about their opponents'' abilities or adjusting their equipment. She looked around. The sorcerer fell under an onslaught of small Konnroot. Gronk lay badly injured on the ground. The only one of the group who could still fight was BamBam. He ignored the attacks and savagely beat two human-sized Konnroot. He used his barbarian rage to ignore his wounds. The little bundle of strength had put everything into physical strength and constitution. Now at level 6, his constitution was at 18. She had noticed that he was taking less and less damage. But his mace hardly did any damage to the Konnroot either. It was only a matter of time before he fell. The whole group would die and lose another full level. If this continued, even the youngest noobs would overtake them and snatch up the best quests. "Holla, half-brothers. Could you use some help?" Rhea wheeled around. On the path behind the group, a group of adventurers came riding up. Rhea had to look twice before she was sure she was seeing correctly. They had horses? They also had a tame troll with them. She had once asked a trader how much a troll had cost for his troll cart. An investment that would hardly pay for itself in ten years. However, the trader was of the opinion that it had been worth it for him. Very few highwaymen attacked a troll wagon. The danger of the troll going wild was too great. Trolls could pull far heavier wagons than any ox or group of horses. Their stamina was almost inexhaustible. At the head of the troop rode a knight in dark armor, his helmet in his arms and his orange hair blowing in the wind. Next to him was a woman dressed as a mage, an Anubian in a black robe and a group of fighters in chain mail. A troll and horses. Who had they killed to get so much gold? She shook herself and concentrated on the question again. Having only 10 points in intelligence had its disadvantages at times like this. She could feel how the system occasionally disturbed her concentration. "Any support would be most welcome!" The knight stopped his group. "Then please share your quest. We came a little too late to accept it. It fits perfectly with the skills of our group." Adventurer group "Harbingers" would like to share the quest "Konnroot Decimation". Should you accept, all rewards and XP will be shared by all surviving participants. Considering the combined strength of both groups, all rewards will be reduced by 30%. Rhea hastily agreed. The knight nodded with satisfaction and put on his helmet. He remained calmly seated on his horse and waved his group forward. Armed with machetes, the warriors charged towards the edge of the forest. The troll stomped towards Rhea, a barrel in his hands. Rhea sighed. The adventurers didn''t seem to have the creature under control after all. It almost seemed as if he wanted to intervene in the fight. With the beer supply or whatever he was carrying in his hands. A barrel as an improvised weapon. She had seen crazier things. The druid rode up to the sorcerer Furoras, who kept tripping over his tiny opponents and threatening to fall down. Once he was on the ground, he was doomed. The druid came within five paces and stopped: "Ho, sorcerer! Is that a focus wand for fire magic?" "Yes!" Furoras kicked a rabbit-sized Konnroot away from his foot. "Not much use to me right now!" "Throw it over. I can do more with it." The sorcerer did not hesitate. He threw his wand to the druid. He reached for it, almost dropped it with clumsy fingers and then grabbed it at the last moment. He placed the wand in a holder on his saddle and then pointed to the Konnroot Horde with his right hand: "Viriditas Interfectorem!" Black smoke formed over the ground around the sorcerer. The Konnroot bundles began to tremble, then they crawled away. Smoke was now also rising from inside the plant creatures. They lay twitching a few meters from the edge of the forest. Meanwhile, the Harbingers¡¯ fighters pulled light crossbows from their saddlebags, riding forward in a tight, single-file line. They raised their crossbows, aiming at a spot along the forest¡¯s edge. Suddenly, a Konnroot came hurtling out from between the trees, closely followed by BamBam. Broken remnants of branch-like tentacles clung to his limbs, while resin and blood smeared his chest. His club was now just a splintered stump, but he kept swinging it fiercely at one of the Konnroots, refusing to give up the fight. Rhea shouted a warning: "The Konnroot are almost immune to crossbow bolts. The best you''ll hit is our barbarian!" The distraction proved to be her undoing. A branch tentacle wrapped around her foot and pulled her over. The giant Konnroot threw itself over her. Tentacles wrapped around her from all sides. She didn''t panic yet. The troll was almost there and was already swinging his barrel. With a mighty blow, he thundered it against the Konnroot from behind. Wood cracked and she threw her head to the side to avoid getting splinters in her face. A few still pierced her cheek. Liquid splashed against her. She froze. Was the Konnroot bleeding? A shimmering red liquid dripped viscously down onto her as she looked up. The barrel had shattered into a thousand pieces. The troll stepped back. Probably surprised that his weapon had broken so quickly. Where had he gotten such poor quality? Barrels of this size were normally unbreakable. Unless someone had made them that way... Furoras shook the last opponent off his boot and turned to the mounted druid: "Thank you. It was about time. I just don''t understand what you needed my staff for." The druid grinned down at him. "With the current loot system, you can never be sure you''ll get anything useful." A woman on horseback appeared out of nowhere in front of the sorcerer. An extremely good-looking woman. He was taken aback. He remembered that she had been there the whole time. How could he have ignored her? She waved her hand and the world around him suddenly seemed to flicker. His sense of balance was disturbed. He swayed. The clatter of hooves. Something was coming closer. Quickly. OrcSlayer rode past the sorcerer, using the mass and speed of his horse to add power to his sword strike. The sorcerer''s head flew off in a high arc, then his body disappeared with a shimmer. Only a pair of cheap shoes remained. The druid pulled the flaming wand from his holster, pointed it at Rhea and shouted: "Ardeat!" Flames leapt out of the Konnroot. Then the alchemical substance with which the troll had soaked him and Rhea ignited. The bard and the Konnroot went down together in a blazing inferno. The troll stomped back a few steps: "Umblai not like fire!" The warriors fired their crossbows. Not at the Konnroot, but at the halfling barbarian. BamBam, already badly battered, did not see the attack coming. His back turned into the imitation of a hedgehog before he disintegrated. Gronk, meanwhile, had long since fallen under the hail of missiles. OrcSlayer looked around with satisfaction: "Good work. Collect the loot and clear up the last of the root creatures. After all, we want to get the XP for the quest." He called up his menu as leader of the group and scrolled through the messages. His expression changed to irritation. The mage Shannara noticed the change in his mood: "Everything all right?" "No. Not at all. We don''t get XP for the defeated players." Shannara blinked and then asked incredulously, "What?" "Look at the message." Furoras, Sorcerer, level 6 defeated. Bambam, barbarian, level 6 defeated Rhea, Bard, level 6 defeated. Minimum loot release. No XP granted. "Nemesis, why are no XP granted here? We beat them fairly!" No XP allocation for players within the same alliance or while participating in the same quest. "This is unacceptable! I want to file a complaint!" Complaint was registered. Moderator requested for mediation. The Dark Paladin looked around impatiently for a while. The others went back to wiping out the remaining Konnroot. Shortly after the success message appeared, there was a golden flash a few steps above and beside OrcSlayer. A glowing figure was hurled through a crack in reality, striking OrcSlayer directly and knocking him off his horse. As OrcSlayer struggled to his feet in confusion, the figure flickered and the next moment stood upright and straight beside him. The moderator swept non-existent dust off his shoulder, "Great Admin, what in the Name of the NEMESIS have you done? I got yanked out of the middle of the break room. It''s been a long time since anyone has managed to really annoy the AI." OrcSlayer looked around worriedly. Then he pulled himself together and straightened up to his full height. Before he could begin to speak, the moderator grew a head and looked down at him calmly. The Dark Paladin sighed. Of course he couldn''t impress a moderator. He changed his planned tone, "I have a legitimate complaint! The AI is denying me XP for defeated opponents. That''s an outrageous injustice." The admin looked into space for a moment while he read the log files of recent events. Then he shrugged his shoulders: "That''s all perfectly correct. You should read the game rules more carefully. Since the restart, PvP no longer gives XP for defeated players who belong to the same alliance. The same applies to players who share a quest. There are quests that are meant for competitions between players, but they are worded accordingly." "That''s just..." OrcSlayer spoke into the void, as the moderator had already disappeared. Unjustified complaint was rejected. All players -100 XP. The Dark Paladin''s face darkened to a deep red as he gasped: "You can¡¯t do that! I''m going to..." Would you like to request a moderator for a mediation? The world voice could not show any emotions. He was sure it had no emotions. It was a neutral operating system for the VR. But by God, he could feel Nemesis mocking him. OrcSlayer clenched his mouth and stared at the sky with a murderous look. He huffed to himself for a while as he struggled to calm down. He turned to the other members of his group, "Pack it all up. We''re leaving." He gave the forest one last look as the group rode away: "If it wasn''t fireproof, I''d just burn the damn forest down. But well. Back to the guild and then we''ll get the most bloodthirsty decimation quest they have." Chapter 37: Weylan Weylan lay on the floor and looked in disbelief at the message from the voice of the world. "That doesn''t make any sense! I wanted to raise House Servant as a class. I can''t level up Assassin unless I''m taught by a higher-level Assassin." He hesitated, then quickly continued: "I admit it! I chose Assassin as my class. It was... a special situation. More of an accident." The tip of the sword did not move from his neck, while the steward literally glared at him in disbelief from above: "So you were trained as an assassin by mistake? This is your defense?" "It''s a long story. After the fight against the wolves, I shot my father''s killer in the back. He was a revenant, so I assumed he would come after me. I only had useless character classes to choose from. And Assassin." "You claim to have unlocked the Assassin class through deeds? Without a master? Ridiculous." "It''s not the craziest thing that''s happened to me since." The steward raised an eyebrow, "If you think I''m going to let you live just because I want to hear your story..." He tensed the muscles of his sword arm. Weylan closed his eyes and waited for the death blow. Nothing happened. He peered out through almost closed eyes. The steward took the blade from his neck. "All right, then. You''ve done it. I want to hear your story." Weylan now realized that the sword ended in a pommel like that of Jago''s walking stick. A stick without a pommel in the steward''s left hand. Jago inserted the blade into the cane with a practiced movement and locked it into place with a slight twist. "Non-magical cane sword. Most look for extra dimensional containers, magical tattoos, or other transformed weapons." He touched something on the desk and a loaded crossbow appeared on the surface. "Something like this." He walked around the desk and took a seat behind it. Something crunched and a loud snap could be heard from the door. Weylan assumed that the door was now locked. An unexpected device for a steward''s office... "Can I get up?" Jago calmly pointed to a chair. Weylan sat down: "You''re not just a steward, are you?" "What else would I be?" Jago leaned back and grinned. "I can only raise my character class under the guidance of a higher-level assassin. After you taught me for a day, I suddenly leveled up. It''s strange..." "Well, I''m the steward. I manage the estate... and the local branch of the Royal Imperial Secret Service. Mulnirsheim is the gateway to the north. The Empire cannot afford for the fortress city to fall to treachery or for its military secrets to fall into enemy hands." "Are you allowed to tell anyone?" "Only if I kill him afterwards." Weylan swallowed hard. For the life of him, he couldn''t tell if Jago was serious. A drop of sweat rolled down his forehead and fell to the floor unnoticed. The steward''s face turned serious: "I''m a level 12 house servant. I''m also a level 10 assassin, so yes. That must have triggered your level up. However, I''ve never heard of anyone accidentally leveling up to a different class than they intended. Something like that would require incredible amounts of bad luck. You''d have to have a disadvantage like Cursed or Dark Fate..." "Live in interesting times..." Weylan interrupted him tonelessly. Jago leaned forward and looked at him thoughtfully over his folded hands: "Live in... Yes... That would explain it." He pondered in silence while Weylan said nothing. "I once knew a guard with that disadvantage. Murphrin was always in the middle of the deepest mess. The guard captain wanted to fire him at first, but after a few incidents, it was clear that he wasn''t causing anything unusual to happen. He was just attracted to it. Well, he also attracts moving disasters and monsters nearby, but here in the fortress city that''s an advantage. They''ve stationed him on the northern outskirts of town and almost all the monsters that have made it into town have migrated to the guard building. He had to set up his apartment on the top floor of the guard station after the third time a chamaeleon-tiger snuck into his old rented apartment to raid his milk supply." "How is he?" "Murphrin? He died when he got caught in the middle of an argument between two alchemists. The road was turned almost half a step deep into a viscous, corrosive slurry." Weylan rolled his eyes: "Great. Something else to look forward to." Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. "Well young man, now the first thing you''re going to do, is telling me everything that''s happened to you so far. The short excerpts sounded very interesting. If you were able to gain enough experience to advance to level six right away, you must have had a really interesting time." Weylan swallowed. Then he began to talk. Jago only asked a few specific questions. In between, he fetched a carafe of water from a cupboard and poured them both a drink. Most of the time, he just let him talk and listened attentively. Weylan told him openly that they had only faked his father''s death. When he suddenly became extremely vague in his detailed account while talking about the smuggler who had helped him with equipment, he noticed a smirk on Jago''s face. He noted without comment and rather sympathetically that Weylan did not want to reveal Detter''s identity. After three hours, his eyes almost closed and he almost revealed the existence of the dungeon. But he caught himself and only mentioned the ¡°Archmage Malvorik¡±, who lived deep beneath the mountains. He didn''t even mention how he had come to the city. The steward naturally assumed that he had come through the gate with the other refugees. The story ended with Weylan''s experiences in the work distribution office. Weylan fell silent with a dry mouth. Jago stretched and then looked at him seriously: "Well... Now I have to decide what to do next." "I could go back to the pub first. Then you can sleep on it again in peace." "Nice try." Jago did something with his foot behind the desk and a piece of the surface in front of him snapped up. He reached in and suddenly held a vial in his left hand and a crossbow in his right. "Poison or crossbow bolt to the heart?" "I suppose you¡¯d prefer poison. Doesn''t make such a mess." Jago waved it off: "Don''t worry, I have a cleansing artifact. It''s no problem at all to remove blood and guts with it. I haven''t leveled up this far without learning how to dispose of battle scars and corpses." Weylan swallowed, but even though Jago''s face gave nothing away, he didn''t have the feeling that he really wanted to kill him. The two stared at each other wordlessly for a while. Then the steward suddenly began to laugh uproariously and stowed the weapon and vial away again. "An apprentice that I can teach in both of my character classes? I''m unlikely to ever find that again. And an assassin with an affinity for shadows? I''ve never even heard rumors of such a thing. That could bring considerable synergy effects." "S¨¹ner... what?" "Something that works better together than the sum of its parts would suggest." "Like a cake?" Jago stared at him for a moment: "Maybe I should reconsider my decision." "It''s all right. I was only joking. I''m too tired to really think." The steward nodded: "It''s getting late. I''ll put you up in one of the guest rooms. Tomorrow I''ll have your own chamber prepared for you." "Then I''ll go to bed, distribute my attribute points and choose a few special skills." Jago was on him faster than he could blink. He blinked all the more to keep an eye on the dagger that was suddenly aimed directly at his face between his eyes. "There''s no way you''d distribute five levels'' worth of boosts without discussing everything with your master first. You wouldn''t do that, would you?" Weylan refrained from moving his head and squeezed out a quiet "no?". It sounded more like a question than a firm answer, but the steward smiled, removed his dagger and held out his hand to help him up. "How are your stats at the moment?" He called up his character sheet and read it out. Jago took a sheet of paper and wrote everything down. Name: Weylan Race: Human Character class: Assassin (Level 6) Strength: 12 Dexterity: 14 Intelligence: 10 Willpower: 10 Constitution: 14 Charisma: 10 He frowned: "That''s two points more than you should have. Are you sure you haven''t used up any of the new attribute points yet?" "There are two points on constitution that I got for a quest." "An attribute bonus? How many times did you almost die in those fights?" "I didn''t have time to count." Jago left it at that: "We''ll leave the feats until later. How would you allocate five points to your attributes?" "Well, I was thinking physical strength plus three and dexterity plus two." The steward nodded: "I expected that. A good choice. For a warrior. You are not a warrior. You are an assassin. Strength and skill will not get you where you want to go. You must maintain your secret identity and you must not collapse in the first serious interrogation. For this you need willpower and intelligence. Twelve of each should be enough for now. You can put the remaining point towards dexterity." "I can save myself willpower. I have a skill against interrogation..." "Mind block. Of course you have. Otherwise you wouldn''t have gotten this far. It won''t help you if they just interrogate you for a few hours. Not to mention torture." Weylan''s gaze blurred as he looked longingly at his character sheet. Physical attributes had an immediate effect. He could be stronger and more agile. At level 6, low-level enemies and quests would hardly give him any XP. Level 1 enemies none at all, level 2 enemies only 20% of normal. Then there were the increased costs. From level 6 to level 7, he needed a full 500 XP. It would take him a long time to level up again. He sighed and distributed the points as his teacher had suggested. As he made his character sheet disappear, his eyes focused again. Steward Jago was in the process of opening a drawer. He pulled out a copper bangle. Plain, with only a wider part bearing the seal of the city of Mulnirsheim. He tossed it to Weylan. "Put this on." Weylan slipped the bracelet over his left arm. It tightened its grip just behind the wrist. Irritated, he pulled at it, but the bracelet could neither be moved nor turned. He looked up questioningly. Jago pushed back his sleeve and an identical bracelet was revealed. "Officially, it is the seal of the city and is worn by all important representatives of the baron. Show it to the guards in the city or here at the manor and you will be let through immediately. This is also a magical artifact. You cannot remove it without my permission. I can use it to find you at any time. But it also has a useful effect. If you draw a circle around the crest with your finger, it casts a spell that makes you odorless. Handy for escaping dogs or anubians. Works once a day and lasts for about an hour. Get a good night''s sleep. Tomorrow your training begins in two classes. You won¡¯t actually be able to multiclass, at least not yet, but you need to learn skills and knowledge from both classes. You won''t have much free time left." Chapter 38: Selvara Selvara fluttered after some of the duskgnome children through the corridors of the dungeon: "Not that way! That way leads up into the sewers. The other corridor leads through the labyrinth of traps, that''s dangerous!" With difficulty, she got the gang back on course. As soon as they disappeared around the corner, she sank to the floor, exhausted: "Little slobs." "Still three times your size." Weylan''s voice came from behind him and didn''t sound as cheerful as the cheeky line suggested. Selvara turned around. Brown liquid was dripping all over him. He was carrying an equally soaked sack over his back. Selvara flew up: "You stink!" "While you look wonderful. As always." He bowed and little wet things fell out of his hair to splat on the floor. "We absolutely need an easier way up. It has been raining. The channels on the top level are full and the walkways are slippery." "We can''t possibly let the dungeon penetrate to the surface. That would trigger every Clairvoyance spell in the Adventurers'' Guild. We''d immediately appear on every quest map. As far up as the second sewer level is already risky." "Especially as dungeon moss is slowly spreading. I wouldn''t have needed the lantern at all in the last two corridors. If you''re not paying attention, you can still miss it with bright lighting. But the canal workers know their way around here. They''ll soon notice the glowing growth." Selvara''s voice took on a teacherly tone: "Dungeon etiquette. The creator gods don''t like dark dungeons. If the dungeon doesn''t provide its own lighting, the glowing dungeon moss will spread. Malvorik cannot remove it. If he orders dungeon monsters to scrape it off, they can''t detect it." Weylan scratched dirt from his hair thoughtfully: "Not everyone will know such a rare plant. Most of the townspeople haven''t been in a dungeon in their lives. Then again, glowing plants are rare..." He thought about it further for a moment, then cursed, "Cofefe''s orange hair! Someone will try to sell it to the mage academy or an alchemist. They''ll recognize it immediately." "Do you have any idea how we can prevent this? My training doesn''t involve hiding the fact that there''s a dungeon. On the contrary! Once it is sufficiently developed, I know a lot of strategies to publicize the dungeon and guarantee regular visits from adventurers. Dungeon fairies can''t lie to their dungeon. We''re not good at deception." "I''ll think of something. Can you tell me where the nearest bathroom is? I stink like a cesspit." The voice of the Dungeon Heart rang out in her mind: The wall on the left formed an entrance. A short corridor appeared, then a circular room spread out. Before Weylan''s fascinated gaze, a pool formed in the floor and filled with slightly steaming water. A bowl with white ovals appeared at the edge. Weylan took the bag off his back and placed it carefully on the floor: "I spent almost all of my first month''s salary on your last list. Apprentices don''t get a fortune. Can you give me something to sell or just a few gold pieces?" Selvara raised her finger in warning: "Golgoroth doesn''t like it when dungeons give away gold that hasn''t been properly earned." Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. Weylan raised an eyebrow: "Complication?" The air next to the bath began to shimmer and a coin appeared. Weylan took it carefully and examined it. The coin was made of shiny gold. Freshly minted. One side showed a cave exit with three hydra heads sticking out of it. The sign of Golgoroth. He turned it over and could not suppress a low groan. The back showed a hand with fingers far too long, holding a dagger. He read the words aloud, written in a circle around the edge: "Unnamed Dungeon at Mulnirsheim." "At least it doesn''t say under Mulnirsheim." "Maybe I could file that off..." "What happens if I melt it down?" "I''ll think about what we can do. I''m sure there''s a way. In the meantime, here''s the last of your ." He pulled the sack wrapped in wax-soaked cloth out of his rucksack and pulled the wax cloth apart. Head-sized sacks came first: "Seeds of wheat, corn, barley and oats. Wouldn''t a little less have been enough? This stuff is heavy." The assassin nodded and then placed finger-length ingots on the ground. "Iron with low, medium and high carbon content. The blacksmiths had difficulty with the specification at first. They call it iron, steel and cast iron." Next came a shiny dagger. "Half of my budget went on this. Small, but forged by a master blacksmith from the best sword steel, as ordered. A gift for the child of a nobleman. Still cheaper than a real sword from a master blacksmith. Then I also have copper and bronze here." "What are the duskgnomes currently eating? The mushrooms won''t be ripe for another two weeks." "Dwarf cookies? Are those the ones you have to soak in water for an hour to make them edible?" "A retailer once had them and then gave them away in our village because nobody really wanted them. They taste like damp socks." "Pass. I think I''ll eat again upstairs." Two hours later, Selvara sat on Weylan''s shoulder while he made himself comfortable on a stone next to the dryad tree. The stone ground around the tree had been replaced by the dungeon with black topsoil, in which small grass shoots were already protruding. When he had just tried to look at the tree, he had almost run into a spear. Ulmenglanz hadn''t even apologized when she had driven him back. After he had retreated with his hands up, she had become much friendlier and was now sitting on the ground next to him: "I didn''t think you were interested in plants. Except as food for your sheep." "It''s about keeping the existence of the dungeon a secret. I have an idea, but I need to know how to plant moss. Is it possible with cuttings or seeds? How can I plant it on stone?" "On stone? Is it about the dungeon moss?" "Exactly." "Moss reproduces via spores. Like seeds, but much smaller. You could cut open the small spore bodies in the moss. But it should be easiest if you mix a mixture that you can paint directly onto the wall. The best way to do this is to chop a large piece of moss into fine pieces. Then mix it into a mixture of buttermilk and water. Stir well and paint directly onto the stone." "Can you cast another spell on it to make it grow faster?" She hesitated. "Well... I don''t have nature magic. Not anymore. But I''m still a dryad. I could mix some of my saliva into it. Then the mixture can store some of my life energy. But remember, dungeon moss only grows inside dungeons." "You''d think..." "No really, to glow so strongly the plants need a strong mana field. You only get that in dungeons." Weylan grinned: "I have an idea. But first we have to collect a lot of moss and chop it up. Then I''ll go back up in the morning." "What exactly are you up to?" "Well, I''m going to solve two problems at once..." He explained his plan in broad strokes. The dryad and Selvara listened attentively and ended up shaking their heads in sync: "That will never work." Weylan shrugged: "Yes, it will. Just wait and see." Chapter 39: Guild of Canal Workers The door knocker knocked loudly twice and then fell silent. Hartung, the oldest working member of the Guild of Canal Workers, heaved himself up from his chair with difficulty and went to the front door. When he opened it, he saw a young man standing there. He had a large sack next to him on the floor. "Good morning, master..." "Hartung. Just Hartung. What do you want, boy? We won''t be recruiting journeymen again for another month." "I already have a master. Master merchant Radek. He sent me because he''s only in town for a short time and can''t do everything himself." He looked around briefly as if expecting to see his master appear behind him and then continued: "I can do it!" "Well, what do you want with us? We have fixed trading partners for most of our needs." "Oh, I have something to offer that I''m sure you don''t have yet. May I come in?" Hartung nodded kindly and waved him in. The young man accepted the invitation and carefully set down his sack: "On our last trading trip, we met an adventurer who collects exotic plants. We bought some alchemical ingredients from him cheaply and gave him a very good price for the equipment he needed. Good climbing hooks and ropes are hard to come by on the edge of the desert." "You¡¯ve been in the desert?" Hartung pointed through the open door into the lounge. "Would you like some tea? You can tell me about your trip." "Thank you, but unfortunately I don''t have enough time for the interesting stories. My master is currently selling the alchemically useful herbs and minerals at the mage academy. But there''s something else that might be more interesting for your guild. Could I perhaps speak to someone who can make a deal for the guild?" "Guildmaster Runtar is upstairs in his office. He''s busy with the accounts at the moment. He''s always happy to be disturbed. He hates doing the math." A little later, all three were sitting in the guild master''s office. The young journeyman merchant took a small box from his carrier bag and placed it on the table. "Could we close the shutters? What I want to sell to the guild is easier to see in the dark.¡± Hartung nodded, opened the glass windows and pulled the wooden shutters closed. The room went dark. Only a little light came in through fine cracks and around the wooden shutters. Hartung returned carefully and sat back down on a chair. The journeyman reached for the box, paused dramatically and then opened it. A soft golden-green light illuminated the room. Then he reached in and took out a fist-sized piece of moss. The guild master took it and looked at it with interest: "Reminds me of the moss on the walls of the Meklar Dungeon. That''s where I earned the XP for my seventh level." "Exactly! Except that this also grows outside dungeons. An adventurer found it in a cave deep under the desert. It only grows at a certain depth, but I can imagine that it could be very interesting for your guild." Runtar averted his eyes, visibly reluctant. Then he lowered his hand with the moss to the table, sighed and looked at the journeyman: "We get along very well with our magical helmet lamps. But this might be a nice addition. If it''s not too expensive." The journeyman trader took the moss from him and carefully put it back in the box: "My master knows about the magical glowstones you got from the mage academy. They must cost 200 gold pieces per stone." "That may be, but we already have four of them. A generous donation from the academy." "But what if one of them gets lost? Or you have a problem where you need more light?" "Then there are still oil lanterns." The Guild Master waved his hand in disinterest, but his gaze kept flickering to the still open box. This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon. The journeyman merchant noticed this very well and continued: "So far, there is only one occurrence of this new type of moss and it is in the desert. Behind the current war front. No one will be able to get to it for years to come. You also need a special alchemical elixir to plant it. After that, however, it multiplies on its own." "Well, what does your master want for a few bales of moss?" "He told me not to give it away for less than two thousand gold pieces." Guildmaster Runtar didn''t have to pretend to break into a dry coughing fit: "Two thousand? That''s the canal workers'' guild. Not the gold miners'' guild." The journeyman shrank into himself. He said meekly: "I should have known. My master wanted to sell the moss to the alchemists in the capital. I convinced him that we could get a better price where it could really be put to good use. In the dark, dangerous tunnels under the city. Full of rats and surely even more terrifying monsters that sneak up through the darkness unseen. Honest workers who disappear and are never seen again..." The guild master looked at him suspiciously: "What makes you think that?" "Just a rumor I overheard at the inn. They said your guild was looking for new staff. Because a few men have gone missing. Come to think of it, didn''t they have their glowstones with them?" "Well, that''s just baseless talk, of course. Our workers are all doing very well." He thought for a moment: "I could hardly forgive myself if you were to lose your apprenticeship just because you believed the false rumors. I will buy the moss from you for a generous price. Shall we say... two hundred gold pieces?" "Even here in the city, we could get 1800 gold pieces for it at the academy. More if we take it to the capital. If I don¡¯t make a trade, my master will just laugh at me. If I give away his goods, he''ll whip me and chase me away!" The two haggled for a while longer before agreeing on 350 gold pieces. The guild master counted out the sum in neat stacks on the table, almost in tears, whereupon the journeyman carelessly shoved it into a bag of holding with a disappointed face. Scowling, he explained how best to attach the moss. He took a large bottle of greenish liquid out of the bag: "The mixture is blended with a durability elixir and infused with a fertility spell. Paint it on the ceilings in all corridors from the second highest level upwards. The canal level directly below the street is unlikely to work. It doesn''t grow that high up in its caves. The best place to put it is at intersections. In a few months, you won''t need to take any more light down there." The journeyman merchant stepped out of the guild building. With his head down, he shuffled dejectedly along the street and turned into a side alley. A raven fluttered from the roof and landed on his shoulder: "Well, Weylan? Did it work?" He looked around carefully and then straightened up when he couldn''t find any witnesses. A broad grin curved up the corners of his mouth and his eyes flashed: "Excellent! Peituwin''s blessing was undoubtedly doubly upon me today. I negotiated a hundred gold pieces more than we had planned. The guild will be down there distributing glowing moss and will be pleased with how quickly it spreads. If anyone finds it unusual, they''ll blame it on the fertility spell. They''ll also find it when they have the mixture examined by a mage." The raven''s beak twisted into a mischievous grin, although it appeared to be made of solid horn. "Malvorik will be pleased." "You''re already got used to your self transformation spell?" "The wings have a strange arrangement on the fuselage and unusually long feathers. The air currents and the flapping of the wings take some getting used to, but I can manage. As long as I don''t have to do any aerobatic maneuvers, it''s enough." "Good, so we continue as planned? You go on a round trip and look for a suitable place for a hidden exit and I''ll keep shopping until then?" "We''ll meet right here as soon as the sun disappears behind the mountains. At the end of the alley is a manhole cover to the sewers. Nobody will see us going down here. By then, the duskgnomes will be waiting at the bottom to take your purchases." Weylan nodded: "Good, then I''ll make it back to my master in time. The shopping will take up the rest of my day off, but I think it will be worth it. I hope Malvorik gets around to brewing something soon." "It''s hard to say. He''s still very busy with the city at the moment. He has already overhauled the water supply and sewage system three times. He has also gone completely overboard with the playground for the children. A miniature castle with a drawbridge, climbing ropes, swings, seesaws and a large recessed area with fine sand. A meadow would certainly have been enough for them." "Sounds interesting. I''ll have a look next week on my day off. Say hello to Trulda when you see her." The crow rolled his eyes: "As if you wouldn''t meet her yourself almost every day. Your free time is obviously still enough for that." "A lunch break together, if we can manage it. In the evening, we''re both usually busy until late at night." Mockingly crowing, Selvara flew off while Weylan pulled a long shopping list out of his pocket: "So let''s see: Mandrakes, bloodroot..." Chapter 40: Weylan Weylan quickly found what he was looking for at the herb merchants, but for some ingredients, such as double-distilled alcohol, he was referred to the alchemists in the mage academy complex. A circle of three-story buildings around a large courtyard, with the mage tower rising up at the edge. As he got closer, he sighed. Long queues at all the entrances stretched out into the surrounding streets. He pushed past them into the inner courtyard. There were a few stalls set up here, with far fewer visitors waiting in line. The signs with the prices immediately told him why. An hour''s consultation with one of the magicians cost 20 gold pieces. According to a notice that had obviously been put up later, no lessons of any kind were included. Weylan wandered around aimlessly for a while, then noticed a familiar face and stepped behind a tree in an unobserved moment. Shadows gathered around him as he stood motionless. *** The revenant, who had just been sitting on the chair in front of the consultation table, stood up, thanked him politely and walked away. The elf, whom Weylan had recognized immediately, sat down. An older mage in a white robe with a belly-length beard and white hair took off his pointed hat and wiped his forehead. He seemed to be having the time of his life despite the general hustle and bustle: "Have a seat, dear sir. That''ll be twenty gold pieces in advance. No discount, no price reduction, you''ll get pure information, no lessons and no, you won''t learn any spells or skills," he rattled off. His smile took the edge off his words. The elf counted twenty coins on the table, waited for the mage to nod approvingly and started to speak: "My name is Legolias. I wanted to learn a few spells, but the selection is much larger than before and I can''t figure out the system anymore. Some spells require other spells as a prerequisite. What''s the point of that? The names of the spells are also much more direct and less flowery. Brazhazhar''s Flaming Fury is now simply called Fire Projectiles." The mage leaned back in his massive wooden chair with a grin: "Oh yes... Elves... Only an elf wanders through forest meadows singing for a hundred and fifty years and then wonders why the world has changed. You have missed the entire development of modular spell structures. At least you are wise enough to recognize your ignorance and seek knowledge before blindly studying and casting spells." "I see I''ve come to the right place. Suppose I''ve actually lived under a rock for two hundred years. What have I missed?" "Well, in the past, each spell was optimized individually, constantly adapted and refined. However, Archmagus Nazghaman, a specialist in the analysis of magic, realized that spells are made up of a finite number of patterns. He broke spells down into their components and created modular spell parts from them. Each with a precisely defined effect with the minimum possible structure. These can then be used to construct more complex spells very easily by building on each other. Enumerate your spell list." The elf wordlessly pulled a prepared list out of his pocket and placed it on the table. The mage skimmed over it briefly and then shook his head with a sigh: "Of course. Lots of optimized spells. Fire projectiles so you can start throwing battle magic around right away. As soon as you get the aim right, you learn a more effective spell and start all over again." "Of course. How else could I..." He paused and then started again: "What can I do better?" "An excellent question." The mage opened his hand palm up and a translucent sphere appeared above it. "This is the Magic Projectile. The universal ranged spell." He made a quick gesture and the orb flew off in a wide spiral, weaving through the crowd and hitting the wall of a house. There it disintegrated into blue sparks. Legolias looked at the impact site. "Doesn''t seem to have had any effect. Does it only affect living creatures?" "No. You have to add another component to supply an effect." The mage made another sphere appear. Then he spoke a few more words and the sphere filled with concentrated fire. "Magic Projectile plus Create Fire." He flicked the orb in a high arc into the fountain in the center of the courtyard. It disappeared from sight and the fountain opening lit up briefly. The magician created another projectile. This time he filled it with a white mist. This spell also ended in the well, above which the mist condensed and then dissipated. "How many different spells can you cast with it?" The magician leaned back in his chair and spread his arms: "Every single one." "All of them? Healing spells, mastery spells?" The magician nodded. "Accuracy and range increase with my Magic Projectile skill?" "Exactly. Instead of reinventing the cartwheel every time, you learn it once and use it permanently." "But I always have to cast several spells for that." Legolias looked indecisive. "Correct. You need twice as long and it costs 5 mana more than the optimized variant where both spells are combined." The elven mage leaned back and was silent for a while. Then he nodded absently and straightened up again: "Good. That may have disadvantages in the short term, but in the long term it will give me more spells and many more options. I''m going to switch to this new modular spell system. Please explain to me how best to do this for the rest of the consultation time." *** Weylan lost interest when the two of them started talking about various textbooks and the finer points of spell research. Before he could move away inconspicuously, someone tapped him on the shoulder. In an attempt to dodge forwards, he scraped against the tree. He dropped to his knees, turned around and raised his hands, ready to fend off an attack. However, all he found in front of him was a mage with a long white beard, who looked at him disapprovingly: "Haven''t you been taught that it''s impolite to eavesdrop? And the wisdom you hear here costs a hefty sum. I hope you''ve brought enough." "I''m not a magician. I just saw someone I knew." "Friend of yours? Probably not. Unless you''re planning a fun surprise." Before Weylan could answer, the mage continued in a bad mood: "I hate surprises." "No... well..." Weylan peeked around the tree. The elf was engrossed in his conversation and had not yet noticed him. "Listen, dear Magus, this revenant''s friend is not on good terms with me. Even though he seems like a nice guy himself, I would prefer not to be seen. I just wanted to see if his murderous comrade was around." "Sounds like a lame excuse. Typical lying shadow mage." "I''m not a magician." "And I am an arcane knight." The old mage sounded increasingly angry: "I hate being lied to." "No, really! What makes you think I''m a magician? I''m a shepherd!" Analysis Skill resisted. Skill increased. Mind Block (Journeyman III) At journeyman level, Weylan was sure that the skill only increased if a successful analysis would have really bad consequences. He stifled a nervous swallow and looked at the mage with wide, trusting eyes. "Don''t look like a cat bear. That doesn''t work with me. All right, then. You''re not a magician. But the shadows have moved around you to hide you better." He put his index finger to his eye: "I can see that!" "I have the Shadow affinity advantage, but no magical abilities." The mage thought for a moment, then his expression suddenly became friendlier: "Such a powerful advantage and almost completely useless. What a shame. Would you like some tea?" "Um... yeah?" "Good, come along." The mage turned and marched with small and concentrated steps towards a nearby door. Weylan revised his estimate of the mage''s age upwards by a decade. Even if he didn''t act it, he seemed very frail, but covered it up well. A shallow ramp led to a door that opened directly into his living room. He beckoned Weylan to follow him, "Welcome to my humble home." The magician stepped into the room, stamped briefly and his shoes opened like leather lotus flowers. He carefully stepped out and walked on. Weylan quickly untied his lace-up shoes, took them off and followed him. The mage waved his hand over a copper pot, from which the first steam rose shortly afterwards. He then fetched a porcelain container of tea from the shelf and prepared two cups. "I haven''t even introduced myself yet. How rude of me. I am Magister Hephtagan. Teacher of advanced magical theory." Weylan held out his hand: "I am Weylan." The mage glanced casually at the hand and then walked past Weylan. While the tea steeped, Hephtagan picked a book from one of the lowest shelves, blew the dust off it and placed it on the table. He opened it and began to leaf through it: "So... elemental properties... fire... water... ice... shadow. There you go. Here it is: Primary properties: Darkness and cold. Secondary properties: friction-lessness, illusion, deception, concealment." Weylan nodded in understanding and waited a moment. When the mage made no further effort to speak, he sighed: "I have no idea what that means." The magician turned the book over to him and pointed to a series of symbols: "There are the six main elements: Fire, Water, Earth, Air, Stone and Metal. Below these are minor elements such as ice and shadow. Minor elements have weaker properties and less application areas. At least that''s what we teach at the mage academies. Basically, it''s a political decision as to which elements belong to which group." He hesitated and then raised a warning finger: "Never mention that around magic theorists. You''d have an hour-long discussion on your hands. I only made that mistake once... Well, where was I... The Cathurian Empire counted shadow as a major element and air as a minor element. Simply because only a few powerful air spells were mastered back then. Back then, a light skin color was a sign of wealth and prestige. A suntan was seen as a sign of belonging to one of the lower social classes. Shadow magic as sun protection was one of the most sought-after services for magicians. Mages learned shadow spells during their basic training, whereas nowadays such spells are only found in a few grimoires and have to be learned through self-study. Primary properties are easier to create with a certain element... Am I boring you?" This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there. Weylan stifled a yawn and sat up straight again: "No, no. That''s very interesting. I''ve just had a really long day. But tell me, how does this help me?" Hephtagan shrugged his shoulders: "It doesn¡¯t. But it''s important background knowledge. You can''t cast spells because your body doesn''t have the mana channels and the necessary control skill to specifically shape mana into an arcane structure." "Can I change that?" "A short question, but one that requires a long answer. Basically, it is impossible to gain the Magic Talent perk after birth. You can never become a full mage, sorcerer or druid. However, some character classes allow you to gain limited access to spell control. Arcane knights can use artifacts otherwise reserved for mages. Sand walkers use wind magic to move faster and protect themselves from sandstorms. Some warrior classes such as paladins also have access to magical effects. There are also some craftsmen, but only at master level. Spell control can be learned. Acquiring the mana channels to use them is firmly linked to the character classes. Mana channels make the difference between non-mages and mages and half-mages." "Wait... what are half-mages?" "Mages with access to a limited list of spells and a much smaller mana pool. The classes I just mentioned are half-mages." "Sounds simple. I just need these mana channels, everything else can be solved." "Everyone has passive mana channels. However, there are only theoretical ways to activate them. You won''t be surprised to learn that mages aren''t interested in having additional competition. It is therefore officially forbidden to conduct research in this direction." "Do you at least have an idea? A theory of your own?" The magician chuckled: "Of course I have theories. Most magicians think about it at some point. The only problem is that nobody dares to conduct official experiments. The only suitable test subject would be someone who, like you, has an advantage without the associated magical talent. Otherwise he would have mana channels afterwards, but no way to use the mana. He would be able to pour out mana uncontrollably. At least until he learns a suitable character class." "Wait, so half-mages need an innate talent for magic, something like shadow affinity?" "Of course. There are affinities for all elements. Only then can you choose such a character class." "Is it bad to lose mana?" The mage rolled his eyes as he took a sip of tea: "No. Absolutely not. Unless it bothers you to have a killer headache all the time. Because that''s what happens when your natural mana pool is empty. Or that your wounds stop healing naturally. Because they won''t do that when your mana pool is empty." "Wait, you said even craftsmen use magic?" "Of course. Let me see, from your accent, you''re probably from one of the villages on the edge of the border forest?" Weylan nodded. "Then tell me how you got your boards." The shepherd''s son shrugged his shoulders: "We get them from Hennek. The master carpenter of the village." "You don''t have a sawmill, do you?" "I only have a vague idea what a sawmill is, but no. We didn''t." "Then how does Hennek make boards? No, don''t answer that. That only works very laboriously with hand tools, without a saw powered by a waterwheel. A carpenter with master-level woodworking skills can use craft magic. Turning a tree trunk into planks in the usual standardized format is one of the most common. Even if the diameter or length of the tree trunk does not fit at all. As long as it was a log of a certain minimum thickness, he can turn it into the same volume of standardized planks. Other crafting spells adjust the size of workpieces on the spot, or allow parts to be temporarily held in place during assembly." Weylan raised his hand defensively: "I should start taking notes. But I''ve got the essentials. Having a mana leak is bad." "The correct term is... forget it. Mana leak actually explains the phenomenon better." "But I have an advantage that I could use to control mana. Theoretically. It wouldn''t kill me." "Theoretically. But that won''t do you any good unless there''s a way to pump enough mana into your veins to activate them. If that works at all and you don''t just burn out like a candle in a forge fire. Or suffer a mana cataclysm." "What''s a cat... cata... ?" The magician waved him off: "You don''t really want to know. More tea?" Weylan looked down at his cup, which was still almost full, and quickly took a few sips. "Thank you. That''s a lot of information. I''ll have to think about it for a while." "Of course. If you need more information, you can always come by here." He rummaged through a few drawers and then handed Weylan a palm-sized parchment with squiggly text: "Give this to someone at the entrance and the guards will let you through." "Why are you doing this?" Weylan looked at the old man suspiciously. The mage shrugged his shoulders calmly: "I''m just curious. Shadow magic is rare. No one here at the academy knows anything about it. If you manage to gain control over your magic, it will certainly be a research project that I will have a lot of fun with. Unfortunately, I don''t get out of the academy much anymore." Weylan looked at the old mage, for whom even a small staircase was an obstacle. "I can come by occasionally and tell you stories. I always seem to live in interesting times." The magician chuckled: "That was a good one." Weylan looked at him in irritation: "What do you mean?" "Your allusion to the old Cathurian curse: May you live in interesting times." Weylan opened his mouth... and then closed it again. "On a different note, can I buy a book of spells from you?" "You can''t learn spells. I thought I told..." "I know. But I''m currently apprenticed to a merchant who also sells magical accessories and books in remote areas." "You¡¯re planning a class change to merchant? Your advantage will hardly do you any good. But at least it''s a decent profession. Well, then your master had better come here himself. Grimoires are very expensive." Weylan pulled out his gold bag and placed it on the table: "I still have a completely insane amount of gold from a quest. If you give me a discount, maybe I''ll tell you a little about it." The magician took the bag, opened it and looked inside. He stared into the opening for a moment, weighed the pouch with his hand and closed it again. "The story must be a good one. How a shepherd got his hands on so much gold is beyond my wildest weed dreams." "You¡¯re using dream weed?" The mage coughed and looked quickly at the window. "Just a figure of speech." He coughed again, stood up with difficulty leaning on his cane and walked to a ceiling-high bookshelf. "I can only set the prices of books that belong to me. You would have to buy everything else through the academy. I can''t help with that. But you can''t get anything there without being a student." "Can I borrow some books?" "I''m sorry, but I don''t know you. You have no idea what magic books are worth." Weylan shrugged his shoulders: "That''s right." "I don''t have many grimoires myself. I need most of them for my own research." He looked around then knelt down in front of one of the many bookshelves and pulled out a few books from the bottom row and placed them on the floor. A second row of books appeared behind them. He took one out, blew dust off it and handed it to Weylan: "The Fundamentals of Spell casting by Darandassaran the Elder. Study edition. Twenty gold pieces. That''s less than half what you''d have to pay for it on the market. Even at that age. It''s my own study copy. I returned it to the library after my undergraduate studies, but when I got a teaching position here years later, one of my former lecturers bought it from the library and gave it to me." He looked into space for a moment and smiled. "It would be nice if it was actively used again. Since you can''t use it yourself, at least sell it cheaply to another young mage." Weylan assumed that his old teacher had long since passed away. He picked up the book, placed it on the table and carefully opened it. The paper was slightly yellowed, but still firm and the writing perfectly legible. His lips moved as he read the first page. The magician reached past him and leafed through the pages: "This should interest you the most. The table of contents. All the spells and artifact Theses we needed in basic study. Through the work of two centuries, mages begin with far more options than before. Even in the heyday of the Cathurian Empire, mages left their apprenticeship with only half a dozen spells and maybe two artifact theses. Now, with modular spells, we have a kit that gives mages all the building blocks we need to solve almost any problem." Weylan took the book, impressed, and looked at the table of contents. Spells level 1: Create light Create fire Create air Create water Create earth Create stone Create metal Modular storage Clean Patch Merge Heat Cool Disconnect Reinforce Weaken Learned artifact theses (journeyman level): Self-cleaning Self-repair Durability Convenience Size adjustment (+/- 25%) "No healing spells?" The mage snorted: "Of course not. Healing requires mana with a strong life affinity. Often called holy mana in layman''s terms. This affinity of mana practically never occurs naturally, so you can only get it with the help of one of the gods or if you¡¯re some kind of life attuned race." "Really? In the legends..." "Mages can heal wounds and bring the dead back to life. I know. Some of the stories are fictitious, others were about multiclass priest-mages. Or more often just healers who were in the party but not mentioned in the legends. It''s more exciting in stories when a hero does everything instead of calling in a specialist for support at every opportunity." "What about spells that make a warrior stronger? Or faster?" The mage looked down at his decrepit hands: "Those only work for a few minutes. Too short to be useful." "In a fight, that can mean the difference between victory and defeat." "Of course. That''s why you''ll only find it in a grimoire about battle magic." He shrugged, "Not my field." "I still have so many questions..." The magician put his hand over his mouth and stifled a yawn. "Questions, for another time. I''ll take you to the gate." Weylan hastily drank the rest of his tea and followed the mage. When they had almost crossed the courtyard, loud shouts were heard from the entrance to the inner courtyard of the mage academy. The mage fell silent and looked around. When he understood what was being shouted outside, he grinned: "This is going to be fun. Come along." *** A crowd of spectators had already gathered in front of the entrance, surrounding the marketplace. Directly opposite the entrance, a tall man had positioned himself in the classic leather apron of an alchemist. In his hand he held a metal pipe that ended in an incomprehensible construction. The man stroked his short hair and struck a dramatic pose: "Be afraid, magicians. Your monopoly on ranged damage will soon be history!" The mage motioned to Weylan to stay in the background and pushed his way forward through the crowd. The other mages and adepts made way for him without comment. He looked the man up and down and stroked his beard. The spectators waited. He was obviously known and respected by everyone. "Did something happen to all the archers while I was taking a midday nap?" "Don''t scoff! Everyone knows that a bow is a ridiculous weapon compared to a fireball." The old mage wanted to say something in reply, but was rudely interrupted. The man raised his metal pipe high above him with both hands: "This will break your power! The order of the world will be shaken!" He poured a black powder into the tube and then stuffed a ball and a waxed cloth into it one after the other. "This is the secret powder that will shake castles and destroy knights in their armor!" The magician watched with interest: "Is that black powder?" The man paused: "You... heard about that?" "Sulphur, saltpeter and charcoal. In the ratio of... 10 parts sulfur, 75 parts saltpeter and 15 parts charcoal." The man lowered his pipe in horror: "You''re giving away the secret recipe, just like that, in public? Just to spoil my business?" The magician shook his head slowly: "No, no. Why don''t you light your powder first? Let us see its effect. Then you will understand." "Ha! You will. And there''s nothing you can do about it, because the metal of my musket is coated with aluminum crystals. Any spell you cast to thwart my plans, will produce visible effects immediately!" He lifted the construction to his shoulder and pointed the tube up into the sky. A movement of his finger set a gear and spring mechanism in motion. A piece of steel scraped across a piece of ignition iron, sparking. Smoke billowed out of the top of the pipe. Then yellow sparks. It sprayed out for a while, then the fire went out and stinking smoke rose upwards for a while longer. The man took the musket from his shoulder and looked at it as if it had just betrayed him. "I''ve tested this a dozen times in the real world. I mixed the black powder here exactly the same. It should work!" The magician grinned: "None of the components have alchemical properties. It burns, but not very well. Even during the first plague, revenants kept coming out with this supposedly breakthrough invention, but it always ended in disappointment. In this world, reactions work alchemically. Not..." he searched for the right word for a moment: "... chemically." The spectators clapped a little politely, then the crowd dispersed. The man put his weapon on his shoulder and shuffled away dejectedly. The mage turned to Weylan: "I think that''s it for today. A bit too much excitement for an old man. You should go now. Don''t forget your new book. When you''ve learned to access your shadow magic, you can always come back. Or if you feel like listening to the stories of an old man." Weylan nodded gratefully to him: "Sounds exciting. I''ll gladly accept your offer." Most known Gods of the world Gods of the World NEMESIS- The Voice of the World Golgoroth - God of Monsters and Dungeons Symbol: Cave entrance from which three hydra heads protrude Pallandur - God of Heroes and Giver of Quests Symbol: Golden sword on a silver heater shield Fliedabarr - Fallen God of the Forest and Guardian of Animals Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website. Symbol: Silver antlers Borrk - Lord of the Forest Symbol: Wooden crown sprouting leaves. Nistrul - God of Necromancers and the Undead Symbol: An archway made of black steel crowned by a skull Lieselotte - Goddess of Hometowns and Family Symbol: Bronze hearth fire Cofefe - God of the Mad and Senile, Patron of Fools and the Incompetent Symbol: Tiny orange hand LLurd - God of Pranks and Misfortune Symbol: Multicolored fool''s cap Celebration: Llurd''s Day (April 1st) Peituwin - God of Trade Symbol: Golden snake winding across two parallel magician''s wands to form an S-shape Steve - God of the Game Balance Symbol: Scales with a smiling face on one scale and a gold coin on the other Emissaries: The Moderators Avatar: Tr¨¢demark, Demon of Copyright Violation Gjodsel - God of Agriculture and the Harvest Symbol: Golden sickle Minor Gods Damatar - Patron Goddess of Farmers and Shepherds Uthgarl - Keeper of the Scales of Souls Chapter 41: Trulda Trulda looked up from her coffee and let her gaze wander over the city from the rooftop caf¨¦: "I''d love to know where they get coffee here. Via trade caravans from the south? Won''t that be a problem if trade is disrupted by the war?" Weylan stopped sipping the hot drink: "Why? That stuff grows everywhere." Trulda pulled her woolen vest tighter around her and looked up at the sky, which was cloudy as usual: "Here?" "Of course. There''s a field just north of the city where coffee plants grow." "Seriously? In this weather? Is there a coffee roaster here in the city then?" "Roasters... I have no idea. Making coffee is easy. We used to have one in our village. Have you never seen that? You take these little red fruits and spread them out on a dry cloth. After a week, they suddenly shrivel up and turn brown. The shell cracks open and you can easily separate the beans from the shell remains. Then you just have to grind the beans. There are these small hand mills for this. In our village, we once pooled together to buy one, which everyone then used. All you have to do is pour hot water over the powder." "Wait... What about the coffee grounds?" "What''s that supposed to be?" "The stuff that''s left over when you brew coffee. The tough, bitter mass. You can''t drink coffee without a filter." "What should be left over? Powdered coffee beans dissolve completely. Have you never made coffee before?" Trulda leaned back and laughed: "Of course. The gods of creation like coffee. They made it easy. Soluble coffee that you can harvest straight from the tree." She looked back at Weylan: "What about cocoa and vanilla pods?" "Almost everyone has it in their garden. Grows like weeds." "Sugar?" "That''s more difficult. You need sugar cane for that. They are these long stalks that grow straight up. They need a lot of water. I only know of one sugar cane farm in the whole plain." "Can you buy ice cream here in the city?" "Ice? You mean cubes of frozen water? What''s that good for?" "No. I mean ice cream. Cold mixtures of fruit or chocolate. Sweet, creamy and cold." "I''ve never heard of that." "Then it will soon occur to a revenant. Production is not easy without refrigerators, but..." Weylan interrupted her: "There are fridges everywhere. You can find artifact mages who can make them in every major city. They''re quite affordable. In a closed container, semi-precious stones are enough to hold the cold magic. I think you only need blue chalcedony for this. Only if you want to work with ice spells in the open do you need diamonds. Then, of course, it gets really expensive. Didn''t the inn have an icebox?" Trulda thought for a moment and then rolled her eyes: "Crap. Of course. That seemed so normal to me from home that I didn''t even pay attention to it." "Do you want to make this then?" Trulda thought for a moment, but then shook her head: "I have a vague idea of how everything works. It would take me weeks in the kitchen to come up with a few halfway decent recipes. Especially without a blender, or do you have that too?" "What''s that supposed to be?" "An appliance that grinds everything you put in it to a fine pulp. With a rotating blade at the bottom." "Sounds dangerous. I''ve never heard of anything like it. But I''ll ask in the baron''s kitchen, maybe they have something like that." "Don¡¯t bother. Have you made any progress in your search for a better exit from below?" "Not really. According to Selvara, a magical beacon will light up as soon as we reach the surface. Only visible to clairvoyance spells, but there are corresponding artifacts in the Adventurer''s Guild, the Mage Academy and in some of the temples. A new dungeon that reaches the surface will be located immediately." "That''s right. The map in our guild finds quests itself. A dungeon would light up like a beacon. They''d have a queue of adventurers ten minutes later." Weylan tipped another spoonful of sugar into his coffee, tasted it and then continued: "We would need a shield against clairvoyance magic. But Malvorik said that he needs a level 5 spell for that. One that he doesn''t know and that would have to be active all the time. The exit beacon does not go away. He would have to turn an exit room into a shielding artifact. I haven''t quite figured out the details, but shielding such a powerful magical beacon against specialized clairvoyance spells is probably almost impossible. Even for the most legendary artifact mages of the Cathurian Age. Whatever that is." Trulda drank the rest of her coffee with relish and thought. "A shielded room... Or rather a shielded building..." She began to giggle uncontrollably. "What, do you have an idea?" This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it. "Forget it. It''s unlikely to work." "Come on. If you have an idea, come out." "That won''t do us any good." Weylan just looked at her until she relented, "There''s a system rule to prevent players from having it too easy to... well... peep." "What do you mean?" "Watching others when they''re... you know..." She made a vague gesture. "You mean..." He suddenly blushed and looked away. "I think you understand what I mean. If two people are¡­ busy, clairvoyance is blocked in the surrounding area. Since it''s a system rule, it works absolute. No chance of getting through it." "I... don''t know much about it..." Weylan began to cough with a dry throat and managed to get a little redder. His cheeks were practically glowing. "...But we can''t really use that. I mean, even if we implement a shift schedule in the room and..." he broke off. "No. That doesn''t work. But I had briefly remembered that bathhouses, saunas and brothels are permanently blocked against clairvoyance. Even if there''s nothing going on or the building is empty." Weylan sat up with interest: "Wait... That''s a good idea. We could buy a building and open a bathhouse... No. Probably too expensive. Could we rent one?" "Would be too dangerous. What if the landlord terminates the lease?" "That''s right. We need gold. A lot of gold." "I''m surprised you didn''t suggest a brothel." Trulda smiled mischievously. He didn¡¯t take the bait and just shook his head: "Then you and I wouldn''t be able to enter it. Bathhouses have no age limit." "You''re quite optimistic. Do you really think we''ll get this financed?" "Not from my salary. Are there any quests that are particularly lucrative?" "Quests up to level 5 usually give you basic equipment and experience points. As far as I could tell, the monetary rewards are designed to just cover expenses and bring your equipment up to journeyman level." The assassin nodded thoughtfully: "Adventurers from level 6 are journeymen, from level 11 masters and from 16 grandmasters. There haven''t been any legendary heroes with levels above 21 since the last plague. What would we need for journeyman quests?" "The levels are only recommendations. But without the right equipment, the revenants have an extremely hard time. We had some whole groups that came back from too dangerous quests above spawn point. According to the guild''s recommendations, journeymen need a complete set of armor suitable for their character class, a magical weapon and at least one protective amulet. It doesn''t have to be anything particularly powerful, but monsters often appear at level 6 that can only be harmed with magical weapons. Amulets are needed against debuffs." "What are Baffs?" "Debuffs. Abilities that hinder you instead of hurting you. There are no basilisks with petrifying gaze at this level, but winter cats can cause frostbite at the lightest touch. Try fighting when your teeth are chattering and your muscles are too slow to move." "Ouch. That sounds bad. Do these amulets really do anything?" "That depends. The +2 or +3 amulets give you a bonus to willpower or constitution. There aren''t any in that price range that boost both yet. Then there are protective artifacts against poisons and diseases." "Diseases? Are monsters actively using that as an attack?" He looked disgusted. "Mummies transmit mummy rot, plague rats spread a dozen different diseases with their bite, rot beasts have a breath that produces an instant form of diarrhea. Zombie wounds are also not to be underestimated if you don''t wash them out carefully right away." She hesitated. "That would be all the ones I can think of off the top of my head. Other than zombies, none of those usually show up in journeyman level quests. At least, I haven''t read anything about them in the reports." "And for master level quests?" "We''d need level 11+ heroes for that. There aren''t any yet." She paused: "Tell me... as the quest giver, shouldn''t you know better than me?" "That would be nice. I don''t get any instructions for this. I only get information when a quest needs to be issued and only for that specific quest. I can then make a few very limited changes to them. Options for the rewards, an adjustment to the type of heroes for whom the quest is to be tailored and things like that. The witch quest had three options: Resolution by combat, resolution by stealth, and resolution by diplomacy. I chose the last option, as solving by stealth would have placed increased demands on sneaking and picking locks. If I''ve understood correctly, the other solutions are still possible, but the clues and coincidences for the chosen direction are a bit more detailed." "Practical. Can you also change other people''s quests?¡± He shook his head. ¡°I thought so. Too bad." "Why?" "We currently have the problem that we have some quests in the hinterland that nobody is taking. The revenants concentrate on quests that are particularly lucrative or that they hope will bring them good contacts in the city. Anything out of walking distance isn''t even of interest to the druids." She thought for a moment and then added grimly: "Most of the druid players are probably former Min-Max Power gamers from the old non-AI games. They''ll be quite surprised when their magical powers dwindle because they don''t care enough about preserving nature. The AI is merciless. The only thing it punishes more are paladins who violate their code of honor." Weylan didn''t understand some of the terms, but was able to make sense of them. He shrugged his shoulders: "If a few quests don''t get done, it''s not a problem. That leaves more for the next batch of revenants... Wait... Are there monster quests among them?" Trulda nodded: "Above all, lots of monster spawners have appeared. Nests, breeding dens or similar places where monsters spawn. They don''t disappear if you ignore them. On the contrary. The monsters multiply and become stronger over time. The longer a monster spawner is not eliminated, the larger the radius in which the monsters can be found. Two farms and a small village have already had to be abandoned." "Crap. Why didn''t you tell me about it earlier? We should take care of it ourselves." "The monster decimation quests are all level 6 and above. Some of the quests to destroy the spawners are even higher. Too high for us. We need more combat training, skill training and, above all, equipment. Your knife will hardly be enough. We don''t have any elixirs or artifacts yet either. Malvorik wanted to take care of that." "Malvorik is currently rebuilding the last glass things for his alchemy lab. It''s probably more difficult than he thought, without an exact template. We simply can''t afford that." "Maybe a few blueprints will be enough for him. I''ll check with the glassblowers. They might also have a few quests we can do." "Didn''t you actually get anything for the gnome quest?" "What do you mean... wait..." Trulda''s eyes darted back and forth for a while, then she grinned: "Yes, that''s nice. The experience points will get me to level 5 despite the lost level, plus bracelets of parry." She pushed up her sleeve and showed the left of the two steel bracelets that had appeared hidden underneath. "If I parry a weapon with this, it won''t scrape along it and hurt me anyway, but will be pushed away so far that it can''t touch me." "Did you also get the constitution bonus?" "What?" No. Just the bracelets, XP and a hundred gold pieces. Nice." "Then, with the duskgnomes'' travel fund, we still have just under 300 gold pieces in the group''s coffers. That won''t get us far. Certainly not enough for a bathhouse." The two of them finished their coffee, then Weylan reluctantly took his leave to go to his next lesson. Trulda let her gaze wander over the streets. She needed a suitable weapon and already had an idea of what she would get. She got up and made her way to the craftsmen''s quarter. Chapter 42: Trulda The workshop smelled of wood dust, oils and glue. The master carpenter stood like a commander in the middle of the workshop and gave instructions to half a dozen apprentices of all ages. Trulda knocked on the door frame, but it was drowned out by the hammering and sawing in the room. She stood politely at the door for a while and watched the busy work. Before she lost her patience, the master noticed her out of the corner of his eye, wheeled around and signaled the apprentices to take a break. "Well, girl, what do you want? If you want to sell something, we don''t need anything at the moment." Trulda suppressed a flare of her barbarian anger, ignoring the condescending tone and bowed politely, "Master Haephaton?" The master carpenter, master of his workshop and undisputed head of a family, sensed a feeling of threat that was completely inappropriate to the young barmaid''s polite manner and harmless demeanor. He straightened up and returned the bow gravely. "So... you want to buy something?" "Can we discuss this in private?" "Of course. Follow me upstairs." He beckoned the apprentices, confused by the course of the conversation, to continue working and led Trulda up the stairs at the back of the workshop to his living room. He sat down at the oak table he had made himself and gestured for her to sit down too. Trulda stopped in front of the chair and reached into her neckline. Before Master Haephaton could say anything, he noticed the magical shimmer in the air. She pulled out a heavy leather pouch and dropped it on the table. Without saying a word, she opened the string, so he could see it was densely filled with gold coins. The master craftsman raised an eyebrow and relaxed. This was something he could handle, "You have my full attention. What do you need?" She reached into the neckline again and pulled out a lute with a sweeping movement. The master craftsman grimaced in disappointment: "Forgive me. But I am a cabinetmaker. I can make and decorate furniture and figurines for you. But I''m not an instrument maker. You''ll have to go to Master Lars one street over." He took one last look at the bag of gold, then deliberately averted his eyes and looked apologetically into her face. She smiled: "Don''t worry, I know what your specialty is. I need something that only looks like a lute. But made from a single solid piece of grana wood." "It wouldn''t have a body of sound..." "It doesn''t have to have any sound at all. The strings should only be on it for show. Preferably so close to the wood that they don''t get in the way when I swing the lute with both hands on the handle." The master carpenter picked up the lute he was to use as a model with both hands and looked at Trulda indecisively. She took the lute from his hand, turned it around and swung the sounding body vigorously through the air a few times: "I want a two-handed club that I can take with me everywhere and that nobody will notice. I can''t rely on always having an extra-dimensional storage space at my disposal." Haephaton looked at her for a moment, then laughed: "A club! I can do that! But isn''t grana wood too heavy for you?" "I''m stronger than I look." "Well, it''s your gold." "Now it''s yours." She pushed the bag across the table. The master carpenter raised his hands defensively. "That''s too much! Give me twenty gold pieces and your war lute will be ready in a week." The two shook hands. *** Trulda continued on to the marketplace. As soon as she turned the corner, she could already see a long line of revenants in front of the Adventurers'' Guild stall. She hurried the last bit over and quickly sat down in the empty seat. The two twins smiled gratefully at her. Trulda beckoned the next group of three revenants to join her: "Welcome to the Adventurers'' Guild. What can I do for you?" A high elf dressed in a classic elven cloak stepped forward and bowed: "I am Salvandaranda Elbanaiel of the Querlanastiani clan. A mage of high ritual magic." Straightening up, she pointed to a spot on her cloak where a silver star was embroidered. The knowledge from the guilds knowledge crystal informed Trulda that the revenant obviously attached great importance to the coherence of the game world and avoided terms such as level. The star identified her as a level 1 mage in the elven tradition. She made a note and turned to the next revenant. The dwarf slapped his sturdy leather armor and the elf introduced him, "This is Gorombolosh, son of Arambalash. A dwarven prospector." Three iron rivets indicated his level. The elf pointed over her shoulder with her thumb and mumbled something too low for Trulda to make out with all the talking going on around them. "Sorry, I couldn''t make that out. What''s your companion''s name?" She looked at him. A human in a plaid shirt donning a snugly fitted leather jacket adorned with intricate embroidery, complemented by lederhosen, knee-length breeches crafted from supple leather. The protection was very limited, judging by the flexibility of the material. The man grinned broadly and leaned over the dwarf to shake Trulda''s hand: "Servus! I''m the Wei?wurscht-Sepp." Trulda noticed how his two companions almost winced in pain. "If you want to join here, I still need your class and level." "Oh, I''m just a tourist. Level 1." "Is that an official character class?" He shrugged his shoulders. Trulda wrote down his details in the guild book, where the character class was accepted without a problem. "What exactly can you do as a tourist?" "I look at everything calmly. As long as I don''t attack first, nothing usually attacks me." "What happens if you get into a fight?" "I''ll probably get punched in the mouth. I''m only here because my siblings really want to see this. Susi always takes everything far too seriously. She''s spent the last few months learning Quenya." "All elves also speak the common tongue. But I think that will impress them." Trulda skillfully organized the admission to the guild and chose a harmless beginner''s quest for the three of them. Myrrdin the woodcutter had lost his axe in the forest. He couldn''t work without it. Monsters had been seen in the forest, so he needed heroes to find his axe for him and bring it back. As the group walked away, Sindri interrupted her own conversation with a group of three heavily armored paladins and looked after them as well, "You gave them the Myrrdin quest?" This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon. "Yes, why?" "We really should suspend that quest for a while. It''s been taking place at least four times a day for a week. He''s barely got his axe back before it''s stolen again. Each time it''s a little different. Sometimes it''s an orphan boy who just borrows the axe without asking, then it''s goblins, twiglings or even revenants. Yesterday morning it was an elven ranger who only borrowed the axe for a short time. The heroes just had to find him and politely remind him to return it. In the afternoon, it was a revenant who was supposed to steal the axe for his own quest as a level 2 thief. The quest was upgraded in the middle when he had to endure a really adventurous chase by revenants over the rooftops of the suburbs. Myrrdin doesn''t get to work at all himself. The guild pays him for his involvement, but he''s really annoyed by now. The last heroes complained that he treated them rather harshly. He threw the five silver reward after them while scolding and cursing them." Trulda asked the next revenant in line to wait a moment and flipped through the quest book: "Do we have any quests that aren''t currently running?" Sindri shook her head without looking as she filled out the next revenant''s membership form: "The only ones in the immediate area that aren''t currently running are only for craftsmen and require skills that newly arrived revenants don''t normally have. At least we haven''t had any cobblers or blacksmiths sign up yet." Trulda found the relevant quests. Craftsmen in the city had called out quests because they couldn''t get certain materials or parts anywhere in the required quantities. The escort quests for transports from other cities were very popular. Escorts had become necessary as a number of revenants decided to become bandits. "Hey Sindri, why are there so many requests for shoes and normal clothes? I haven''t noticed a shortage anywhere in the city. I bought a pair of shoes just last week. The store was fully stocked." "They are now. Revenants arrive here with literally only the clothes they are wearing on their bodies. After forest quests, they often come home completely filthy. When you listen to them moan, you''d think they''d never seen dirt before." "Well..." Trulda hesitated, wondering how to phrase this without making it obvious that she was a revenant. "One of the revenants once told me that they don''t get dirty in other worlds that they visit in a similar way. The laws of nature are completely different there. Above all, much simpler. Clothes don''t get dirty and don''t get damaged by thorns or fighting. Weapons and armor do not wear out. Even normal food and drink are only needed to heal injuries." Sindri and Indri stared at them in disbelief. The revenant Indri was serving interjected cheerfully: "I''ve heard that too. At first, I thought they were exaggerating, but damn, was I wrong! I''ve only been here a day and my shoes are already completely ruined. Just because I walked along the river bank once to look under the bridges. I now need a quest where I can get a bag of holding and then I''ll buy two sets of spare clothes and shoes." Indri shook her head: "I''m sorry Darken, but artifacts are not normally available as rewards until journeyman level quests at the earliest. That means dangers that require heroes of level 6 or higher." "Are there at least cleansing spells or something?" Trulda flipped back through the quest book and pointed to one that had caught her eye a few moments ago: "How about this one, it''s about delivering a wagonload of reeds from the Nurgal Swamp to the Mage Academy. The swamp is currently infested with chameleon anacondas. The academy''s usual suppliers no longer dare to go there. If you make a good impression at the academy, you''re sure to get suitable spells or artifact thesis there." She turned the book over to the master of the dark arts. He skimmed the entry. "Good idea. I need a group for that, but I already know a few heroes I can ask. Sign me up." When he was gone, the three Guild employees answered a lot of questions in quick succession until there was a short break. Trulda got three cups of hot coffee. The three began chatting comfortably when another revenant came straight from the spawn point. A man in the white robes of a mage strode gracefully to the guild''s stand: "Ladies, sorry to disturb you. If you are ready, I have a request. However, I can come back later." Trulda put down her cup, gulped down the coffee she still had in her mouth and shook her head: "No, no. No problem. What can I do for you?" The revenant had chosen an unusually high starting age. His long white beard gave him an air of dignity: "I am already a member of the guild. I''m looking for a quest that will allow me to increase my level with a group of three other heroes. We were involved in the Battle of the Border Forest and are now all at level 7. There were no quests in the city that were really worthwhile for us." The twins whistled in sync, impressed, while Trulda nodded at him: "Level 7. Respect. Let me have a look." While she was already leafing through the pages, he continued in a chatty tone: "Best to go a little south of the city. Perhaps an infiltration quest into the desert? Or a patrol through the besieged grass steppe?" Trulda shook her head apologetically: "The Krigesti have already sealed off the exit from the valley. Even with a level 7 group, you won''t be able to get through. There are guards every ten paces. Torches, watchfires, magical rune traps, the whole nine yards. We''re still waiting for someone to find a way over the mountains that isn''t under surveillance. The exit through the fortress city is currently blocked." "What about trade? Surely they still let caravans through?" "Trade has come to a complete standstill. They don''t want anything from us and no longer offer anything." "What about Cerebrum crystals? Without them, there will soon be no skill crystals at all!" Sindri sighed: "We could really use them right now. But no, not a grain of Cerebrum has been delivered since the war began. The price of skill crystals has exploded." The mage grimaced: "After we put so much effort into ensuring the crystal deposits would never run out." Trulda leaned forward: "You did? When was that?" He waved it off: "Oh... ancient war stories." "Revenants have only recently appeared. It can hardly be that long ago." He sighed: "I wish I hadn''t said anything. I only tell the old stories in the forum and when we revenants are among ourselves." "Come on, then. You can''t bait us and then leave us." Trulda leaned forward and batted her eyelashes. She remembered too late that she wasn''t wearing extended eyelashes or mascara. The twins also leaned forward and imitated the puss in boots look. "Please!" "Come on." The mage looked around and lowered his voice: "Okay, but don''t tell anyone, or at least keep my name out of it. That was in a previous body. A previous life. During the last world quest. After the final battle in the War of the Necromancers. When the worlds quest was finished, it became quieter everywhere and we expected the server to be shut down for the next update. It had already been announced that the characters would start again from the beginning for the next world quest. We only had a month to have some fun and finish our current projects. I myself gathered the last surviving archmages. Every single one a veteran at level of 20, the maximum at that time. We wanted to make sure that there would be enough skill crystals in the future. Towards the end of the war, they were almost nowhere to be found. We researched, planned and investigated long before the final battle. Then we completed our project and traveled together through a portal to the crystal lake in the desert. Cerebrum crystals can only be found there in a very mineral-rich lake on a mana line. An underground lake in a cave. The deposits were already almost exhausted due to the incessant exploitation of the deposit. So we performed a gross ritual to massively accelerate crystal growth." "You mean a grand ritual?" "Gross Ritual. A ritual of twelve dozen, that is 144 magicians. The largest number that can ever cast a ritual together. The most powerful ritual ever cast. We only dared to do it because we knew we would never be able to use these characters again anyway." All three were hanging on his every word: "So, how did it end?" "As expected. At least one of the mages made a mistake, the ritual got out of control at the end and we all died in a mana eruption. I''d love to go there and see if it worked. We got quite far with the ritual, so it may well have manifested some effect." "What was it supposed to do?" "Well... that''s complicated. It was basically a chimera ritual. We wanted to give the dead crystals the ability of plants to grow in salt water. The problem was to combine living and dead matter without using necromancy. That would have irreparably damaged the matrix of the crystals. If it had worked, the crystals would have grown at the speed of weeds. But we probably only destroyed the mana node and dried up the lake." The twins whistled, impressed: "If you ever need a beer or help with a quest, come by the guild or here. You got something owed for that story." With some effort, Trulda found him a quest that was challenging enough and then bid him a fond farewell. Chapter 43: Malvorik Malvorik watched as Weylan carried a crate through the dungeon. Maneuvering along narrow ledges in cramped sewer channels and down ladders and steep staircases. He had paused in the bathing room behind the sewers. Then he¡¯d continued to carry it through the entire dungeon to the new alchemy room near the heart room. He placed it carefully on an empty stone table, stepped back and stretched his aching back. The box began to glow and then dissolved into glittering sparks. Weylan jumped forward and stood ready to catch the contents. Completely unnecessary in Malvoriks opinion since he was obviously able to undo the packaging and padding carefully enough for the complex glass alembic to safely sink to the table. Weylan nodded and walked towards the exit. The corridor led in one direction back to the underground city of the duskgnomes, in the other... He stopped and looked through the long corridor to the dungeon heart. This corridor was the only place in the entire dungeon from which the heart crystal could be seen. The line of sight went through the room with the boss monster, through the exit to the heart room, directly onto Malvorik. The glowing crystal hovered two meters above a depression in the floor. A figure stepped into his path in the boss room, blocking his view. He had seen the final boss of the dungeon briefly once before when rescuing the duskgnomes, a giant chimera made of a rat and an ogre. This time he wore chainmail, steel arm- and shin guards and two war hammers, one in each hand. "Of course." He nodded absently and continued to keep an eye on the final boss. "Trulda and I have some ideas for quests we should take on. Quests that..." "Can I have a chain mail shirt like that?" The heart crystal flashed in amusement. A lurking strangler, who had been waiting out of sight in the boss room until now, scuttled out on his disproportionately short feet. He carried a visibly heavy sack over his back. He laid it on the floor in front of Weylan and opened it. Then he took out several bundles. The dungeon crystal flashed brightly: Weylan accepted the chain mail reverently. Arm and leg protectors perfectly fitted to him completed the armor. The material was thin enough to be concealed under loose clothing. Weylan put it all on and tried it out. "This is fantastic! Feels like light winter clothing, not armor." The strangler pulled a smaller bundle out of the sack and unwrapped an amulet. A finger-length crystal in a complex weave of silver wire hung from a leather necklace. "What can the amulet do then?" You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version. "Correct, for that..." The heart crystal interrupted him again: "Exactly." "What do you mean, why?" "I''m not following you right now." Weylan shrugged his shoulders sheepishly. He had been really tired and the explanations were far too theoretical for him. "How can I consciously access mana? Do you know a feat that I can learn?" "But I need power now, not in a few years'' time." Weylan looked around nervously. That didn''t sound particularly safe. He had no desire to meet one of the moderators. That didn¡¯t end well in any of the bard''s stories. Malvorik had no qualms about this, however, and continued cheerfully: That didn''t sound any safer either. Malvorik quickened his pace as he got more into his subject, Weylan put the amulet around his neck and tucked it under his clothes. It felt cool, but then a kind of warmth emanated from it. After a few breaths, an almost imperceptible tingling sensation followed, spreading from his chest through his body. "It''s tingling. What should I do now?" Malvorik drew mana deep from his supply into his mind and pushed it into the mana crystal. The artifact''s matrix channeled it further into Weylan''s body. The assassin raised his hands in front of his face and looked at them indecisively. A pattern of blue light became visible under his skin. Mana pulsed through his veins. His body began to feel warm. He threw his head back and laughed: "I can feel it! Magic! I can feel the magic. It permeates me..." He broke off as the heat continued to rise. Irritated, he looked at his veins, which were now starting to shine more brightly. The feeling of comforting warmth turned into uncomfortable heat. Then to pain. "Stop it! Stop!" Malvorik concentrated on the mana currents in Weylan''s body. Tiny explosions of mana appeared wherever his mana streams were blocked or constricted. Weylan collapsed to his knees and shouted incoherently. The dungeon crystal was irritated. He went through several methods of analysis. The mana channels were not only cleansed, they ruptured. The living tissue around it was taking noticeable damage. Malvorik concentrated on directing the mana and keeping it on track. Selvara flew into the room: "What''s that noise? Malvorik? What are you doing to him?" "Complications? You¡¯re killing him! Cancel that!" Malvorik stopped directing mana to the amulet and was about to start talking to Selvara again when he stumbled. Weylan''s cries became higher and louder instead of stopping. Worried, he analyzed the magical currents again. The mana stone was still drawing power and the flow became increasingly stronger. "You can analyze it later. Direct the magic away from him! He''s bleeding from his eyes and ears!" He ignored Selvara''s growing panic and Weylan''s screams. The assassin was already lying on the ground, twitching. Malvorik took a step back in his mind. Why did the amulet work so strongly? The effect was like an inverted hole in a shaken beer keg. He looked at the mana. It had no particular affinity... except his own, of course. A sparkle ran across the surface of the dungeon heart. His equivalent of a human slapping his hand against his forehead. Of course. He had created the mana stone. It was tuned to the frequency of his magic. All magic in his dungeon had the same affinity. The mana level was higher here right next to his heart room than anywhere else. Mana of the same affinity attracted each other. When he used magic to direct the mana flow, the mana he used to do so was also attracted. He only worsened the effect. He finished his attempt to channel mana away from Weylan. His mana channels continued to spark. Flesh withered. Wounds burst open. Blood seeped from every orifice. The dungeon fairy whizzed away. The screams died down with a final whimper. Malvorik did not interpret this as a positive sign. He thought about it. There had to be a logical solution... The crystal flashed brightly. That he had only just thought of it... Chapter 44: Weylan Weylan writhed on the ground in agony, as something large moved towards him. Multicolored streaks ran across his eyes, but he could vaguely make out a huge figure moving towards him. There was only one thing in the dungeon that was that big. The rat minotaur. What was that damned dungeon crystal up to now? Was he going to give him the coup de grace? Weylan was not entirely reluctant. His entire body felt like it was on fire. He was finding it increasingly difficult to think coherently. The huge figure leaned over him and held out his hand. He wasn''t holding a weapon. Something he noticed immediately, despite the pain. An effect of his class as an assassin that he had noticed several times before. The boss monster bent down and reached for the amulet on his chest. He pulled the band over his head. The burning pain subsided. He took a deep breath. Then his veins began to burn again and the pain returned. He squeezed out a quiet "What?". The assassin raised his head and let out an unintelligible groan. Weylan curled up and laboriously hunched into a sitting position. "Can''t..." Weylan''s voice was brittle: "You''re a great... motivator..." Weylan gasped, "Can''t feel¡­ my chest¡­" The shepherd''s son remembered the days of his youth. Days spent herding sheep in the meadow. In the rain. In the cold. Running after the sheep. Breaking his ankle and limping his way home. He wasn''t a spoiled city kid. He had fought his way through an army of revenants. Surely he could manage something easy like breathing. No matter if it burned like someone had shoveled red-hot coals onto his chest. Skill acquired: Resist pain (Layman I) Skill increased: Resist pain (Layman II) Skill increased: Resist pain (Layman III) Malvorik noticed that Weylan''s breathing was becoming more regular. "The burning river of excruciating pain?" Skill increased: Resist pain (Layman IV) Weylan sat there silently. His expression relaxed. The flow of mana calmed down. It didn''t hurt any less, but at least the fire was now confined to narrow paths through his body. Weylan concentrated on the pain. The burning. He imagined a tree trunk falling into the stream, blocking the water''s path. The tree disintegrated under the pressure. He constructed a dam of stones in his mind, but the mana shattered it. He needed something else. Maybe ice? Ice that stretched across the lake. The small stream next to the village that always froze over in winter. Cold. Immobile. The mana refused to cool down. It didn¡¯t respond at all. It didn¡¯t even seem to listen. He was supposed to be able to control his mana. But was this mana even his? He felt for it. Ignored the pain, just concentrated on the mana itself, not the way the arcane fire burned new channels through his body. The mana was full of sensations. He felt warmth, like the summer sun on an old body, sitting on a rocking chair on a balcony. Smelled old books and dust. Heard the crackling of a hearth fire. Saw crimson light, sparkle and reflect on crystal facets. Malvorik. It was Malvoriks mana, not his. There was the problem. He had to take it first. Convert it into his own. But how? ¡°You have to¡­ let it go¡­¡± ¡°Mana¡­ let go¡­¡± Weylan felt the stone shift under one of his hands. He felt around and noticed sharp lines indented in the floor. Something around him started to flash every ten heartbeats. Weylan felt the taste of mana change. It became completely bland. He tried to take control, but couldn¡¯t concentrate nearly enough with the feeling of rivers of acid still racing burning paths through his veins. The magic slipped through his numb mental fingers like lukewarm water. He heard hasty steps nearing. Princess Ulmenglanz stormed in close behind the dungeon fairy and immediately threw herself on the floor next to the shepherd''s son. She pushed his chainmail and undergarments up and slipped her hands under them on his bare chest. He could vaguely feel some prickling, as tiny roots dug into his skin. Healing magic pulsed through his body. Searching and analyzing. Without interrupting her spell, the dryad looked at Malvorik''s crystal: "What have you done to him? His body is riddled with internal scorch marks, ruptured blood vessels and inflamed nerves. It''s like he''s been struck by lightning multiple times. It''s a miracle he''s still alive!" Malvorik unconsciously steered his final boss so that he stood protectively between the dryad and the entrance to Malvorik''s heart room. Soothing and healing magic flowed into his chest and saturated his body. The pain didn¡¯t disappear, but got bearable enough so he could try again to take control of the mana in his channels. He ignored the golden motes of healing mana that streamed through him and concentrated on the bland and colorless mana that still increased in power and threatened to destroy everything the dryad was just healing. He needed to stop the power. No, he had to claim it first. What did the old mage Hephtagan tell him about shadow mana? Darkness, cold¡­ He begged for the power to cool, to dim. After another wave of healing magic, he focused his will and commanded! Mana became dark as night, cold as ice and slippery as a greased ball. But he didn¡¯t need to hold it, just order it to just¡­ stop! The darkened mana slowed and cooled. Black ice formed on the surface, then clogged his channels¡­ and finally stopped. Everything went dark. The dungeon heart turned his attention to the dryad healer: Ulmenglanz looked up at the agitated glowing crystal and hissed at him: ¡°I¡¯m the healer! I decide who lives and who dies!¡± A final wave of golden healing magic flowed through Weylan''s body. He seemed to glow from within, then the golden light faded. Ulmenglanz pulled her roots out of his body, lifted her hands from his chest and stood up tired: "That''s it. His body is healed. Magic flows freely through his channels. You didn''t kill him. This time." With one last angry backward glance, she stomped to the wall next to the exit door and leaned against it, arms crossed, to wait for her patient to return to consciousness. The first thing Weylan felt again was a pounding headache. Then he opened his eyes. The light bore into them like glowing pokers. After a few deep breaths, the pain subsided. Skill learned: Mana control (Layman I) Feat acquired: Magic Talent (restricted to shadow magic) Error! Character class does not support arcane abilities! Customization required... A warm, pleasant feeling ran through Weylan''s body. A new message appeared in his field of vision, before he finished mentally processing the first one. Implementing new system: Character Class Evolution... Character classes can now undergo an evolution after acquiring magical abilities through special quests or outstanding actions. Determining further possible applications... Implementing additional option for specialization or expansion of character class when advancing to level 11 and level 16. Character class evolution: Assassin to Shadow Assassin Feat acquired: Shadow Sight Feat acquired: Shadow Manipulation If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. He concentrated on his body, no searing pain: "Seems to have finally worked." The new shadow assassin lay there exhausted and didn''t react. Selvara hit the crystal with her flat hand: ¡°Stop hounding him! He almost died! Let him recover first.¡± Weylan slowly sat up: ¡°It¡¯s alright. I''m curious myself.¡± He looked down at himself in fascination, bent over and stroked his shadow on the floor next to him with his hands. "Feels damp or cool. Somehow smooth and slippery too. Hard to describe." He stood up and waited for the dizziness to subside. Then he set off. As soon as he took his first step, his foot slid across the ground with almost no resistance. He tried to catch himself, but the other foot also slipped. Reflexes and acrobatic skills struggled to prevent him from hitting his face full at the ground. He whirled his arms wildly and his feet swept back and forth in a vain attempt to find footing on the suddenly slippery surface. Something hit the ground with a metallic sound and then something grabbed him by the right arm. His feet scurried away for good, kicking in the air as he was lifted up. His shoulder hurt, but at least he didn''t hit the stone floor. He got his bearings and realized who was holding him up. The final boss grinned at him with a mouthful of pointed teeth. Then he carefully set him on his feet. Weylan moved one foot slightly and realized that the shadows were back to normal and the ground was offering him the usual frictional resistance. "Thanks." He kept his eyes on the huge monster as the final boss took a few steps back. He turned to leave. Weylan reluctantly turned around and saw the strangler holding an elongated bundle. He hesitated and then moved closer until the boss held a paw politely but firmly in his way. The strangler unwrapped the bundle to reveal a short sword. He carried it to Weylan, who looked at it with suspicion: ¡°Will it try to kill me?¡± Selvara shook her head: ¡°I¡¯ve seen him make that. It should be safe.¡± He reluctantly took the sword and held it in his hand, somewhat confused: "A short sword. Thank you. This looks a bit better than the one I found in the battle in the cave." Weylan swung the sword around and looked at it from all sides. "I don''t see any gems." The assassin felt something that could move and... pulled. The handle could be pulled out like a long pole. He held the handle in front of his eyes. Slid the handle in and out. The long steel rod slid out of the point of contact with the cross guard, as if there was a hole there. He pulled it out further. Even further. Only at about five meters did it stop. "Nice." Weylan activated the magic mechanism and a double-edged blade extended from the end of the handle. "Are those two Bags of Holding effects?" "It will be best with two blades and extended to about one meter. As a double lily. Or as a sword staff. Or as a spear." He fell silent for a moment, "Wow. That has a lot of uses. Does it have any other enchantments? I mean, just out of curiosity. I don''t want to be greedy." The assassin grinned and looked at the blade at the rear end: "Quite narrow. Wouldn''t have fitted into the handle otherwise. Diamond-shaped cross-section. Not good for cuts, but it should pass through chain mail and light armor like a sharp stick through a dried-up wasp''s nest." "What?" Weylan slid the narrow blade back into the pole with a thought. He then placed the long spear with the now blunt end on the ground and let the staff slide back into the blade. As soon as he reached the cross guard again with his hand, he slid the rest into it. He looked at the short sword, still slightly disbelieving. Then he took his previous short sword out of its sheath, put the new one in and laid his non-magical one on the ground. "It''s high time we did something useful. Outside. The only one who hasn''t shown any signs of impatience yet is Princess Ulmenglanz." Weylan turned to the dryad, who was scowling in vain at the dungeon crystal and muttering softly, "Tree my arse...." "Did you really want a suit of armor made of wood or just one without metal?" She thought for a moment and then said: "The main thing is no metal. It doesn''t really hurt me, but wrapped in metal, I feel like I can''t breathe. Do you think there are any other options?" "Of course. Take a gambeson. Just several layers of thick fabric. Sometimes stuffed with raw wool. We couldn''t afford anything else in our village." He stroked his hand over his new chain mail: "I only know chain mail from the body guards of the richest traveling merchants. Even the army uses gambesons as standard armor. Chain mail is used by special units such as the gatekeepers, or by officers and nobles." "That sounds fitting. I could have thought of that myself. I''ve never asked the local warriors what exactly their armor is made of." She pulled a pouch from a belt pouch and pressed it into Weylan''s hand. "This is my share of the reward for the quest. Can you get me armor like this? I need to take care of my tree. My last trip to the surface was a bit too adventurous for me too." "Is the city guard still looking for you?" "I don''t know. I''d better stay out of sight for a few more days until things have blown over." She said goodbye a little hastily and walked away. Weylan waved it off: "Nothing serious. She climbed onto one of the buildings to get better access to sunlight. Her hands dug roots into the plaster, which damaged the fa?ade. The owner came home from shopping and screamed bloody murder until the city guard came running. Totally over the top, if you ask me." "No problem. Do you know what her measurements are?" "I can''t ask a woman about her measurements!" "Hello Princess Ulmenglanz, can you tell me exactly how big your breasts are?" Weylan tilted his head and looked past the boss to the glowing crystal. "You haven''t talked to women much, have you?" Weylan blinked. Then he nodded: "Exactly." "I''d better get going straight away. I should get some sleep before training starts again tomorrow morning. Master Jago wouldn''t be pleased if I turned up with dark circles under my eyes." "Doesn''t it have any side effects?" "Pass. Thank you. You''d help me more if you could create an entrance that isn''t so cumbersome." "Dungeons don''t normally have a delivery service either. I''ve thought about it. In the legends, the biggest dungeons have portals that shorten paths. If you''ve already beaten a floor, you can bypass it later." The voice turned in another direction, but let Weylan continue to listen in: The high-pitched hum of fairy wings beating at maximum speed rushed through the tunnel until Selvara began to slow down just before Weylan and flew a few steps past him. She dodged the rat minotaur with difficulty. She fluttered and danced in the air on the spot. "I know it! I know something you don''t know! Yeah!" "Dungeon Portals are a feat for dungeon masters of level 10 and above. It also includes the ability to give boss monsters so-called tokens as loot. Tokens cannot be sold or passed on. They only work for the person who has picked them up as loot. Anyone who has a token can use a corresponding dungeon portal. You can usually use it to let adventurers skip a few levels that they have already beaten. The idea behind this is that strong adventurers can easily get through the first few levels. It only costs unnecessary mana to replace the monsters and traps." "Even if it did, our friend the moderator would probably come by and correct that." Weylan looked around in alarm: "Moderator? Friend? What are you talking about?" Selvara whirled around so that he couldn''t see her own worried expression. "Malvorik has already had two visits from a moderator assessing his very special combination of skills as a dungeon master and mage." "Since the dungeon is still there, I assume he was satisfied?" Selvara snorted: "Only because even the creator gods didn''t reckon with your ideas and set up laws against them." Weylan looked up curiously, but before he could ask a question, Selvara flew right in front of his face and put her tiny finger on his upper lip: "Not a word! Malvorik! There are secrets you must not reveal. How dungeon hearts are made is one of them." The silence lasted exactly three heartbeats, then he continued. It took him a few heartbeats to process this. "You have a portal? That''s legendary magic!" Weylan shrugged his shoulders and added it to the long list of things he wasn''t allowed to tell anyone. Then he paused, picked up his backpack and rummaged around in it: "I almost completely forgot. You still owe me fifty gold pieces." He didn''t even blush as he more than doubled the price he had paid. Weylan held up the book. Then he stretched it far away from him as the rat minotaur came stomping up and ripped it out of his hand with its clawed paws. He carried it into the heart room and laid it on the floor. Sparkling magic shimmered over it and dissolved it. The mirror walls covered their surface with lists and formulas. Spells learned (level 1): Create light Create fire Create air Create water Create earth Create stone Create metal Modular storage Clean Patch Merge Heat Cool Disconnect Reinforce Weaken Learned artifact theses (journeyman level): Self-cleaning Self-repair Durability Convenience Size adjustment (+/- 25%) Weylan heard a rhythmic pulsing in his mind. Telepathic laughter. He took one last look at the part of the mirrored walls he could see through the doorway. Spell theses filled every empty space. Sketches and notes appeared and pushed others aside. When Malvorik no longer responded to his questions, he shrugged his shoulders, nodded amiably to the final boss and then walked away. He let his new sword swing around his wrist. Chapter 45: Jago The steward lifted his pen from the paper of his accounts to avoid causing an ink stain as the door flew open without warning. He sighed inwardly. If one of the maids tried to complain about one of the others again now, he would fire them both. For the life of him, he couldn''t stand the arguments between the maids on top of all the other chaos. As he raised his head in annoyance, he saw a heavy crossbow aimed right at his face. He threw himself sideways from his chair to take cover behind his heavy desk, closed his eyes tightly and shouted the command word for the artifact hidden on the ceiling. The flare flashed brightly. Even behind the desk in the shadows and with his eyes closed, he could see the flash of light. He hit a certain spot on the desk and caught the dagger that fell out. Jago pushed off his chair with his legs so that it flew out from behind the desk on the other side. The impact was enough to make him protrude a little behind the desk. He straightened up and threw the dagger at the doorway. As the steel whirled through the air, he really saw the man in the doorway for the first time. The assassin wore the uniform of a city guard. Average height and weight. He didn''t recognize the face. Jago had expected to see a blinded opponent covering his eyes in pain. But the man had not even fired his weapon in fright. The crossbow swung towards his new position. The eyes behind it sparkled reddishly, the glow fading and then going out. Pain flared in his arthritic knees as he slid back behind the desk for cover. He really was too old for this. But that wouldn''t stop him from making short work of the villain. The attacker was surely expecting him to emerge from another position or hide cowardly behind the desk. Instead, he jumped out flat to the same side, rolled away and threw his dagger. As expected, the attacker had swung his crossbow slightly in a different direction, but reacted faster than Jago had expected. Even an assassin could not dodge a well-aimed crossbow bolt at this range. However, he had other options. One of his skills allowed him to position his forearm perfectly into the bolt¡¯s path. It ricocheted off the steel bracer hidden beneath his dark shirt, embedding itself in the wall beside him. He hadn¡¯t yet checked if his dagger had found its mark, so he quickly scanned his attacker¡¯s body. He found the dagger stuck to the hilt in the attacker''s stomach. The fabric around it was already beginning to darken. However, the assassin did not seem to be impressed. Deeply engrossed in a notebook, Weylan turned the corner and stepped in through the open door: "I''ve finished the inventory of the flour store. You were right, there''s actually less..." Jago rolled to the side and tried to get up quickly, but his knees flared up in pain. His legs snapped out from under him and he was only able to roll to the side thanks to long-trained reflexes instead of simply lying there as a whimpering heap. The assassin whirled around and swung the crossbow at Weylan''s head with both hands. His apprentice''s legs parted as if of their own accord, his upper body bent backwards as he suddenly dodged downwards. The wooden prod of the crossbow grazed him on the chin and left a bloody scratch. The steward got his bearings. Where was the nearest weapon? His cane sword was in a rack by the door, too close to the attacker. He had used the throwing dagger. A short sword was still hidden in the writing desk, but with his bruised knees joints he didn''t want to go into close combat against an opponent who was obviously immune to pain. That left the crossbow in its extradimensional hiding place. The attacker carelessly dropped his crossbow and drew a short sword. His apprentice was currently unarmed and would probably go for help. If he briefly distracted the attacker with his escape, Jago had the opportunity to get his crossbow. The steward prepared to drag himself to the other side of the desk. Weylan sprung up, crouched and... jumped past the guardsman into the room. Jago blinked and froze. His apprentice rolled off, pushed off the wall with his foot to change direction, and grabbed his backpack as he ran past. He had mentioned that he wanted to show him something when they moved to the hidden training room in the basement after the normal lessons. The reward he had gotten for his part in saving the duskgnomes or something. Since he was going for it now, it was probably a weapon. The attacker fixed his eyes on Jago. Then he sprinted in, his short sword raised. Jago parried the first blow with his forearm splints. His attempt to grab the arm failed due to his opponent''s skillful retreat. The attacker had well-trained reflexes. This reduced Jago''s chances considerably. He held the desk between himself and his opponent, but had too little space behind him to get out of range. The guardsman stepped back. His maneuver was predictable. He would leap over the desk and knock Jago down. The house courtier saw no way to counter him. His attacker was visibly immune to pain. He would bleed to death, but not before killing him first. His companion came running from behind, a short sword of his own in his hand. Jago grabbed the chair next to him and swung it at his opponent. If he could just buy a moment until Weylan arrived, he could take him out. Weylan swung his sword in a two-handed grip two steps too soon. The steward gritted his teeth. For a level 6 assassin, this was pathetic. Even for a level 1 fighter, this would be an embarrassing move. If he survived this, he''d beat the little shit with a wet washcloth. Before he could think of any other teaching methods, the guardsman reacted to the attack. He held the sword to stop Jago from attacking and raised his left arm to ward off the short sword. Jago was irritated until he saw that his companion was now wielding a sword staff. He blinked. Where had that come from? The two-handed blow cut deep into the guardsman''s forearm. The blade went right to the bone in the arm, but then stopped. The guardsman wanted to counterattack, but now Jago hammered the chair over his back with all his strength. Unlike in the bards'' showpieces, the chair did not splinter. Instead, a satisfying cracking of the spine could be heard. The guardsman swayed. The sword staff was drawn back, then it whirled around again, swung by two hands, and cut the attacker''s throat. The guardsman''s head snapped to the side. Blood sprayed out in a fountain, then the attacker collapsed. A few more rhythmic spurts sprayed from the wound, then the heart stopped beating and the blood trickled down to the ground in a trickle. Jago and Weylan both kept an eye on the guardsman until they were sure he was really dead. As Jago moved forward to examine the body, the dead man''s eyes flared up. Red iridescent flames leapt out and went out. The entire body collapsed as if it had been burnt out from the inside. Jago struggled back to his feet and took the walking stick from his companion. He looked at him sternly: "Where did you get this weapon?" "That''s the quest reward I mentioned." Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. "It was given to you by that mage Malvorik?" "Yes, sir." The steward looked at a map on the wall: "A mage who enchants master-class artifact weapons, here in a cave not far outside the city walls... I don''t like it." Exhausted from the fight and distracted by the pain in his arthritic legs, his usually attentive gaze missed the flash of satisfaction in Weylan''s eyes when he realized that Jago believed his story about the mage''s residence. "Sir, I don''t think he''s a danger to the city. He is old and seemed to me to be only interested in carrying out his studies. Helping the duskgnomes settle in will exhaust his magical and logistical abilities for a long time." Jago nodded thoughtfully, not taking his eyes off the map. Then he beckoned Weylan to pull his chair up again and sat down. "Why did you take such a risky swing instead of aiming to stab? You wasted the range advantage of your weapon." "The guy had a dagger in his stomach, which didn''t seem to bother him. I thought he was some kind of undead. That¡¯s why I went for a beheading strike." The Assassin Master weighed up the argument in his mind for a moment and went over the events again. Then he accepted the reasoning with a nod. "Sir, if you don''t mind me asking... Who was that?" "I have no idea. He came in and fired a crossbow at me. Let''s find out." He searched the body but found nothing that would have revealed his identity or mission. The body also bore no special features or tattoos. The eyes were empty, burnt-out sockets. All visible veins were blackened under the skin and had collapsed. They covered the body like a creepy drawing. "Something strange is going on here. I just hope it''s not connected to the world quest. The revenants roaming the city right now aren''t ready for something like this. Maybe it was just an elite assassin on behalf of the Krigesti. But how did they find out about me..." "Wouldn''t it already be a success to remove the baron''s chamberlain? If they just wanted to cause chaos, that would be a good start." "Indeed. Who would you kill next?" "No idea. The leader of the city guard? The chancellor of the mage university? Maybe just a few of the most powerful citizens of the city, so that everyone is fighting over their succession." "I think it''s time I showed you the strategic points of the city." Jago went to the map on the other wall: "If you want to help me, you have to get to know the city better first. Every neighborhood. Every gate. Every little corner." He clenched his fist: "I don''t really have time to play city guide. But I can''t be everywhere. And I neglected to train a successor early on. I thought I still had plenty of time." Weylan opened his mouth... and quickly closed it again. "I know what you were going to say. How could the old geezer think he still has time." Weylan hesitated, then nodded. "Well, I¡¯m a level 12 house servant. A class at Master level has some advantages. Every level above 10 increases life expectancy and slows down aging. I still have quite a few years ahead of me. Now it''s time to decide which quarter you want to start in. Before I die of old age after all." "The Centaur Quarter." "Of all things? I would have taken that last. The most interesting things there are the blacksmiths, weapons and armor dealers." Weylan hesitated. Then he replied: "I''ve always wanted to see centaurs. I only have the fanciful descriptions of the few bards who came by our village." "Well, then we can get you a weapon too." Weylan raised his short sword, which now had a normal grip again, briefly in confusion, as if to remind Jago. He waved it away: "You can''t walk around as a house servant with a magical weapon. That would break our cover immediately. I''ll have a sword sheath made to hide its magic from casual glances, but as soon as you draw it near a mage, you''ll be exposed. What do you think would be most suitable for you?" "A longsword?" "Longsword..." Jago looked him up and down scrutinizingly. "I don''t know if that''s the right weapon for you. A sword requires a lot of training. It''s unwieldy to carry and has limited defensive capabilities. At least when used without a shield. A sword is almost completely useless against plate armor. Chain mail and leather armor can only be penetrated with skill and strength." "In the city, hardly anyone walks around in metal armor. Here, people wear cloth armor at best. Maybe with the exception of a few revenants." "Don''t underestimate cloth armor. A gambeson with enough layers of linen fabric is hard to penetrate. Cloth armor is the reason why there are swords that are not just sharp, but insanely sharp." "Then what should I use instead of a sword?" "A warrior chooses his weapons according to his opponent. Warhammers against armor, swords against lightly armored opponents, two-handed weapons against infantry with polearms, and so on. You, on the other hand, need something with reach that requires comparatively little practice. A spear would be ideal. It''s just more unwieldy than a sword. In the city, however, you mainly need something that is easy to carry. It certainly won''t hurt if you learn how to use the weapon you have. We will start your training with a short sword. Later on, you will train with a quarterstaff. A staff is useful in the wilderness, has a long reach and enables many fighting techniques. You can also use both techniques with your wonder sword. The special techniques for sword staffs will follow much later." "What do we start with then?" "As I said, training with the short sword. No matter where you are, you can always have a short sword at hand. As long as revenants are swarming all over the city, no one will think anything of it if you carry a weapon for self-defense. I''ll get you a concealed back scabbard. With a girth or cloak over it, it will only be recognizable to the initiated. Or if you sit down the wrong way, of course." He hesitated briefly, sighed and then added: "You''ll get the weapons at my expense. I don''t want a cheap blade to break and splinters to hit my face during training. We''d better get you something decent right away." The two of them spent two hours cleaning up the room and wiping away the blood. Jago disposed of the body through a trapdoor in the corner of the room. "I''ll deal with it later. I still have a few elixirs and disposable artifacts for that sort of thing." He then pulled out an aquamarine sphere wrapped in silver threads from a hidden drawer behind a painting. He held it in the middle of the room with his hand high above him and spoke a command word: "Draikliening!" A wave of bright blue, shimmering light swept through the room, removing dirt and the last remnants of blood. Jago swayed briefly, feeling his mana pathways burning. What little magic he had was completely consumed by the spell. But now, there was no more evidence of a fight. The steward looked at his apprentice and concentrated on his status to see if there were any skill changes. He saw the new "Resist Pain" skill, already at Layman IV, "Mana Control," a skill he had no reason to have, at Layman I, and two new feats, while the number of open feat slots had not changed. Even the class had changed. With anyone else, he''d suspect dark sorcery or possession, but he knew this boy truly lived in interesting times. "Before we leave, is there anything you need to tell me as my apprentice? I''ve just updated your status, and there are some strange changes." Weylan shuddered. "Well, there was an accident with one of Archmage Malvorik''s artifacts. I was struck by something like shadow lightning. Long story." "That must have been quite painful. You trained the resist pain skill faster than I did at the assassins'' training camp." "How do assassins usually train to resist painl?" Jago gazed into the distance, remembering a week of pain and suffering. This time it was his turn to shudder. "I remember rubbing salt and healing potions. And a cheese grater." His apprentice went pale. "Good thing I don''t need that training anymore." Jago resisted the urge to laugh. "You''re barely at Layman IV! You need to reach at least Journeyman rank to reliably resist torture and interrogations. You just got a head start, which is great!" "It is?" "Yes. That way we can skip the boring parts and get right to the cheese grater. But that''s something for tomorrow." He gestured for his apprentice to follow and left the room. Chapter 46: Interlude Bernd finished his shift as a moderator and switched to the virtual leisure area for employees. Like most of his colleagues, he spent at least part of his free time within the time-accelerated VR to chat, watch movies, or read in peace. This time, he teleported directly to the Groove Area, a room with floor-to-ceiling windows offering live views of different major cities, depending on which direction you looked. The room was filled with comfortably cushioned armchairs and sofas, arranged for quiet conversations and, of course, to gossip about particularly annoying players. As he looked around, he noticed a small group gathered around one of the plot writers, who was slumped in a chair, crying, while the others visibly tried to comfort or cheer him up. Bernd quickly approached the group and quietly asked one of the bystanders, "What''s wrong with Phillip?" His colleague Dan made a gesture to initiate a private conversation. Once confirmed that the others couldn''t hear them, he replied, "The board just announced that we''re permanently scrapping the entire Quorll world quest plotline." Bernd winced sympathetically, "Ouch. Not really surprising, but I had hoped we could just postpone or modify it." "Phillip worked on it for months. Quests, texts, mystical symbols, the entire religion around the Devourer and his followers. Commandments and religious taboos, enemies, relations to all other gods... I only got to read the summary, but it was truly epic and full of options for the players." "Well, the main task at the beginning was to prevent the desert tribes from uniting. That''s now completely out of the question." Bernd nodded irritably, "You can say that again. Those damn players who just had to make a big impact at the end." "The ability to permanently change the game world, without us being able to simply undo it, has always been one of our best selling points. No one anticipated something like this. Now, they''re even discussing a complete reset." The moderator stared at his colleague for a moment, "They can''t be serious!" "The majority is still against it." "How can they even consider it! The game''s history, the personalities of the NPCs! All of that emerged from years of interaction with players. Remember how the first AI NPCs were? Boring and predictable. A reset would be... We might as well shut down. No player will spend so much money on cheap scripted dialogues." The moderator shrugged resignedly, "If the Krigesti win, we have no other choice. The game world will become unplayable." "The containment is working for now, right?" Dan teleported them both to one of the planning rooms. Maps of the various game areas were displayed on the walls. Complex symbols represented ongoing quests, the number and activity of players, and much more. Dan pointed to the desert that occupied the entire southern tip of the continent. Numerous red arrows extended from it, most of them currently blocked by a crossbar. Only at the northern edge had an arrow penetrated into a forest area and the grassland behind it but was then held back by mountains and a fortified mountain pass. "We''ve blocked all exits from their territory. To the south, west, and east is the sea, and we arranged for plots and quests to ensure all ships sailed out of the ports before they could be captured." Bernd weighed the situation thoughtfully, "What if a ship docks and is taken over?" This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version. "Smaller groups are too incompetent to steer a ship. They''d need at least two hundred men crammed on board to even attempt a maneuver. The winds in the game world are complex, and steering ships is a skill in itself. One that desert dwellers don''t have and, after the last rule changes by Steve, can''t learn anymore." "The AI accepted that?" "The inability to swim, dive, and sail fits the culture and logic of the game world. Steve received no objections." "Clever. But that''s why he''s Chief Narrative Designer. What about the detour through the northeastern swamp? That could allow the Krigesti to enter the dwarven territory and from there into the rest of the continent." "Steve declared the entire swamp a master-level quest zone. Giant blood mosquito swarms, hydra leeches, chameleon krakens, wyverns, and even a dragon living on the mountain''s edge. Compared to the monster spawners in the swamp, the rest of the game world is a child''s birthday party. Behind the swamp, the dwarves are also building a series of magical watchtowers." Bernd whistled appreciatively, "Sounds like we don''t have to worry about that until the Krigesti have most of their warriors at least to level 11. And even then, it won''t be easy. The players will be able to hold the front against the few Krigesti who make it through for a long time." Dan made a few gestures, and the view of the mountain pass enlarged. The wall fortress blocking the entire pass became clearly visible. "I''m just worried about Mulnirsheim. Currently, the city is only besieged, but the Krigesti have already managed to get a few scouts inside. Fortunately, the group was so small that they were too dumb to do anything useful." Bernd pondered thoughtfully, "I studied the logs. The Krigesti halted their expansion for several days to charge a few vials of Cerebrum dust with their unique crystal life force. They were able to infect several NPCs in the city, even though that is still outside their zone of influence. That was too close for my liking. The assassins mostly targeted the wrong people, but one almost got the baron''s steward." "Isn''t he the one who leads the counterintelligence for the crown?" "Exactly. The plot dictates that the actual work is done by players. Therefore, he has almost no staff in the city and is too old to fight himself. His new apprentice saved him. The job actually went to an NPC because none of the players showed interest in time. The story developers never thought to exclude that. They still need to get used to the idea that NPCs can also take on quests." Dan chuckled, "Well, most NPCs are happy to let players take the lead. The usual difficulty level allows for a few quest takers to die once or twice. For players, that makes things exciting, but NPCs would have to be pretty crazy to get involved in that." He took his eyes off the screen and looked at Bernd. "Say, is there any news about your super-secret dungeon that you can''t talk about? Anything new you¡¯re allowed to share?" Bernd waved his hand in the air, pulling up a status report from his quick-access menu. After a brief glance, he grinned, "You should check out the new global message from NEMESIS that went out to all players a few minutes ago. My dungeon heart managed to necessitate a game-wide rule change by almost torturing an NPC to death a few days ago. Seems it was an accident, but I''ll read the details more thoroughly later." Dan pulled up the mentioned message and skimmed it, "Character class evolution? Didn''t they already scrap that idea?" "Steve always liked the idea of affinity-based character classes or skills, but we never found a fair way to implement it. Nemesis took that option now. Steve probably set it up so she had the option if such a change became necessary." He browsed the menus for details and whistled appreciatively, "Wow. The AI really doesn''t do things by halves. This runs through all skill trees and development stages. I''d bet she consulted with Steve before announcing it officially." "How did your dungeon manage that?" Bernd studied his status report, taking note of some heavily redacted confidential information. Of course, the AI didn''t want details about the dungeon''s allied assassin to become known, which could quickly lead to Mulnirsheim and its location. He looked at his colleague and shrugged apologetically, "Sorry, everything about that incident is top secret." Dan looked a bit annoyed but then composed himself, "Can''t be helped. Should we head back to the others in the Groove Area, or do you have other plans?" "I think I''ll log out and spend the rest of the day with my family. My son is turning twelve soon, and he''ll finally be able to join VR. I''ve already picked out a spot on the kids'' island for him. He''s excited and keeps wanting to work on his avatar with me." "Well then, see you on Monday!" Chapter 47: Weylan On their way to the centaur quarter, Jago explained the layout of the city, the most important streets, landmarks and the gates of the rear city wall, while Weylan tried to memorize everything: "The great wall only has one gate, of course, and you need a pass for that. To the north, the city is surrounded by a simple wall just under six steps high with three gates. West Gate, North Gate and East Gate. The early barons were really completely unimaginative when it came to names. The centaur quarter is quite small and consists of a row of open, single-storey wooden houses a little way outside the west gate." Weylan was confused: "Wait a moment, it''s outside the city?" "The houses are located outside the two-hundred-meter-wide perimeter. Nobody is allowed to build there, of course, so no enemy can sneak in. The land is only used for growing low-growing vegetables and herbs. The grain fields are only located outside this zone. The buildings from which all this is cultivated still officially belong to the town, as they are important for the food supply." He turned to Weylan and raised a serious finger: "Centaurs are good farmers, but they never pull a plow themselves. Don''t even think about asking something like that. That would be a grave insult." An hour later, they walked through the gate and crossed the open area of the spell circle and the centaur quarter came into view. Weylan became more excited and stretched his neck curiously as one of the centaurs came into view. His muscular torso glistened in the sun as he trotted lightly along the street. Three more centaurs with baskets on either side followed him. "They''re... smaller than I expected." Jago nodded: "Most people are surprised when they see centaurs for the first time. The horse part fits more with one of the smaller racing horse breeds. In the pictures, they''re usually portrayed as big warhorses." They wandered through the streets. The houses were almost completely open on at least one side and the centaurs could be seen busily at work everywhere. Weylan noticed crates and curtains that were probably used to close the openings at night. The rhythmic beating of the forge could be heard everywhere. "They use these big baskets everywhere for transportation. Wouldn''t a cart be more practical?" Jago told him to be quiet and led him away from the busy main street into a side alley. Only there did he answer: "Centaurs don''t pull carts or plows. They can''t be ridden either. To even suggest it would lead directly to a hoof in the face. If you''re lucky and the centaur doesn''t have a weapon. I should have mentioned that right away." "Anything else to insult centaurs with?" The steward thought for a moment and then shrugged his shoulders: "Actually, they''re usually quite hard to annoy. Just don¡¯t treat them like horses and you¡¯re fine. Let''s try that with Jornigan the blacksmith. I''ll turn it into a kind of test for you. Buy a weapon without Jornigan ripping your arm off and beating you to death with it." Weylan wanted to answer, but his mouth felt dry and lifeless. He just nodded. Back on the main street, the two found themselves three houses further on in front of a house built entirely of stone. Three curved arches offered a clear view of the smithy in the middle and the weapons lined up in racks around the edge. Swords of all kinds. A centaur with huge upper arms and mountains of muscle on his torso was weighing several different colored pieces of metal and mixing them into a stone vessel. A visibly younger centaur, looking slight in comparison, watched him attentively. When the blacksmith saw them enter, his face brightened: "Mr. Jago! Welcome! " "Hail to the gods, Jornigan. I see your business is going well." "Could be better. Look how many goods are standing around here. The war and all the revenants really came at just the right time." "Most citizens see it differently." "Well, most citizens don''t make a living selling weapons. But what can I do for you?" He lowered his voice conspiratorially: "A new custom-made weapon?" "Not today. Just a sturdy weapon for my apprentice. Something to protect him in these dangerous times." The blacksmith looked at Weylan scrutinizingly: "A bit small for a sword. Short sword? Forty fingers?" Jago beckoned Weylan himself to answer. He stepped forward and then pulled himself together: "A short sword. I''m still unsure about the length. I''ve never had anything bigger than a knife." "Stretch out your arm." The blacksmith had the other centaur bring him a string with knots at regular intervals and measured Weylan''s arm. Shoulder to fingertip, shoulder to elbow, elbow to wrist. "Any special requests?" "It should fit in a back scabbard." Jago nodded, satisfied that his journeyman had not forgotten. "So, a short crossguard. Piercing, cutting or both?" "Both." "Armor-piercing a priority?" Weylan thought for a moment. He felt Jago''s gaze resting on him. Was that his trick question? Of course, it would be better if he could stab through armor. Then he remembered the battle in the cave. He had barely been able to penetrate even cloth and leather armor with his magic dagger. "No. I won''t strike at armor with a short sword, I¡¯ll rather try to find the gaps. But it should be sharp enough to cut through a gambeson if necessary." The blacksmith glanced at Jago and nodded approvingly. "Blade on both sides, or just one?" "On both. I want to remain flexible." The blacksmith turned around. His gaze wandered over the numerous weapons. Then he went to the back of the workshop and unlocked a heavy chest against the back wall. He carefully pushed aside several long items wrapped in cloth and then took out another one. After closing the chest again, he placed the bundle on top and unwrapped a short sword. Straight blade, a short crossguard, everything completely without embellishment. "I once made this for a traveling salesman. He just never came to pick it up. About your measurements." Weylan took the short sword and swung it around a little, testing it. He hadn''t had any professional sword-fighting lessons. He just hoped that wasn¡¯t too obvious. Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings. He placed the short sword across one finger and balanced it. He had probably seen a traveling mercenary do this once in the tavern. Jago nodded approvingly at his questioning look. The center of gravity was close to the hilt, which made the blade very flexible. The oval, leather-wrapped handle seemed to fit well in the hand. "Feels good." He held it out to Jago, who took it, checked the sharpness with his thumb and nodded with satisfaction. "Is it enchanted?" The blacksmith laughed: "How dangerous is it in the baron''s castle right now, that you¡¯d need a magic weapon?" Weylan''s face became serious. He leaned forward and whispered: "If the creatures in the dungeon ever free themselves from their enchanted chains..." The two centaurs stared at him wide-eyed and waited for him to continue. The corner of Weylan''s mouth twitched up into a grin and the centaurs laughed out loud. "That was a good one. But seriously, to enchant a weapon, it needs something to hold the magic. Either gemstones or a mythril component in the alloy. Mythril steel is a little softer than normal steel and it doesn''t harden as well. Getting the temperature right is tricky. You need a large part of the magical potential that the alloy allows to get it to the hardness and sharpness of a normal weapon. Well, it still works better against undead and even hurts demons and ghosts, but against normal enemies it''s no good. The higher enchantments are only affordable for the most famous warriors and kings." "What about revenants?" "Oh yes, they often have magical weapons too. They probably either buy theirs with looted treasures at the nearest mage academy or capture them in dungeons. In some of the old legends, the revenants get their weapons from Peituwin in return for a generous donation of gold from the creator world." Weylan mentally took the conversation back a few steps: "Wait a minute... wouldn''t it be better to just put a core of mythril in the sword instead of a mythril alloy? Or in the hilt?" "It''s all a piece of metal that is forged into the right shape. A core made from any other material wouldn''t work. We tried a folding technique once, like the one used for the Damascus effect, but the mythril is too soft for that. Processed pure, it just creates a lot of weak spots." Weylan swung the sword a few more times, nodded and then looked questioningly at Master Jago. He nodded as well and ordered another matching scabbard. The blacksmith worked with a leather maker nearby who regularly made him matching scabbards, so he had one ready at hand too. While Jago counted out the gold, Weylan asked the blacksmith a question: "Tell me, Master Jornigan, how come there are no female centaurs around here?" The blacksmith looked at him in confusion: "What do you mean, boy?" "Well, we''ve seen dozens of centaurs on the street. But only men." Jago winced and held himself still with difficulty. He had only been joking when he had spoken of the centaur''s anger. But there were a few things you could do, to make even a sensible centaur like Jornigan throw a blacksmith hammer. He stood ready to intervene, but still remained immobile. Like a hunter who unexpectedly found himself in the middle of a sleeping pack of wolves. The blacksmith opened his mouth... and closed it again. Then he laughed. Loud and deep, in a sound that echoed off the walls. He bent down and held his stomach with one hand while leaning on his companion with the other. Jago relaxed. "You''ve seen the traveling bards'' panels, haven''t you?" Weylan replied with an uncertain, "Yes?" The blacksmith laughed even more and his journeyman, who had also seemed a little confused until then, now joined in. After a while, the blacksmith calmed down a little. Interrupted by the occasional giggle, he explained: "There are even more centaur mares than stallions here at the moment. Most of the stallions are out working in the fields. You''ve no doubt walked past quite a few mares." "What? I would have noticed that. Everyone walks around bare-chested. You would have..." Weylan fell silent, blushed and vaguely indicated two hemispheres with his hands in front of his torso. The two centaurs let out another snort. "You''re gorgeous... Do you actually know what breasts are for?" He looked away, nervously shuffling his feet, not daring to meet his gaze. Instead of answering, he just shook his head. Unsure what exactly the blacksmith was getting at. "You suckle foals with it. How exactly are they supposed to get up there? Centaurs can''t bend down low enough for that to work. At the very least, it would be extremely uncomfortable and very strenuous. Our mares'' teats are at the bottom of their hindquarters. Just like horses. Easily accessible for foals." He pointed with his thumb next to him: "My apprentice Travane could show you, but if you stare too much, I''d have two blushing teenagers right here. The neighbors would think my smithy is on fire, with your bright cheeks lighting it up." Weylan glanced at the hindquarters of the two centaurs. Like all other centaurs, their bodies were clothed in thin leather covers that hang down at the side of their horse bodies almost to knee height. The two blacksmiths also wore leather aprons to protect their furless human parts from sparks. Jago put his hand over his face and groaned: "Those silly pictures with the bare-breasted centaurs mares... I thought word would have got around by now that it''s complete nonsense." The blacksmith shrugged his shoulders calmly: "In larger cities, yes. A good kick in the backside is enough to make even the most obtuse bard realize that he should consider a more anatomically correct portrayal. But in the countryside? They probably still think that harpies are flying beauties with shiny plumage." Weylan wanted to say something, but then refrained. But the slight twitch had already attracted Jago''s attention: "Seriously? These ugly creatures only resemble humans at dusk and when you squint both eyes. Whatever the painters do for the bards, the upper bodies are those of birds and their heads are those of old crones." The assassin''s apprentice suppressed a disappointed expression. Then he shrugged his shoulders: "At least the dryads are as good-looking as they say." The blacksmith nudged him, which almost knocked him over: "As if you''ve ever seen a dryad before." As his later representative, it was important that Weylan was taken seriously. It was unacceptable for him to be taken for a chatterbox. The chamberlain therefore intervened: "The boy actually met a dryad princess on the way here from his village. Along with the warriors who accompanied her." Master Jornigan looked at him in disbelief: "Dryads don''t go on journeys. They are bound to their trees." Weylan nodded: "That''s right. That''s why she had a small seedling in a huge pot with carrying poles." The blacksmith looked thoughtfully towards the south: "Then the border forest really has fallen. I had hoped the reports were wrong and that the Krigesti had bypassed the forest somewhere to the east. If even the dryads and their trees are on the run, all is lost there." He turned to the steward: "Is Mulnirsheim in danger?" Everyone waited patiently while the chamberlain carefully weighed up his answer: "The wall fortress is strong. The Krigesti will never manage to break through. They have neither grand ritual battle magic nor the technical skill to create siege weapons that could overcome our ramparts." He was silent for a moment, but it was clear from the expression on his face that he was not finished: "What I fear more is a siege. Mulnirsheim is the gateway to the south. If the pass is besieged, trade with the south will dry up. The cooks will complain about the lack of some spices. Carpenters will miss the rare woods of the border forest. But I''m really worried about the loss of trade in gemstones and crystals. Gems for magical artifacts will run out quickly. And without Cerebrum crystals, no new skill crystals will be produced. We never had significant supplies of them. There was always more demand than we could meet. Prices have been rising steadily for years, only slowed down by the fact that many buyers cannot afford unlimited high costs. At some point, the point is reached where it is more economical to simply learn a skill through a master teacher. Some of the less dramatic crystals are needed for alchemy. Who knows which elixirs will run out soon." Weylan looked up in alarm: "Do you also need crystals for healing potions?" Jago knew what he was afraid of. Having a healing potion nearby for emergencies and accidents was common even in poor villages. The woodcutters never went into the forest without one member of the group carrying a healing potion. Too often an axe blow went wrong or a tree did not fall in the expected direction. Of course, this was not as common for less dangerous professions. No one expected a shepherd to be in danger. Jago rubbed his beard and then replied: "I don''t think so, but I''m not familiar with the exact recipe. That will be your next assignment: as soon as we''re back in the city, you will go to the academy and sort it out. Also, find out if any more elixirs will run out due to the loss of trade with the Southlands. Ask if there are alternatives for the various crystals and gemstones. Write down exactly what they are, what they are needed for and where we can find them." Weylan groaned inwardly. More work. And even worse, more potential problems for the city. Chapter 48: Jago The steward led his apprentice back to the city while dictating a list of merchants dealing in strategically important goods he should visit on his way to the mage academy. As soon as they crossed into the city, Weylan jogged off to the merchant¡¯s quarter, and Jago continued down the main road. Once he was sure he was unobserved, he turned into a side alley and bought a hot sausage in a bun from a street vendor. Eating it as he walked, he navigated the side streets until he reached a tavern marked by a sign with a colorful barrel: the ¡°Exotic Barrel Tavern.¡± He went in, greeted the innkeeper, and proceeded to a small back room with a single table and four chairs. He sat down alone. The innkeeper personally took his order. Jago chose one of the imported lagers, known to connoisseurs for its exotic origins. Many of the lesser nobility or minor functionaries frequented the tavern to sample the unusual beverages the innkeeper somehow sourced from all over the world. After bringing the drink, the innkeeper left. Half a glass later, a man in black robes with his hood pulled low over his face entered and sat opposite Jago, glancing around nervously. Jago sighed inwardly. Amateurs. Just once, he wished to work with professionals. But his orders from his superiors were clear. Sometimes he thought they preferred the intelligence business to be obvious and easy to spot, hiring incompetents like this as if it were some job creation scheme. It made no sense. He greeted the man, ¡°Welcome. Thanks for responding to my invitation.¡± He turned a ring on his finger, and dark shadowy runes appeared on the walls, visible only by their sharp edges and contrast against the surroundings. ¡°We are now safe from prying eyes and ears. You can speak freely.¡± The man pushed back his hood, revealing a young, unremarkable face with brown hair and eyes. He scowled, ¡°I didn¡¯t appreciate finding a letter on my pillow in what¡¯s supposed to be a secure, locked, and magically protected room.¡± Jago spread his arms in a calming gesture. ¡°Apologies for the theatrics. I need to stay in practice somehow. And it worked better than the two letters I sent.¡± ¡°Letters? They must still be in my inbox.¡± ¡°Then I suggest you read your mail faster to avoid surprises in the future.¡± The young man relaxed. ¡°Fair point. I was just caught off guard. Sorry. I don¡¯t usually take espionage-type quests. I¡¯m not good at this stuff.¡± ¡°That¡¯s evident.¡± Jago smiled to soften the criticism and placed some gold coins on the table, not yet pushing them toward his informant. ¡°No one told me becoming a mage meant actually studying at the Mage Academy. Or that it would be so expensive!¡± Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings. Jago waited for him to finish his rant. ¡°So, surely it¡¯s welcome to receive additional funds for some easy and safe information gathering.¡± The young mage nodded. ¡°Yeah, right. So, I asked the archchancellor¡­¡± ¡°You what?!?¡± Jago resisted the urge to facepalm or slap the idiot into next week. ¡°Relax! I was tasked to transcribe some reports about the duskgnomes and inserted a fictional report about one of the heroes mentioning the name as the mage who destroyed the tunnel the duskgnomes escaped through.¡± Jago thought for a moment, then nodded. That was clever. ¡°And? Did he recognize the name?¡± ¡°He mentioned a teacher he had in magic theory at the capital when he was an adept, named Malvorik. But that was fifty years ago, and he¡¯s been dead for a long time. I asked a friend studying at the capital, and he checked the temple records. A mage named Malvorik did die using the liturgic ritual of Honorable Farewell. No way he survived that. It¡¯s not a common name. I found no other mages with that name or anything similar in the Mage Academy archive, the central registry of the Order of Mages, the book Famous Mages of Our Time, or the temple archives. Malvorik had children who also became mages, but they have different names, so no Malvorik Jr. or anything. None of them work or live outside the capital. There is no known mage tower or residence outside or near Mulnirsheim either. The archchancellor asked me to remove that part of the report since it was obviously wrong.¡± Jago was pleasantly surprised. That was a much more thorough investigation than he¡¯d expected. He¡¯d thought the young mage would only check the registry at most. He pulled out more gold coins, added them to the stack, and pushed them across the table. ¡°Good work. That means our mage is using a fake name.¡± ¡°Why are you looking for this guy anyway? Did he commit a crime?¡± ¡°He¡¯s supposedly powerful and resides near Mulnirsheim. That warrants investigation.¡± Jago made small talk to build rapport with this unexpectedly useful informant and then said goodbye. After the informant left, he sipped his lager. Who was this ¡°Malvorik¡±? Artifact mages required rare and exotic materials. Jago would have been informed if anyone bought something like mythril in the city or ordered it from outside. And where did Malvorik live? Some hidden lair in the mountains? An invisible mage tower? Weylan¡¯s vague descriptions suggested a subterranean hideout, but that seemed unlikely. The duskgnomes probably stumbled on a hidden emergency exit tunnel. Since his apprentice hadn¡¯t mentioned meeting the mage beforehand, Jago had no chance to have him followed. They must have met somewhere inside the city; otherwise, his magic bracelet would have alerted him if Weylan had left. Maybe the swordstaff wasn¡¯t even made by the mage himself. It looked like the ones common in the Cathurian Empire. Artifacts with repair enchantments never showed their age, so it could be a thousand years old or brand new. It wouldn¡¯t be the first time a mage paid a revenant with an ancient relic because he was short on gold. There was no way to tell without having it analyzed by a trusted mage specialized in enchantments, and Jago didn¡¯t know any he could rely on. There also hadn¡¯t been any sightings of duskgnomes at the city gates yet. The whole group had disappeared somewhere in the underground tunnels. No tunnels led inside or behind Mulnirsheim, and the lands south were held by the Krigesti. Maybe they found some underground city or a way farther west to a hidden valley? Jago downed the rest of his lager and stood up. He deactivated the magic ring and left. There were too many things to worry about. He decided to ignore the duskgnomes and their mysterious disappearance. If his apprentice mentioned another meeting with the elusive mage, Jago would follow him himself. But until then, he decided to leave that mystery alone. There was just too much else going on. Chapter 49: Selvara Selvara awoke refreshed and rested. As a dungeon fairy and familiar, she was closely connected to the feelings and thoughts of the dungeon heart. Sleeping through the night without being woken by an attack, accident or other catastrophe was almost unusual. She opened her eyes and blinked. Had spiders managed to get into her room? Her bed was surrounded by cobwebs. She took a closer look at the web. The pattern didn''t really match cobwebs. And it surrounded her in an exact rectangle. What the... As her mind caught up with her body and also reached full working capacity, she realized that Malvorik had converted her bed into a four-poster bed with curtains while she slept. He had done it without waking her with his usual mental giggles. His self-control was improving. Four wooden pillars held up a fabric roof. On the sides, he had placed curtains made of a fine silk weave. She pushed aside a curtain and looked around her room. The furniture still looked the same, but the floor was now covered with a red fabric. Not exactly a carpet, but close enough. She stroked her toes over the soft material and smiled. Then she walked through the corridor to the heart room and opened the small door. To her it was a fairy-high portal, but to humans it looked more like the door to a doll''s house. She cautiously stuck her head through. Malvorik had surprised her too often with his experiments. She could feel how active the Dungeon Crystal''s mind was. For the first time in a long time, Malvorik ignored all other problems and gave himself fully to his true passion. Arcane research. The basic book for mages had given him back enough of his lost spell knowledge, that he would be able to reconstruct some of the spells he had known in the past. If only he was given enough time. He could now also create a variety of artifacts that were standard equipment for adventurers. As there were no dangerous objects moving through the room, Selvara flew carefully into the heart room and looked around. The sketches of swords, spears, armor and shields that had dominated the mirrored walls a day earlier were gone. Instead, she now saw numerous versions of finger-length staffs, surrounded by sketches and notes. She sensed Malvorik''s mental grin and hesitated: "Is it safe? Are pieces of armor about to swirl around here?" Selvara flew up a little further and watched as a summoning circle, similar to those used by dungeons to summon their dungeon monsters, appeared at the bottom of his heart room. Stone sank into the floor in the shape of the lines and the gaps filled with silver, which began to glow shortly after. The air above shimmered. A finger-long wooden stick appeared. A network of fine, metallic lines covered the surface. Fine, as if painted. As a Dungeon, Malvorik could create things with a precision that a mortal artifact mage could only dream of. He created another layer of wood that hid the network of mythril. She noticed two fine lines that led from the mythril pattern to one end at the top and to the upper third of one side at another point. A tiny aquamarine appeared at one end of the stick. With her close connection to Malvorik, she knew that the semi-precious stone was not created, but came from Malvorik''s supply. A number of small semi-precious stones that Weylan had purchased. A ring of fine silver lines appeared around the aquamarine. A rune formed on the side of the staff at the point where the other mythril line came to the surface. She studied the rune and glanced briefly at the notes on the mirror wall. An unobtrusive glance was not enough to find the right rune in the crowd of runes. She turned around and studied the mirror openly. "Is it this rune here? Purification?" Selvara cautiously fluttered closer and gently tapped the artifact with her foot. When the wooden staff rolled harmlessly away a bit, she landed and picked it up. "Aquamarine and a rune of purification. What exactly does this thing do?" Malvorik let a dirty shirt with numerous tears appear. "Where did you get that from? Stole it from the ground after a battle?" Selvara had to place the artifact, which was far too large for her, over a bent knee and bend a little to align everything correctly. Then she placed her hand on the rune. She felt a pull on her magic. It took no effort for her to let her magic flow. A bluish light shone from the semi-precious stone onto the shirt. The dark stains of earth and blood became lighter after a while. Then they disappeared completely. "Nice. That hardly used any mana. Maybe just as much as a level 1 spell. Isn''t there a level 1 spell that can do that much faster?" "That contains mythril? Can''t you create whole bars of gold? That would certainly be easier." Skorr looked at the many wooden constructions, rope bridges, swings, and the big sandy area for building sandcastles. He shook his head sadly. ¡°Don¡¯t think that would help.¡± The duskgnome hesitated, then slowly nodded: ¡°They had a pet lizard¡­¡± Malvorik switched his view to Weylan, who had just entered the dungeon through the portal. He set down a basket of venomous snakes in the dismantling room near the entrance. Malvorik had noticed that the patterns he obtained when absorbing material or animals were better when done inside or near his heart room. After consulting Selvara, she mentioned specialized rooms for absorption could have a similar effect. Through trial and error, he found the right size, form, and enhancement runes for the walls, floor, and ceiling of the three-by-three step room. The snakes turned into glowing particles when Weylan placed them on a marked circle in the center. They were now in a half-absorbed state in his spatial storage. He could make them reappear on a similar circle or directly use them in a chimera project. He had planned for more monsters with poison attacks. He stretched and bowed deeply: ¡°Of course, mighty master of the dungeon. Your every wish is my command!¡± ¡°What do you need this time? An ox?¡± Weylan dropped his act: ¡°Children? What should I get them? A cat?¡± ¡°What are¡­ no, don¡¯t tell me. I¡¯ll look at your new monsters later. You plan to give a chimera dungeon monster as a pet to children?¡± ¡°Define safer¡­ no wait¡­ Don¡¯t. Let me think.¡± He pondered for a moment, then smiled: ¡°A rat/cat would probably hunt and eat its own tail. A cat/dog monster would¡­ I don¡¯t know. Hunt itself?¡± Weylan considered: ¡°That might work, but you¡¯d have to shrink it. Sheep are too big to cuddle.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll buy a sheep at the market and can probably get a small kitten.¡± * * * Malvorik remembered to consult Selvara first, which turned out well. He had forgotten to remove the sharp claws. Under Selvara¡¯s watchful eye, his new creature took shape on his viewing mirror: ¡°Smaller¡­ smaller¡­ yes, the size of a housecat. Just rounder, with fluffy white fur. Use cat paws instead of hooves. But remove the claws. Make it an herbivore. Keep the cat ears and the purring sound. Good.¡± The dungeon heart implemented all suggestions, then reviewed the design: ¡°Malvorik!¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know why that works, but it vastly increases the number of unique designs you can use. Each monster created this way uses fresh animals and more time and mana than spawning regular dungeon monsters. That¡¯s probably why there¡¯s no safeguard against it. I think a famous beast tamer dungeon used a similar method successfully. But he had access to a whole jungle full of beasts next to his entrance.¡± The chimera formed on the transmutation circle, small, fluffy, and purring immediately, rubbing against Selvara. The dungeon fairy almost vanished in its white wool. Chapter 57: Weylan Weylan wearily dragged himself through the last few meters of the overgrown labyrinth. The ground beneath his feet sounded hollow, but so faintly that he noticed it only because he knew one of the pitfalls was there. He was relieved that the dungeon favored him, having disabled most of the traps. For all he knew, one of the stranglers lurked below, moving a solid metal bolt. He counted off ten steps, reached through the climbing plants on the left-hand wall of the corridor, and, after feeling around a little, found a hollow with a round handle. He grabbed it and turned it clockwise. Behind the curtain of creepers, the secret door to the gnome city opened. He pushed his way through the plants and entered. He paused. Normally, he would have expected to see the large, light-filled dome where the city lay. Instead, a dark tunnel stretched before him, widening after about ten steps. He walked forward. The next section was brightly lit by crystals embedded in the ceiling. The floor was covered with square tiles in different colors and at uneven heights. Cuboids protruded from the walls and ceilings at varying levels, as if a child had sloppily assembled the corridor from loose wooden blocks, only to then spill paint across the floor in a chaotic array. Weylan bent down to examine the floor. He nodded with satisfaction when he spotted a fine wire stretched across the aisle. A trap. Weylan fell backward onto his butt and made a squeaking noise. "What have you done? Do I now have to navigate a corridor full of traps just to enter the city?" Weylan turned to leave but paused when the dungeon heart quickly added, "And why would I want to do that?" Weylan looked down the hallway and sighed, "How dangerous is this? On a scale of one being completely harmless and ten being certain death?" Weylan considered it. Not immediately fatal sounded manageable. He had never encountered traps before, but that could change when he was out and about in the city. His lessons as an assassin would surely include trap-handling. Having some safe training beforehand could be useful. Reluctantly, he nodded. "All right." He leaned over the taut wire and touched one of the tiles. He pressed on one side, then carefully on the other, and finally firmly from above. As far as he could tell, it didn''t move. He straightened up and cautiously stepped over the wire onto the tile. It held his full weight. He paused, uncertain what to do next. The tile was light blue. Did that mean all light blue tiles were safe? The next one was within easy reach. He lifted his second foot over the wire and balanced it carefully toward his destination. He shifted his weight lightly onto it... Zack! Something moved and he jerked his foot back reflexively. A projectile sliced through the space where his foot had just been and smashed into the wall. A crossbow bolt fell to the floor. "That''s supposed to be a two? That thing could have torn my leg off." "You call that light?" He took a deep breath. "I see. Of course, traps don''t throw balls of wool." He examined the corridor. The tile was the same color as the one he was standing on but stuck out higher. He chose one that was lower than the surrounding ones. His foot pressed carefully on the tile. Then he shifted more of his weight onto it. Then he moved all the way over. Using the same tactic, he got about halfway down the corridor. He could already see a room on the other side, in the middle of which stood a treasure chest on a raised two-tiered platform. "Malvorik? I haven''t received a single message about skill improvements. I''m still at the starting level; it should have leveled up at least once. I''ll soon be through the passage." "What happens if you break the alliance for a moment?" Alarm! Intruder! Due to previous membership of the sanctuary, the enemy status is restricted to the current sector. After leaving current sector, a change of status will be possible again. Construction work in the "Trap training" sector is blocked. Communication ability will persist for a maximum of 24 hours if membership status is not renewed. "Did you see that too?" Weylan shrugged. "It wasn''t that hard to get here. I''ll just go back." He turned and placed his foot on the tile he had just come from. Click! The tile sank a little. At the entrance to the trapdoor, a portcullis crashed down from the ceiling with a thunderous crash. Stones moved on the walls all around. Openings for crossbow traps became visible. Stones fell from above or swung through the passage on chains. Weylan turned his head wildly and crouched, ready to jump, but nothing moved in his immediate vicinity. Then the corridor was silent again. Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website. "Couldn''t you have mentioned that earlier?" "What exactly happened?" "That''s great. Which tiles are safe now?" <...> The dungeon heart was silent. "Malvorik... You do remember what you built here, don''t you?" "Yes?" A few heartbeats passed, then the tiny door in the heart room was pushed open and the dungeon fairy flew in with whirring wings: "What''s going on? Why do we have intruders without any prior warning?" The dungeon heart briefly and precisely described the events of the last few minutes. Selvara slapped her hand in front of her face and bowed her head. "Malvorik... You are a dungeon heart. You can''t give intruders tips on how to get through the dungeon." "This is one of Golgoroth''s laws. Dungeon hearts may not help anyone to defeat or cross their dungeon. This is to prevent unfair power leveling of allies and suicidal behavior." "That''s very much at the bottom of the training schedule because no dungeon heart would normally even consider doing something like that." Selvara thought for a moment and then shrugged. "I''m subject to the same restrictions, as are your dungeon monsters and all designated allies. You¡¯re lucky he can still hear you at all. You shouldn¡¯t be able to talk to intruders. There''s probably some exception preventing an ongoing conversation from stopping. Weylan has to cross the restricted area, then you can renew the alliance. There''s no other option. What exactly did you put in there for traps?" For Weylan, the conversation stopped as soon as it came to information he didn''t yet know. He sighed and looked around. He had heard enough to understand the problem. He was on his own. He could now return to the tile from which he had set off on his way back. But was it really still safe? He got down on his knees and examined the floor. Sure enough, the tile was now slightly higher than the surrounding ones. A clear indication that it was now a trap. He again chose the lowest tile he could find within reach and carefully applied pressure with his foot. Satisfied with the lack of reaction, he stepped over to it. He remembered that a piece of the wall had moved downwards on both sides just behind it. He concentrated. Something had moved at the same time. But he had the impression that it had been no more than a brief movement at that point. If Malvorik had brought a tripwire into the corridor, it was likely not very far down. When he checked the right height, he found it straight away. Across the aisle at the level of his neck. He chose the next step and bent down under the wire. Stone blocks had fallen from the ceiling. The exactly matching tiles underneath had sunk into the floor. He could see scratches and chipped edges on the surrounding stones. The system seemed not yet fully perfected. The wires running from floor to ceiling were also easy to find if you knew where to look for them. He squeezed through sideways. In the meantime, he had recognized a system in the floor tiles. In every second row, there was a tile slightly deeper than the others in the row. That one was safe. As for the others, he didn''t know, but presumably not all of them were dangerous. He paused as he looked for a safe tile in the next row. The pattern of height changes was different from the previous area. He looked at the tile patterns behind him. He had not been mistaken. His heartbeat accelerated. A cold drop of sweat ran down his cheek from his forehead. Absently, he brushed it away with one finger. His hand was shaking. He couldn''t find a system. The tiles were laid in a regularly alternating pattern of high and low. The color changes had no discernible system. While he was still looking around, he noticed wires running from top to bottom. Only a narrow area was free between them. He looked at the wires, then at the ceiling. Deep cuts were visible above him. If he cut the wires, he could expect falling stone blocks or worse. His mind raced. If the dungeon was fair, then he could avoid the wires as he stepped to a safe tile. He lifted his foot... and hesitated. This was too easy. Sideways between the two wires, only one tile was really easy to reach. Better one to the left or right of it... No. He lowered his head again and looked around. If he went back one row, the safe tile was almost to the left of the wall. He could jump past the wires on the left. A target tile presented itself. There was no opportunity for that on the other side of the aisle. So... His legs trembled only briefly, then he took a big step, turned back... and jumped. The tile he landed on didn''t move. He was safe. A sound caught his attention. Regular, metallic, soft... A click... A mechanism. Right under his foot. He leapt forward without paying attention to any more wires or the tile pattern. Behind him, the floor lowered, and the crossbow traps on the walls fired in volleys. He briefly considered stopping and throwing himself to the ground, but some crossbow traps were right at floor level. He saw no alternative. He accelerated. Wires cut into his skin before they gave way. Crossbow bolts streaked through his hair behind him, one grazed his leg. Something large swung at him from the ceiling. He threw himself sideways to the ground and rolled across the aisle under three axes hurtling parallel towards him. A thought flashed through his mind as he struggled to stay the course down the corridor. It was too easy. He had triggered several traps, but he wasn''t dead yet. Malvorik always tended to strike from a blind spot. He thought he was clever. But he was predictable. The best way to avoid the axes was to go under them. So, the next trap would be... He used the rest of his momentum to get back on his feet. Three rows of squares folded down in front of him, revealing a view down into a pit. Reflexively, he jumped off. As he flew, he saw metal spikes glittering deep down in the pit. He landed on his feet and threw his upper body backward to compensate for the momentum. Swaying, he thought he could stand still, but then he leaned. He had too much momentum. Involuntarily, he pushed one foot forward. He squeezed his eyes shut and waited for the last click he would ever hear. He opened his eyes. Looked down. Both legs stood on light green squares in rows one behind the other. Without leaving the tiles, he turned around and looked down into the pit once more. He swallowed. Then he nodded. "Short metal spikes, no spears or long knives. Survivable..." He paused for a moment, then continued louder, "But a four-step drop to a stone floor. That''s at least a four!" <...> Weylan sensed just a hint of an answer. He nodded. "You can''t say anything. I get it. I''m sure Selvara is just as bound as a dungeon fairy. Well, I''ll get on with it then." He pulled his foot back, made sure he was stable on a single square, and looked around. Behind him was the pit. In front of him lay another ten-step journey to the room with the treasure chest. He carefully moved his upper body back and forth and noticed a slight glimmer in the air. A net of trap wires. He was taken aback. If he didn''t jump through it with a flying roll, he would have to cut one of the wires. He would have to stretch his arms perfectly forward and need enough momentum to get his legs through. Impossible without a running start. Even with that, he didn''t trust himself to do it without a few attempts. But there were no test runs here. He tapped his foot on the floor. Then he wiped another bead of sweat from his forehead. With effort, he calmed his breathing. Don''t panic. There had to be a way. Dungeons were not supposed to contain insurmountable obstacles. At least that was what Selvara always claimed. She had never answered clearly whether traps had to be surmountable for a group of experienced revenants or for a single shepherd. Since revenants had several lives, a certain number of casualties was perfectly acceptable. Chapter 58: Weylan (continued) Weylan breathed in deeply... and out. In... and out. Good. His teacher Jago had told him he tended to breathe too little under stress. This reduced his performance. He examined the surroundings again. The next row of squares had a safe square. He had already tested that. The square he was standing on was also safe. Were all the light green squares safe? He didn''t know. He looked at the pattern. Would he get through if they were safe? Maybe he would. Yes. He could imagine a way. Zig-zag jump to there... Push off against the wall at that point... Then double-jump into the room. Preferably high up, there was almost certainly a tripwire on the floor. The room had a smooth, seamless floor. The task for the room was surely to open the chest. After staring at the floor for a while, something would probably come from above. Maybe some of the stranglers. But that was still a distant problem. He had to get through the net of wires. He could extend his sword staff and cut through it. Weylan struggled to stop himself from slapping himself for having completely forgotten about his magic weapon. An extendable staff would have been extremely useful. Don¡¯t get distracted, he told himself. He had to trigger the pitfall, there was no recognizable way around it. The tips were very short. Decoration? Or did Malvorik just want to make the trap less lethal? Heroes in the stories always had ropes, throwing hooks, long poles and in Bags of Holding often even long wooden planks with them to overcome pitfalls and similar obstacles. He drew his short sword and extended the handle. As he bent down, he was able to reach one of the metal tips with the fully extended pole of the sword staff. He pressed on it. It sank into the ground, practically without resistance. He heard something behind him and bent down even lower before turning around. However, there was no danger. Only a few stones on the wall were being pulled upwards. The net of wires tightened on the ceiling and cleared the way. As soon as he took the bar away, the metal tip went up again via a spring or something similar and the net was lowered. Too fast to get through. He took off his backpack, attached it to the short crossbars of the sword and lowered it onto the tips until his weight released one. With some back and forth, he got the short sword loose and retracted the hilt to about a step and a half. Enough to serve as a spear weapon, but short enough not to hinder him too much. The net was up again until he turned around. This time it stayed there. "The backpack contains the dried herbs you wanted. How you get them out of there now is your problem. I expect the backpack back before I go back up." <...> "Put a few gold coins or something in there. After all this stress, I deserve a reward." After one last look in all directions, he jumped from one bright green tile to the next. He stooped low under the net. At the exit, he noticed a trap wire at chest height at the last moment. He barely managed to duck and get past it. Then he stood in the room with the chest. A square room with seamless gray granite walls, ceiling, and floor. Behind him was the entrance through which he had come. There was a large iron door on the right-hand wall. He looked at it more closely. Instead of a continuous surface, it seemed to have been made from hundreds of rectangles. He knew that Malvorik could easily create complex objects from a single piece. Had he tried to copy the look of the corridor, with its walls of slightly offset stone blocks and the irregularly laid stone tiles? He went through the rest of the dungeon in his mind. No. The dungeon heart had no particularly artistic aspirations when it came to interior design or architecture. Malvorik always had purely practical reasons for protrusions and shapes. Otherwise, he preferred clear geometric shapes. The surface of the door had to mean something. In the middle, the door still had a round raised section more than the size of a hand with a large keyhole in the center. The lack of a door handle made it clear that he could not simply open the door. In the middle of the room, three steps rose up to a platform with a wooden chest with iron fittings. He walked around the pedestal. Poked with his sword staff. Knocked. Pressed on the crate from below. It did not move. Neither did the floor or the steps. He walked to the nearest wall and circled the room, looking for irregularities. Nothing. The key for the door was safely in the chest so he couldn¡¯t just ignore it. Ready to jump away at any moment, he stepped onto the first step... Nothing. He went to the second step... No reaction. He bent over the crate. Actually, he had thought that Malvorik had learned enough wood samples by now to avoid that hideous patchwork carpet style. A wild jumble of rectangular pieces of wood. But no visible lock. No inlays or metal fittings. No keyhole. No hinges. He looked up at the exit. The pattern of the metal resembled that of the chest, but the chest formed a seamless smooth rectangle, while the metal pieces of the door jutted out in all directions. He looked at the chest. The height-to-width ratio of the top of the chest was similar to that of the door. He measured the chest with hand widths. Then the door. The proportions were exactly the same, except that the door was larger. The rectangles of the door were also larger. He paused and then counted. It took a while, then he gave up and just guessed. Both probably had the same number of rectangles. He compared the two patterns. The rectangles on the door were arranged differently. He had to... It took him a while to find the right place on the chest, then he pressed on one of the rectangles on the edge. Nothing happened. He pressed his finger against it and pushed. The rectangle could be moved outwards a little. From the side, you could now see the joint and groove on which the piece of wood was supported. He grinned, compared the pattern on the door with the chest and continued to move the pieces of wood against each other until they formed the pattern on the door. With the last piece of wood that clicked into place, a free round cylinder slid up from the center. Now all he had to do was push the cylinder down. Or pull it upwards? Turn? He walked around the chest. There were no clues. He had to approach this differently. What would be the biggest surprise effect... Would the whole chest and pedestal fall down? No. Too obvious. But he would prepare himself to jump down. Just in case. Something would happen when he opened the chest. He climbed onto the chest and stepped onto the cylinder. He sank down slightly. There was a click. All four sides of the chest folded down and a swarm of fireballs was fired in all directions. Explosions thundered so close together that it sounded like a single, drawn-out hiss. Glowing shards of granite flew across the room. Weylan crouched down and held his arms protectively in front of his face. He felt a few light impacts. Then it was quiet again. Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more. He straightened up and looked at his injured arms. Small splinters and scratches everywhere. His clothes had also taken a beating. But he had no serious injuries. He climbed down from the chest and looked into the open side. In addition to some stone blocks covered in runes, with round projection runes pointing in all directions, there was an open area in the middle. A large key lay on a velvet cushion. Next to it was a vial. He carefully pushed the cushion out to the other side with the sword staff and was pleased to hear the soft hiss as several blowgun darts passed through the area. If he had just grabbed the key, at least one of them would have hit him. The vial was neatly engraved with ¡°Healing Potion¡±. He took the key and went to the gate. Standing next to the gate, he inserted it into the lock with his arm stretched out to the side. It fitted perfectly. Weylan put it in all the way and immediately jumped back. He looked around... Nothing. Carefully testing every step, he went back to the door and turned the key. Something clicked in the gate. Weylan somersaulted backwards, followed by a series of flick-flicks. His short sword drawn, he whirled around, looking in all directions for enemies or traps. Nothing. The metal gate opened. Pact offer: Malvorik offers you the opportunity to seek permanent refuge in his sphere of influence. In return, he demands that you swear not to deliberately harm him and to keep his secrets. Accept Yes/ No? Weylan¡¯s legs trembled as the tension eased. He lowered himself down and accepted the pact. Now he was safe again. The short sword fell to the stone floor with a clatter. Dungeon obstacle course passed. Skill increases were suppressed for the duration of the challenge. Display increases now? The assassin let himself slide backwards and lay flat on his back as he looked up at the ceiling and accepted the offer. Skill learned: Trap Lore (Layman I) Skill increased: Trap Lore (Layman II) Skill increased: Trap Lore (Layman III) ... Skill increased: Trap Lore (Apprentice VII) Skill increased: Acrobatic evasion (Layman V) Weylan straightened up and looked doubtfully at the destruction the impacts had caused in the room. ¡°I¡¯m relying on your superior knowledge of magic and human anatomy. Leaving a healing potion there was a nice gesture.¡± Weylan stood up and went to the crate. He leaned into a side opening. ¡°There¡¯s nothing there.¡± ¡°I see...¡± He felt around in the chest and suddenly felt something soft. Screeching, he pulled his hand back. He looked around quickly. A slight blush rose to his face. He looked in the chest again. But there was nothing there. He felt carefully again. His fingers came across a piece of... cold skin... soft leather? Two separate pieces. Invisible, but felt like leather. Extensive feeling around showed him that it was a pair of gloves. ¡°Invisible gloves? Really?¡± ¡°What can they do?¡± ¡°They don¡¯t react to mechanical traps?¡± Weylan put on his gloves and moved his hands. There was absolutely nothing to see. ¡°You mean the mana control that almost killed me to learn?¡± The dungeon heart ignored the allusion. ¡°Quite good. I¡¯m getting better at moving shadows.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know any spells at all. And what is mana infusion?¡± ¡°Let me think... Pain... Pain... By the way, you can use a complex technique based on the infusion of affine mana into similarly affine objects... Pain...¡± He waved his hand vaguely: ¡°Yes, I think I remember now.¡± ¡°Maybe...¡± ¡°Where can I get one of these?¡± Weylan¡¯s shoulders slumped in disappointment. Then he lifted his head and his eyes flashed: ¡°Wait a minute...¡± ¡°Wait... They can locate my dagger?¡± ¡°You wouldn¡¯t happen to have...¡± Weylan concentrated on the gloves. Then on his magic. He focused his will on the shadow he was casting. The shadow grew darker and longer. Nothing happened. ¡°I¡¯m trying.¡± His mind shifted and twisted. He groped around in the dark until he found something. Then something flowed through his body. He winced, expecting the pain he had suffered when he opened his mana channels. Something pulled, like leg muscles after a long hike. Or his hands after shearing sheep. Then he felt a connection with the glove. His hands began to vibrate rapidly. He pulled back the magic and raised his eyebrows, ¡°I can make them vibrate. Is that all?¡± A few heartbeats passed before he was able to channel his magic into his feet. Then he felt the assassin¡¯s shoes. His heart stopped beating. He paused and placed his hand on the vein in his neck. The pulse could still be felt. He whistled through his teeth. No sound rang out. He said a few words, but nothing was heard. Grinning, he withdrew the mana connection again. ¡°Wow. I can control the silence spell.¡± Weylan did not listen and drew his shadow dagger. The hilt and the rusty blade lost all color and became the darkest of shadows. He held the blade before his eyes. A dagger-shaped hole in the world. He channeled mana into it and felt... a connection. He held the dagger in his hand and... also held it in another way. He took his hand away. The dagger wavered, but continued to float. Black mist of shadows rose in thin lines from the dagger. ¡°It¡¯s smoking!¡± The dagger moved slowly and haltingly. Skill increased: Mana control (Layman IV) ¡°I¡¯ve even increased mana control!¡± ¡°Layman IV.¡± The dungeon heart fell silent. Weylan looked up, ¡°What?¡± ¡°I could do nothing except pushing shadows around to practice mana control.¡± Weylan had a few ideas, starting with a cozy dinner with Trulda. But this could save his life in the near future. He sighed: ¡°No. Not really.¡± Chapter 59: OrkSlayer OrcSlayer was annoyed. Stuck at level 8, he faced constant interruptions that kept him from progressing. The Brotherhood had launched a multitude of schemes¡ªNPC sweatshops, extortions, a ring of thieves, bands of robbers¡ªeach insulated from the main organization by layers of middlemen and secrecy. Breaches of security occurred daily, often demanding his personal intervention. Many underestimated the stealth abilities of a dark paladin, expecting a knife in the dark but never an armored knight silently emerging from the shadows, a longsword in hand. Today, OrcSlayer had planned to delve into the Mine of Meklang dungeon, but an alarming message had been sent from the city archive. His informant there had informed him that heroes were attempting to locate the farmer Luthgar the blind, the former owner of one of their biggest production areas. As if they had any chance. There was no central register and Luthgar wasn''t a serf; he could leave his lands as he pleased. The city of Mulnirsheim didn¡¯t record those entering and exiting the gates. What did these idiots think they would find? Still, with a quest involved, there had to be a way for them to solve it. Dutifully, OrcSlayer sent one of his thieves to investigate and report back. Just as he was starting his second ale, Nosy the thief returned. He sat down opposite OrcSlayer, casting a longing glance at his beer. OrcSlayer signaled the wench to bring another. Nosy impressed him by not scanning the terrace suspiciously; OrcSlayer was certain the thief had checked the area from the shadows before entering. After some small talk, Nosy began his report once the wench left: "It''s a team of three heroes¡ªa thief, a warrior, and a master of the dark arts." OrcSlayer blinked. "A what?" "I made some inquiries at the Mage Guild and our informant at the Adventurers'' Guild. Apparently, someone convinced the AI to accept a new mage class. The mages aren''t impressed. It seems more like pun magic with the word ¡®dark¡¯ slapped in front of random esoteric disciplines. Dark ayurveda, dark chiropractic, dark aromatherapy... Rubbish." "I wouldn¡¯t dismiss new arts. I once knew a necromancer who invented the art of dark calligraphy. His talisman traps and curses were vicious." "Noted. I¡¯ll keep tabs on this ¡®master of the dark arts,¡¯ though he seems like a do-gooder type, not suitable for our Brotherhood." "What about their inquiry?" "There was a report about Luthgar missing his yearly tax assessment appointment. We left that, figuring it would only create new traces if we removed it. It¡¯s believable enough that he forgot to cancel after selling his lands." "They have a quest, so there must be a way for them to find something out. The AI usually creates three different hints for every quest." "We found an old friend of his he met just before our sales date. That could have been a lead, but fortunately, he got a message from his daughter needing help with a leaky roof that none of the local craftsmen seem able to fix. He¡¯ll be gone for at least two weeks, considering travel time. They''ll have lost interest by then." OrcSlayer chuckled. "The only real lead would be if they''d find Luthgar himself. Which would be quite surprising, considering he''s buried three foot deep in the woods. For now, let¡¯s see if they find any more hints. If they get too close, we¡¯ll deal with them then. For now, focus on gathering more intel. Keep track of this master of the dark arts. Inform me if he invents anything we could use or if there are signs that he is not so innocent as he seems." * * * Two days later OrcSlayer met his informant again. This time Nosy ordered his own ale and had a constant smug smile. OrcSlayer relaxed. That had to be a good sign. ¡°So, you asked for a short meeting to make a report?¡± ¡°Yes. The quest has been abandoned. Those three were quite persistent for players, but after two days of searching archives, old ledgers and interviewing dozens of NPCs with no measurable result, they gave up.¡± If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. ¡°Excellent. Theres always the danger of a player finding fun in detective games, but compared to combat, dungeon delving or just plain exploring this awesome fantasy world, it¡¯s just too boring for any sane player. That seems to be the last problem to solve for the moment. I¡¯ll gather my team and head for the Meklang dungeon.¡± * * * Back in the warehouse, he was greeted by an excited office worker: ¡°Mister OrcSlayer, I have to protest!¡± He rolled his eyes in annoyance. ¡°What is it now, Jared?¡± ¡°Your team member has not filled out any of the necessary requisition forms and just took a whole bale of wool for himself.¡± ¡°What are you talking about?¡± ¡°Mister Umblai. He saw us unloading the new shipment and just took a bale of wool from iron-sheep. That¡¯s very expensive and we need it for the new three-layer-coats.¡± ¡°How is the project coming on?¡± ¡°Not good. We still need to powerlevel a seamstress. Our last prototypes looked pretty obviously armored. We need someone with master level skills to make the layers inside the leather coats unnoticeable. But back to your teammate, we can¡¯t make the last five prototypes we planned, because he took our wool!¡± ¡°Whatever does he need iron-wool? Is his cushion to soft? I¡¯ll talk to him.¡± OrcSlayer shook his head and went over to the other end of the warehouse. The air inside was thick with the scent of old wood and mildew, dust motes dancing lazily in the shafts of pale light that seeped through cracks in the wooden walls. Wooden beams overhead creaked occasionally. There, between rows of crates, in an area that was widely avoided by workers, he found the hulking troll with his broad shoulders and weathered face, sitting on the floor in the dimly lit corner of the dusty warehouse. His night vision capable troll eyes reflected the sparse light. His mottled skin sprouted patches of moss and lichens from his back. His small eyes, squinted as he worked with a pair of giant knitting needles. These were bent out of metal pipes and clinked softly as he manipulated them with surprising dexterity, despite his thick, calloused fingers. Before him, on a makeshift table formed from a couple of empty crates, rested a mound of iron-sheep wool. It gleamed with a metallic sheen, silvery and heavy and was spun into thick, resilient yarn. Iron-sheep could only be found in the upper levels of the Meklang dungeon. They grazed on ore-rich grey grass that covered the floor of the giant dungeon cavern. Their fleece was a magical blend of wool and iron. Rust- and fireproof, which every revenant tried to test when seeing the stuff for the first time. NPCs tended to react with incomprehension when they saw players casting tiny lightning spells or touching steel wool with torches. As one had told OrcSlayer: ¡°Of course it doesn¡¯t burn, it¡¯s iron. Duh!¡± He¡¯d beaten the shit right out of the loudmouth. He watched the troll, fascinated. The knitting itself seemed to be no small feat. The iron-wool yarn resisted his efforts, each stitch a minor battle against its stiffness. The metallic clink of the needles and the rough scrape of the yarn provided a rhythmic counterpoint to the ambient creaks and groans of the warehouse. Umblai''s craggy face was set in an expression of intense concentration, his small, beady eyes narrowed as he focused on each stitch. Occasionally, he emitted a low grunt, the sound reverberating off the stone walls. Umblai paused to survey his progress, his eyes reflecting a sense of quiet satisfaction. The harshness of his features softened, seeming to reveal a hidden appreciation for the craft. ¡°Hi Umblai, what¡­¡± The troll flinched in surprise and dropped a stitch. He looked up, a low growl coming deep out from his muscled breast. OrcSlayer took a step back: ¡°Woah! I didn¡¯t want to disturb you.¡± The troll looked back down and fished around with his needles for the lost stitch. After some deft movements, he finished his work and dropped the pipes ceaselessly to the floor. The loud clanging echoed throughout the warehouse. Umblai proudly lifted up a grey monstrosity of a garment. ¡°What in the name of all the gods is that?¡± OrcSlayer wasn¡¯t sure if it was meant to be a two human tent, a giant bag to trap enemies within or some kind of garment. ¡°Over head pull thing.¡± Umblai seemed proud of his work, so OrcSlayer decided not to make fun of it. He looked at the mass of wool, then it clicked: ¡°It¡¯s a pullover!¡± ¡°Umblai said.¡± ¡°Didn¡¯t we give you a chainmail vest?¡± ¡°Chain thingy not good. Can¡¯t move in. Umblai not like.¡± OrcSlayer looked at the rough surface of the pullover. He looked up at the now standing troll and after he nodded, touched the pullover. It felt even rougher and scratchier than it looked. You could use it to sand varnish off a wooden door or clean rust from weapons. Considering the thick stone like skin of the troll, he probably didn¡¯t mind. Umblai¡¯s eyes unfocused and his lips moved silently. ¡°Did you get a notification?¡± ¡°Umblai now knitting skill journeyman I.¡± OrcSlayer looked at him shocked: ¡°You¡¯re a Journeyman knitter?¡± ¡°Voice much likes Umblai¡¯s over head pull thingy.¡± He watched the troll put on the pullover. It was vast, even by troll standards, designed to accommodate his broad chest and powerful shoulders. He slipped one arm into the sleeve, then the other. The wool expanded and contracted to fit snugly without restricting his movement. The neckline stretched slightly as he pulled it over his head, the fabric yielding just enough. Umblai tugged it down over his torso, the hem brushing against his knees. The thing was thicker than OrcSlayer¡¯s fist and seemed not to hinder the troll¡¯s movement. ¡°Care to join me on a dungeon run?¡± ¡°Umblai not like running.¡± ¡°I mean, fighting monsters inside the Meklang dungeon.¡± The troll¡¯s eyes lit up: ¡°Umblai smash!¡± Chapter 60: Selvara The dungeon fairy banged on the door leading from her room to the heart room from the inside with her fist: "Come on, Malvorik! I''ve been waiting for hours. I know you''ve been planning something with the construction menu for days. You can''t possibly still not be finished." "Besides, you are also a mage and I am a mage familiar. I''m afraid I share your impatience." She nodded seriously. "You would undoubtedly go mad. After about two days at the latest." She raised an eyebrow. Selvara tore open the door and flew in. Her slow flight was massively accelerated without her doing anything. The course steered her in a curve directly towards the dungeon heart. She braked herself with both arms to avoid hitting her face against the crystal. The rest of her body was less fortunate. "What''s going on here?" "There''s an air current here... or... something..." She looked around. Something was pushing her against the crystal from behind. Wind was something dungeon faeries weren''t used to. Her own globule was almost completely windless and so were dungeons, with rare exceptions. Now that she was aware of it, she could brace herself against the force. It wasn''t a physical wind. More of a... "Malvorik! Why is there a mana current in the room! I use magic to fly." Selvara stumbled, then closed her eyes, using her unique connection as a familiar to utilize the dungeon''s senses and abilities. She felt him shift his angle of vision right into her field of vision to prevent her from getting dizzy like the last time she tried. She could also see mana streams herself, but nowhere near as accurately as a dungeon heart. The room was full of mana, as you would expect from a heart room. Only... There was more. Much more than should be here. Disturbances in the mana field of a dungeon could have various causes. None of them were good. Most of them were catastrophic. Was an eruption of the mana line imminent? Had the dungeon heart tried to tap directly into the mana stream? She hurried to the crystal and felt its surface. Were cracks already forming? It was cool, as it should be. The mana flow... That was wrong. Mana should be flowing from the line of force and increasing the surrounding mana concentration. The Dungeon Heart then slowly drew mana into itself. The mana node Malvorik had placed himself on increased the effect. But the principle had been the same so far. There was a vortex here. All the mana that flowed out of the mana node was drawn back in a spiral and absorbed by the dungeon heart. She looked around frantically. Malvorik hadn''t touched the mana stream itself, otherwise it would have burned up long ago. Why did the mana smell so... mineral? "Malvorik..." "What exactly did you do?" She looked around. For the first time, she also paid attention to the room itself. The mirrored walls and the archway of the entrance were still there. As always, the heart stone hovered in the middle of the room. This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. What was different? She found silver lines inlaid in the floor, parallel to the walls. Two lines, with runes and various symbols in between. On the ceiling, the same thing was mirrored. "It''s not just decoration, is it?" Selvara opened her mouth, but Malvorik immediately continued: The dungeon fairy gasped. He had discussed it with a moderator? An emissary of the gods? Again? She was doomed. It couldn''t be long now before an avatar of Golgoroth appeared and charged her with breaking dungeon etiquette. She was dead. Malvorik was dead. Her thoughts took on a panicked spiral until she realized Malvorik was blithely continuing, He had found an exploit? The gods would wipe out the entire city and throw the souls of its inhabitants into the sea of oblivion. The dungeon heart fell silent and turned its full attention to its companion. "Wait... Did you just say a moderator approved your actions?" "One what?" "Dungeons are already protected from most clairvoyance spells by Golgoroth''s will. It would also be ridiculous if heroes could scout a dungeon with clairvoyance and then simply march through it." "And..." "The zone doesn''t let magic out? So, the mana field is getting stronger? Isn''t that dangerous?" "How does this affect your mana regeneration?" A mental laughter shook the entire dungeon. It grew louder and deeper. The duskgnomes in the dungeon looked around in irritation. The dungeon monsters stopped and began to smile in their own way. They sensed their master''s satisfaction. "What did you do with the extra magic? I sense you''ve done something. Speak!" He waited for a protest or an exclamation of horror. He didn''t know what exactly was wrong with it, but most of the time when he did something without consulting Selvara, it turned out to be a mistake. Not that that stopped him from trying again and again. Selvara looked up at the dungeon crystal and nodded: "Good idea. A few monsters with their own personality were long overdue. What happened to your Primus, anyway?" "Your first dungeon monster. The one who defeated the first Sewer Guild invaders. Don¡¯t tell me you forgot about him and parked him somewhere in a corner of the dungeon!" The dungeon heart lit up mockingly: "Glen?" "Combat training? It''s a wonder Weylan still dares to enter the dungeon. After you almost killed him just now. Again." Selvara just rolled her eyes. "The stranglers tested your chest. The funny surprise trap at the end tore exactly three of the three stranglers in the room to pieces. If our assassin hadn''t stood on the chest out of sheer paranoia..." Selvara sensed the emotional vibrations that she had come to associate with the fact that Malvorik was implementing what he saw as an ingenious plan. She looked around in panic: "What have you done?" "What... have... you... done!" "A duel... You mean a room where they can kill each other, even though they''re actually allies?" Selvara flew to the exit: "Where to?" Chapter 61: Weylan The assassin ran into the wall and up it. He used the momentum to push himself off in a high arc and fly over his pursuer. He came up behind him and immediately struck with his sword staff. The short-legged creature whirled around surprisingly quickly and parried with an iron-shod quarterstaff. Sparks flew. Glen swung the quarterstaff in a circle and whirled it towards Weylan''s feet. He jumped over it and thrust at the dungeon monster with the end of the sword staff. It barely dodged. Further blows were exchanged and parried. A short swing of the quarterstaff hit Weylan, who was unable to jump away in time. With an audible crack, his ankle broke and Weylan was pulled off his feet. The strangler ran towards him with his short strides. Weylan slapped the ground with the flat of his hand to signal his surrender and Glen slowed down. The dungeon monster jumped on the spot and raised one hand with two fingers splayed and one with one finger. Weylan grinned at this enthusiasm and nodded, "Yeah, you''re right. Two to one for you." The shadow assassin straightened up carefully: "Good strike. I told you, if you hold the staff further in the middle, you''ll have a shorter reach, but you''re so fast that it''s much harder to dodge." Princess Ulmenglanz, who had been sitting on a bench at the edge of the room, slowly raised herself demonstratively and calmly walked over to the injured man: "You don''t seriously expect me to heal you, do you?" "Wasn''t that your job in this training session you came along for?" She sighed, looked up at the ceiling resignedly and placed her hand on his broken ankle. Golden light shone out and the pieces of bone came back together. The wound above it, however, still looked green and blue. "Can¡¯t you do more?" "I could heal you completely. But I don''t waste my magic on nonsense like that. It''ll heal the rest of the way on its own." Weylan struggled to get to his feet with his sword staff and looked at her with wide eyes: "But the pain!" "You have the pain-resistance skill. Healers can sense that. So don''t act like a hurt puppy." Weylan shrugged, stood straighter and bowed slightly. He was clearly too smart by now to upset the group''s healer unnecessarily, "Then thank you for the grace of healing you have granted me in your wisdom, princess." "Are you mocking me?" Weylan looked up and met her gaze with wide eyes: "That would be an insult to your majesty! I would never dare do such a thing." She smacked him on the head, but smiled as she turned and walked back to her bench. There she took a book from her bag and opened it at the bookmark. Glen looked to the other lurking stranglers watching on the benches around the room. They raised their hands with their thumbs up. Weylan raised an eyebrow: "What exactly are your friends trying to say?" Glen made a vague gesture with his impressively muscular shoulders. "Malvorik once told me that in the Cathurian Empire, this gesture meant a gladiator should be handed over to the gods. Usually by sacrificing him.¡± The strangler held his hand in front of his heart in mock dismay. He turned to his fellow monsters, pointed at Weylan and then ran a finger across his throat with a quizzical expression on his face. The dungeon stranglers waved their hands in an exaggeratedly defensive manner. Glen looked at his opponent and shrugged his shoulders. "That reassures me. It wouldn''t be easy for you to beat me either. After all, I''m four levels ahead of you." The strangler held up two fingers. "Only two? The last fight in the dungeon was the battle for the duskgnomes. I only got to know you after that and you were level 2 according to the dungeon heart. How were you able to level up to level 4?" Glen trudged a few steps and pointed to reddish-brown spots on the floor. "You trained alone? Against what?" Glen held his hand close to the ground and let it move back and forth. He made squeaking noises. "Rats?" The strangler nodded and then pointed to the other stranglers watching. "You fought each other? Experience points are only awarded for killed opponents..." The stranglers, unfeeling dungeon monsters with faces that were never meant for expressing complex emotions, looked visibly stricken on the floor. Glen drummed on his chest, pointed to the ceiling and in a circle to the entire room. Then he got down on his knees, which didn''t make him look much smaller, and bowed. Weylan scratched his head thoughtfully for a moment, then he understood: "You sacrifice yourselves for the Dungeon? Your master?" All the monsters nodded eagerly. Weylan patted Glen on the shoulder a little uncertainly: "I''m sorry. I''d love to take you up with me on quests, but..." He didn''t have to finish the sentence. The monsters knew they couldn''t leave the dungeon. "What new feats do you have?" Glen grinned and twirled the staff above his head. His fur flickered and his body blurred. Weylan shrugged: "I can still make out your outline. Chameleon hair is not invisibility. Besides, your staff remains visible. You should hide it behind your body." A hand-sized figure with glowing wings shot in through the archway: "Don''t! You must not kill each other!" The strangler became visible with dark brown fur and obediently lowered his staff. Weylan, who held his staff sword loosely in his hand, only raised an eyebrow: "Hello Selvara. How are you?" She stopped in mid-air and looked back and forth between the two of them. "Hey, I thought you two would be bashing each other''s heads in." Weylan shook his head: "We¡¯re only training fighting techniques. We''ve even taken Ulmenglanz with us in case of accidents." The dryad waved absently without looking up from her book. As long as no one was seriously injured, she wasn''t particularly interested in the fight. She had turned down offers to train with the two of them. Her preferred fighting style was too different from that of the others. Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings. "We did yesterday. He has a long reach, but his arms are slightly in the way due to the length. We''re still working on a suitable technique. Swings are too slow, but a stabbing-based style should work." "He acquired the skill on Layman I this morning. His sensitive sense of smell is not particularly suited to the mixtures you gave me. He sneezed twice into the mixing bowl and spread the stuff all over the table." The lurking strangler jumped up and down excitedly and pointed upwards. "I think he understood what a city is and how the concept of shady characters and crime roughly works." Weylan called up his own status and went through the list of skills he had acquired with his character class. He nodded. From his backpack, which was leaning against the wall at the edge of the room, he pulled out a light crossbow that was already sticking out at the top. "Glen, this here is a crossbow. This up here works like a kind of bow... A bow is a stick that you bend to... Let me just demonstrate." Selvara watched with interest as Weylan taught the monster how to use a crossbow. The dungeon heart created a target out of soft wood and then a few more targets and crossbows as the other stranglers joined in the practice. Even the healer picked up a crossbow and joined in the practice. It quickly turned into a competition. Weylan went from shooter to shooter, correcting the stance and showing how to load the crossbows more effectively. After a few hours, they went to dinner and met up again the next day. After about eight more hours of training, everyone had learned the skill. For the first time in a long time, Weylan took a look at his full status. His father had always taught him not to be reduced to a few numbers. But he wanted to have a comparison to the dungeon monster. Name: Weylan Race: Human Class: Shadow Assassin Level 6 Strength: 12 Dexterity: 15 Constitution: 14 Willpower: 12 Intelligence: 12 Charisma: 10 Advantage: Shadow affinity Affinity for shadow magic, shadows and darkness in general. Advantages when learning and casting shadow magic. Resistance to shadow magic. Increased chance to recognize illusions from shadow magic. Non-magical effects: Bonuses to sneaking and hiding. Bonus to attack and damage rolls when in shadow or complete darkness. Bonus increases when actively using magic to manipulate shadows. Disadvantage: Living in interesting times Increases the probability of non-standard events and quests. Increases the probability of very rare and unique random loot. Easier access to rare or forbidden character classes and abilities. Mana capacity: 30 Mana regeneration: 4/ hour Feats: Shadow Sight * Shadow Manipulation * Magic Talent (shadow magic only) * Skills: Acrobatic dodge (Layman V) Analysis (Layman I) Climbing (Apprentice III) Crossbow (Apprentice V) Dual-handed combat (Layman I) Knives and daggers (Apprentice VI) Mana control (Layman IV) Mind Block (Journeyman I) - Skill feat (Journeyman): Protected sleep (Mind Block remains active even during sleep and unconsciousness.) Picking locks (Layman I) Poison lore (Layman I) Short sword (Apprentice III) Stealth (Apprentice IX) Streetwise (Apprentice I) Sneak attack (Apprentice V) Sword staffs (Apprentice VIII) Teaching (Apprentice I) Trap lore (Apprentice I) Weylan noticed the asterisk behind his feats for the first time. As he concentrated on them, he got an explanation: Automated response to rule request: ¡°*¡± marks feats gained outside of leveling. Feats are typically selected during leveling, but they can also be acquired through extraordinary actions, rare quest rewards or by using feat-crystals. ¡°Hey, wait a moment, why didn¡¯t I get to choose a feat at level one? Everyone else seems to get one!¡± Automated response to rule request: Classes that require a teacher to acquire or level up cannot choose feats without teacher supervision until reaching level 6. His thoughts were interrupted by the dungeon heart. Glowing characters appeared on the wall, while the Dungeon Heart used light spells to make writing appear on the wall. The status of the lurking strangler quickly formed on the wall: Name: Glen Breed: Lurking Strangler Monster class: Chimaera (Strangler/ Chamaeleon) Monster level: 4 Class: Shadow Assassin Level 1 Strength: 14 Dexterity: 16 Constitution: 12 Willpower: 10 Intelligence: 9 Charisma: 8 Mana capacity: 20 Mana regeneration: 1/ hour Feats: Advanced unarmed melee combat Shadow Fur * Shadow Sight * Magic Talent (shadow magic only) * Skills: Climbing (Journeyman II) - Skill feat (Journeyman): Enhanced grip while freeclimbing Crossbow (Layman I) Dodge (Layman I) Knives and daggers (Layman I) Mana control (Layman I) Picking locks (Layman I) Poison lore (Layman I) Sneak attack (Journeyman II) - Skill feat (Journeyman): Increased chance to grapple target when sneak attacking Staff fighting (Journeyman II) - Skill feat (Journeyman): Damage increased against armored targets Stealth (Journeyman VI) - Skill feat (Journeyman): Increased stealth inside dungeons Streetwise (Layman I) Unarmed close combat (Journeyman II) - Skill feat (Journeyman): Increased choking damage Weylan whistled through his teeth, "Wow. You''re stronger and more dexterous than me. And your skill list is just ¨C monstrous." The strangler spread his arms and indicated a bow. "Can you use magic?" The monster frowned, which caused deep wrinkles and looked quite impressive. After a few heartbeats, its fur turned a deep black. It seemed as if it was swallowing up the light around it. Only a vague black shadow could be seen. Weylan looked at him scrutinizingly, then concentrated. The shadows of the other people present flowed across the floor towards him and up him. In the brightly lit room, it was only enough to make him look blotchy. He gave up and the shadows abruptly returned to their normal place, "That''s not the same thing I''m doing. This is related to your chameleon fur, isn''t it?" The strangler thought for a moment, tilting his head, then shrugged his shoulders. The voice of thought turned to Weylan again: "I wasn''t planning on it. Why do you ask?" Weylan nodded. He said goodbye and trotted the short distance through the dungeon at a steady run until he reached the portal. He jumped through it and bridged the way up to the basement of the bathhouse. Chapter 62: Refugees Three days after Weylan''s arrival in the city Dorm stretched and tried to get the cramp out of his back. The weight of the basket he was carrying on his back pulled him backwards. He swayed and then bent down again to balance the load. His knees ached under the strain. He hadn''t felt the soles of his feet for a long time. He looked up. For the last hour, he had been shuffling along a path with a noticeable incline. His eyes on the feet of the boy in front of him. The mountains rose higher and higher on either side of him. Dozens of refugees surrounded him. Each one heavily packed with everything he could carry. Because that was all they had now. Many things had been left behind on the long journey. A trail of beloved mementos and household items marked the refugees'' trail. Dorm saw a movement out of the corner of his eye and quickly reached out to catch the stumbling old weaver: "Holla, watch out! We''re not there yet. You can''t lie down for a nap yet." "Don''t be so cheeky." The old woman took her arm from him, but not until she was safely back on her feet. She looked back. The slope gave them a good view through the valley back to the plain. The queue wound its way to the entrance of the valley. With different ages, luggage and therefore speed, the group had spread far apart. A few volunteers stayed at the end and made sure that no one was left behind unnoticed. Dorm frowned. They were far too spread out. Impossible to defend. Even a few mountain wolves would have no trouble grabbing a victim and taking it with them. The weaver made a dissatisfied noise that Dorm thought could only be properly imitated with a significantly reduced number of teeth. "Why aren''t we being followed?" Dorm shrugged, "Are you going to complain about that?" "There were hundreds of fighters. More than enough to raze the village to the ground and still send half an army after us. We could still see them from the forest as the ring closed around the village. But nobody came after us. I don''t understand it." Dorm just nodded. The Krigesti had moved stubbornly up through the border forest in a single large group. The army had taken over the forest and then marched on along the trade route towards Mulnirsheim. The villagers had been warned by the few surviving defenders. Hunters from the village had then been sent out as scouts. They found no enemy patrols. No scouts from the other side, as far as they could see. The old woman continued: "It''s lucky that the revenant girl has taken over the village. Nothing against the good Helming, but he couldn''t have conjured up a moat around the village, defensive towers and a palisade out of a hat." "I know. I was there" "We were all there." "No, I mean I saw Federova the First storming into the House of the Shrines of All Gods as if she wanted to strangle someone. I went right after her and peeked through the door. She went straight to Peituwin''s shrine and spread out her hands. Then a veritable cloud of green, translucent pieces of paper just appeared in front of her out of nowhere and was sucked into the symbol of Peituwin. I couldn''t understand what she said after that, but then it crunched all around the village and the palisade just grew out of the ground." "Are you still mad that she sent you off with us?" Dorm hesitated, then shook his head: "Elven warriors, rangers and revenants have been slaughtered in the border forest. I''m still too young to even have a class. Sending women, non-combatants and the elderly to safety was the only right decision. I have no illusions that I would be of any use in a battle. I used to want to be a hunter, but I can''t see blood." The old woman put her hand on his shoulder as they walked: "Not everyone can be a fighter. A village can hardly afford fighters. Our guardsman did a lot of errands when he wasn''t needed." "At least Weylan''s not here. He''d probably make fun of me." He sighed: "He''d even be right. With the big mouth I''ve always had, about wanting to be a knight. Or at least a hunter." The crone seemed to revel in memories: ¡°Little Weylan. I¡¯ve always knew he¡¯d get into trouble someday. Born trickster if I''ve ever seen one. But I¡¯d never have expected what really happened. His father, murdered by a revenant. He himself fleeing from a vindictive orange haired revenant warrior.¡± Dorm¡¯s voice became almost reverend: ¡°Did you hear him claim Weylan killed him once? I mean, come on! Weylan? Killing a revenant?¡± The old woman nodded: ¡°I sure believe it. Did you talk to Jorge, the village chief when we stopped by his village? He told me Weylan somehow got to be a judge or something in a witch trial. I''m still not sure what that was about. Then he got teleported away by an exploding tree, together with a tavern wench and the witch. If he¡¯s still alive, we¡¯ll see him again in the city. Mark my words.¡± Dorm chuckled: ¡°If there¡¯s a Thieves Guild, he''s probably already a member and trying to steal from them. Not for the money, just to see if he can. If there isn''t, he''ll have invented one by now and is chasing around revenants on fake membership quests.¡± He looked up and froze. After a final bend, the valley revealed a view of Mulnirsheim. Or rather, the wall fortress. A wall thirty paces high that completely blocked the pass at its narrowest point, 300 paces wide. Copper runes, set deep into the seamless stone, gleamed in the sun. Countless embrasures closed with steel flaps showed that it was not just a wall. There was a complete fortress inside the wall. Recreation rooms, barracks, magazines, stores, everything a fortress needed. The fortification extended into the mountains on both sides. There were rows of embrasures that could fire directly along the wall. The top of the wall was roofed over and protruded above the wall with so-called machicolations, so defenders could shoot directly down from there. Nowhere near the walls was safe for attackers. In front of the wall was a six-step-wide trench filled with a thick silver mist. There were countless theories as to what it consisted of, but everyone agreed that nothing had ever come back up from it. The only way across was the drawbridge in the middle. It was wide enough for two Troll carriages to pass each other comfortably. You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author. Two hours later they arrived at the foot of the ramparts. The light of the setting sun glittered over the top of the wall, while the pass valley was lit up by countless illuminated crystals on steel stands. The refugees staggered exhausted over the drawbridge and through the long tunnel. Surrounded by even more embrasures. Under countless holes for hot oil, burning gel and heavy spears. And past three raised portcullis. On the other side, the refugees stopped in front of Dorm. He pushed forward curiously. In the middle of the wide path of the main road, soldiers stood in three rows across the entire width. Swordsmen with shields, behind them soldiers with halberds and in the last row soldiers with pikes. The weapons were all in the haft-eight position, but in one breath they could take up an impenetrable formation. A mounted officer let his horse stride forward and raised his voice: "Welcome to Mulnirsheim! I am Captain Garandur, of the city guard. You are tired and exhausted, so I will be brief. Before we let you into the city, we will question each and every one of you and use truth spells and skills to determine whether there are any Krigesti spies among you. All those who pass the test will go straight through the gate into the city. We''ve cleared two of the barracks, so you can stay there for a week. After that, we''ll need the rooms again for the guardsmen. The capital has already sent reinforcements. I strongly recommend that you look for a job. They''ll show you the way to the work allocation. If you can''t find anything here, you''ll have to leave the city to the north. But fear not, the population of Mulnirsheim will soon quadruple due to revenants and the Imperial Guard. There will be plenty for you all to do." The fugitives gathered themselves for a round of weary applause. Then they marched past the city guard and into the city. The interrogations were uneventful. None of the artifacts or skills of the gatekeepers even struck once. * * * Dorm shuffled with slumped shoulders into the room in the barracks that he shared with five other villagers. His roommate Kendir, two years his senior, was packing his things into a bag. Dorm put his hand on his shoulder: "Hey, did you find anything suitable?" "One of the centaurs needs a blacksmith''s apprentice. I was able to score really well by being apprenticed to Gendur the blacksmith for two years. I have to start again in the first year because he doesn''t really trust the training of a human, but still." "Great for you." "How are things with you? We''ve been in the city for a week now and you''ve been out and about every day. Surely, you''ve already found a job?" Dorm shook his head: "I haven''t started an apprenticeship yet. I can''t do anything; I don''t have any skills worth mentioning and the guy thought my attributes were badly balanced in the work distribution." "That they really ask you for the exact attributes..." "Yes, really a cheek. My grandmother got really red in the face the first time and slapped him." "I would have liked to have seen that. But wait, have you tried the Brotherhood yet?" "Brotherhood?" "They have a recruitment center in an old warehouse. I can give you directions." "Doesn''t sound particularly trustworthy..." "It is a brotherhood that has set itself the goal of helping the people who need it most. They don''t have gold to spare for a magnificent building like the Adventurers'' Guild or the merchants." Dorm thought for a moment and then shrugged his shoulders: "No harm in having a look." * * * A long queue had already formed in front of the warehouse entrance. Dorm recognized a few refugees from his own and the neighboring villages. But there were also people whose clothing did not fit in with the village communities of the plain. What they all had in common was simple clothing, a downcast look on their faces... and a hint of hope in their eyes. It took him almost an hour to get through the gate. Numerous rickety tables had been set up in the large hall. Some were just planks between two barrels. At the tables sat, or in some cases stood, refugees and men and women wearing the black and orange striped armbands of the Brotherhood. Dorm had already seen the discussions and negotiations from outside, then the villager signed a piece of paper and went to the other end of the hall, where small groups were formed and led away. At a much better desk behind the negotiating tables sat a young scribe whose hand flew over pages of paper with a quill pen. Page after page was written, sealed, signed and placed in a pile that was regularly picked up by messengers and distributed around the room. Dorm stepped up to a vacant table and was greeted by a young elf: "Hello! Welcome to the Brotherhood. Would you like to work for us?" "That depends. What do you pay and what should I do for it?" She asked him a few general questions about his abilities without asking for exact attribute values or anything similar. He thawed quickly and made an effort to make a good impression. After a short time, she nodded: "That''s fine. You can help us make simple leather goods. A clever young man like you can learn the skills in two or three days. We pay three silver a day plus free food and accommodation. The details are in the contract." "Wait a minute, leather goods? Tanning leather is a foul-smelling craft..." She interrupted him: "Only without magic. We have magical tools and a tanner who will soon reach the rank of master. All you have to do is scrape the dried meat and fat from the hides. Alchemical candles absorb the smell. When you have reached higher skill levels, you can go into cutting. Or sewing. That pays better, of course." "And I''m learning the skills for a decent trade." Dorm sighed. It was better than nothing. At least for a start. His lips moved as he skimmed the contract the elf had shoved at him. The payment was explained in detail, and the food in the canteen assigned to him was free, as was the accommodation in the Brotherhood''s common room. He paused: "Tell me, it says here only that my duties are general support activities in accordance with my superior within the Brotherhood. Shouldn''t you be more specific about that?" The elf shook her head with a laugh: "Do you think we have all day to draw up a contract for everyone? Our scribe can barely keep up as it is." Dorm had to smile as well. Of course, they couldn''t do that with the amount of people who wanted to work for the Brotherhood. He signed. The elf took the contract and tapped the seal. The paper lit up and then two identical pages lay on top of each other: "One copy for you, one for us. This makes the contract legally binding before the system and will be enforced by the Voice of the World if necessary." A cold shiver went down Dorm''s spine. An oath or contract enforced by the voice of the world. This was no joke. He picked up the contract again. So much verbiage. He had trouble with longer sentences. But really, all that mattered was that he could get out of it. The legends were full of careless people who had gotten themselves into inescapable problems with careless oaths or contracts. He only breathed a sigh of relief when he found the termination clause. All you had to do was settle any outstanding debts to your employer and then you could resign at any time with a week''s notice. The elf nodded to him and sent him to a group at the back. A motley group of a dozen men and women were already waiting there, along with a Brotherhood member holding a board with a piece of paper attached to it. He made a note of Dorm''s name and then nodded: "Okay, that''s all of us. We''ll head off to the northern quarter in a minute. We''ve rented a barn next to the leather makers, that''s where you''ll be working. If anyone needs free accommodation..." He looked around expectantly and grinned as everyone raised their hands. "We have set up a few dormitories in the warehouses next door. Bunk beds, five beds on top of each other, all close together. Not a luxury hostel by any stretch of the imagination, but free of charge. There''s also a canteen right next door." Dorm tilted his head: "What''s a canteen?" "A... well, a room where there''s food for lots of people. Long tables, chairs and a counter where you can pick up your food. Usually dishes that are easy to cook in large quantities. Stews, soups, pasta with sauce..." "Still sounds better than what my mother cooks..." After no further questions, they were let out through a door at the back. Whistling happily, Dorm went back to his accommodation to pack. Chapter 63: Weylan The blockade of Krigesti had become the new normal, but everything was still on the move in the city. New revenants appeared every day. Each with their own plans and wishes, which they wanted to see realized immediately. People had almost got used to the adventurers, but there were also a few other problems. Some revenants were just having a quiet time and quickly settled into the city. Others had chosen a craft and were either trying to open a workshop or find a master. This group quickly found out that it all cost money. This then led to either a trip to Peituwin''s temple or innovative schemes to get rich quick. One of the more common ones that had emerged in recent days was the attempt to gain a monopoly in a key commodity and then raise prices. Most of these attempts fizzled out because the raw material in question could be imported from outside. Traders quickly procured a few wagonloads of pig iron or certain types of wood. The more cunning plots required the active intervention of the baron, or rather his steward. Weylan lowered his head onto the pile of letters of complaint. His eyes hurt, his head was pounding. He had never had to read so much in his life. The door opened again and a messenger rushed in to put more letters on the "unread" pile next to him. The boy hesitated as he went out: "Are you all right?" "Yes. Everything''s fine. Go ahead." Weylan looked up, "Unless you can read, then you could..." The messenger boy raced out and let the door slam shut behind him. Weylan sighed, pushed the last report he had read onto the "Harmless" pile and took the next one. One of the grocers complained that he could no longer get six-leaved hare''s clover anywhere at. He was very long-winded and also mentioned that this was not a problem from his point of view, as hare clover was cheap and available everywhere. But since the steward had insisted on being informed of any unusual shortages of raw materials via the guild leaders... Weylan rolled his eyes. Didn''t the guy have anything better to do than go on for another page and a half about how nonsensical he thought it all was and that it was stealing his time after a barely three-line report? His desk stood against the wall of Jago''s study. Numerous notes and lists were pinned in front of it. Among them was one with the most important ingredients for the most important potions, ointments and elixirs. Healing potion, mana potion, wound powder and a few more. Jago had sorted everything alphabetically and transferred it to a single list, for which Weylan was still grateful. Hazel clover was not on the list. He was about to move the report to the "Harmless" pile when he stopped. He turned to his master: "Master Jago, doesn''t the city have a few large flocks of sheep in the north? I think you mentioned that on our tour of the outskirts." The steward did not take his eyes off the document he was studying: "That is correct. Why?" "Then we have a problem." Now he looked up: "What have you found?" Weylan rummaged briefly through the pile in front of him and then pulled out two reports: "This is the third report about a shortage of hare''s clover. I don''t think it''s sold by many merchants in the city. It''s more likely to be something a hay merchant brings in a basket on the side and hands to the wholesaler for a piece of silver or two." "Hare''s clover?" "Six-leaf hare¡¯s clover, to be precise." "Which recipes does this belong to?" "None on the list, but you need it for a herbal mixture in which you wash wool after shearing. This increases the quality of the wool by a whole level. It''s shearing time again soon." "That means that if our shepherds can''t buy hare¡¯s clover, the entire annual production of wool in the city will be worth less? One level of quality in wool is about... twenty or thirty percent. I''ll send a messenger north to one of our suppliers for hay..." Weylan shook his head: "It doesn''t grow north of the mountains. On the plains it grows everywhere, the farmers'' children always search the fields for it before the hay harvest. You don''t need much of it. My father always said that they hardly have any sheep in the north because they can survive best on the grassy plain." The steward stood up and went to a shelf with numerous folders. He pulled out one after the other, leafed through the contents briefly and pushed them back again. On the third one, he found what he was looking for: "The town has a firm order for ten baskets of hare¡¯s clover from Kohlhaas the grocer." "This is one of the dealers who sent a report." "Go and ask him where he normally gets his goods from. Then follow the supply chain and find out who bought all this hare¡¯s clover." Weylan nodded and hurried off, glad to finally get away from the endless reports. He stormed down the stairs and out of the manor house into the city. It was only two streets further on that he remembered that he had no idea where Merchant Kohlhaas lived. He stopped for a moment, then turned around and made his way to the market square. Next to the spawn point, he found a few street urchins who offered to guide the revenants through the city. It was a lucrative business, especially for noobs who had no understanding of the prices in the city and paid exorbitant amounts of silver or sometimes even gold for simple services. "Do any of you know the merchant Kohlhaas?" One of the boys raised his hand: "He lives in the southern district. Shall I take you there?" Weylan nodded and the boy set off, beckoning him to follow. After walking halfway across the town, the boy pointed to a large house at the end of the street: "That''s Kohlhaas'' store back there. He lives in the apartment directly above." Weylan gave the street urchin a friendly nod and slipped him a coin. The conversation with the trader was brief. He normally only received wagonloads of dried hay in the fall, but because of the impending siege, the steppe dwellers had delivered the almost freshly cut grass. He had had it all transported to the north, where sheds outside the city could be used for drying. Normally, his supplier would only have sent an apprentice with a single wagon full of herbs, including a few baskets of hare¡¯s clover, at this time of year. Even outside the town, however, the merchant had been bought out of everything but the normal grass. The vendor described the buyer as a rabbit folk woman with piercing eyes. He hadn''t really wanted to sell to anyone else, but not only had she offered almost twice as much, she had also stared at him so menacingly that he hadn''t dared to refuse. Weylan said goodbye and stepped out onto the street. There he stretched his face towards the sky and spread his arms in the "why always me" gesture. What was he supposed to do with the information now? He had no name and no meaningful description. The only witness was long gone again and either untraceable among the refugees in the city, especially since the merchant hadn''t bothered to ask for a name, or he was back on the grassy steppe and thus behind the siege line. Weylan had been given a list of food and herb merchants, but it was as long as his arm. No one paid attention to who sold hare¡¯s clover. If he had been looking for a supplier of dragon root, unicorn shavings or lightning snake blood, any of the merchants could have given him an exact list of their competitors. He walked off, lost in thought. He stopped after two crossroads. Did he have to turn down this street or the next? He was still getting confused in the winding side streets. His master had therefore already started to send him through the city to different places for an hour every day. Always at different times so that he learned the rhythm of the city. Whatever that was supposed to be. The assassin apprentice chose an alleyway. Turning the next corner, he found himself in a completely enclosed courtyard. Weeds grew knee-high between the cobblestones. He turned to try another route when a bright light came on in the empty courtyard. He whirled around, threw himself flat on the ground close to the wall and pulled the shadows over him like a blanket. He couldn''t help but grin. It had worked perfectly for the first time. He was slowly getting the hang of it. If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. A figure bathed in golden light stood in the courtyard. Weylan lost his grin. A moderator? There were no revenants around. What was a moderator doing here? Three more light figures appeared at short intervals. One pointed to the center of the courtyard. A wave of golden light spread out from there. Where there had just been cobblestones, a platform two steps across now rose from the ground. A spawn point. Weylan had heard that other spawn points had appeared in the city to cope with the onslaught of new revenants, but they were all the same size as the spawn point in the marketplace. They all appeared in easily accessible places, on main roads and market squares. Not in a secluded backyard. The moderators seemed to be talking to each other, but Weylan couldn''t hear a word they were saying. At another gesture, two of the moderators stood next to each other on the square form. The spawn point lit up and a figure appeared between them. They grabbed it from both sides. When the light went out, they held a young man between them. A third presenter stepped forward and tapped the air in front of him. Then he nodded: "Okay. Neural connections are simulated. Motor control is being transferred. Try to take a step." The young man fidgeted aimlessly with his legs for a moment and would have fallen down if the two moderators hadn''t held him firmly by the arms. "Can you feel your legs?" The young man shook his head: "No. I can''t feel anything. You promised it would work this time!" "It should have." The presenter pushed invisible things around in front of him with his hands and studied the air in front of him intensely. Weylan realized he was using a menu, but from the sweeping gestures, one with far more text than he was used to. The moderator hesitantly began to speak again: "That''s... Your brain doesn''t seem to be able to process the input from the interface. The signals are coming through, but..." "I''ve never had legs. My brain doesn''t know what a leg is. I''ve already said before it wouldn¡¯t work." "I very much regret this result. We could try voice control..." "No! I want to walk! A wheelchair is a wheelchair, even if it looks like legs. I want to steer this body like everyone else! What''s next? A joystick?" "A physical gamepad would indeed be another option..." The young man wildly wriggled away from the two moderators holding him. Weylan had the impression that they would have been strong enough to hold him, but deliberately chose not to. He first fell to his knees and then crashed unsteadily to the side. One of the moderators grabbed his arm again briefly to slow him down, then quickly let go and stepped back. The young man still glared at the presenter and heaved his upper body up into a kind of sitting position with both arms: "Go! I''ll be fine." "Mr. Karlsberg, are you sure..." "Fuck off!" The moderators looked at each other indecisively for a moment, then disappeared one by one. The young man looked around briefly, then relaxed his arms and let himself crash backwards onto the platform. He used his now free arms to punch the spawn point in frustration: "Damn! Shit!" Weylan loosened his magical grip on the shadows and sat up carefully. When the young man continued to ignore him, he stood up and strolled over to him. He stopped thrashing the spawn point and looked up, "I told you to... Who are you?" "I was just passing by. Shall I get you a hammer?" "What?!?" "That would be more effective. It might even be more satisfying to beat the spawn point with a hammer instead of your fists. If you give me some time, I can get hold of a heavy blacksmith''s hammer." "Why would you do that? What do you want?" Weylan shrugged his shoulders: "Maybe a revenant will manage to destroy those annoying spawn points. We locals can''t do that. Believe me, we''ve tried pretty much everything to prevent another plague." "Plague? You mean the world quest? No idea what your world will be hit with this time. Hopefully an invasion of dragons. At least dragons are cool. I''d love to ride one." "I''d be right there too." Weylan got down on his knees and offered his hand to the revenant: "I am Weylan." "Franziskus Karlsberg." He looked around: "I should probably make up an in-game¡¯s name." "Sounds like a dwarf name already." "I''m not a dwarf." The young man looked at him irritably from below. "The size fits, but it''s hard to estimate when you''re lying around like that." He straightened his upper body and tried to strike Weylan with one hand. He calmly took a step back and stayed out of reach. "Come here so I can punch you in the face!" Weylan held his chin thoughtfully with his hand and then replied, "No. I don''t feel like it." "Come down!" "Nope." Franziskus dropped back again, hit the floor with both fists and let out an inarticulate cry. Weylan looked on calmly: "Are you feeling better now?" "No!" "What exactly are you up to now? Are you guarding this, surely strategically extremely important, backyard?" "Don''t you have anything better to do than mock me?" Weylan thought for a moment and shrugged his shoulders. "Not really. So, what are you up to?" "Experience adventure. Dungeons, quests and new fantastic landscapes. Plus what most players actually come here for." The Assassin got down on his knees and tilted his head in interest: "What''s that?" "Wild orgies without consequences. No infectious diseases, no unwanted pregnancies or troublesome relationships." Weylan didn''t understand everything the revenant meant, but it was enough to make his cheeks flush with embarrassment. Franziskus had never seen anyone actually blush. He had always thought it was a figure of speech in cheesy old novels. "What did you expect? Do you think they''re all just coming to play knights and wizards? Please." Weylan''s mouth opened and closed again. The young man heaved himself up: "So, now show me in which direction the next quest lies. Maybe I''ll defeat a dragon or conquer a kingdom." "What exactly is your class?" "Class? I have no idea. I haven''t chosen one yet. We first wanted to find out whether I can even control my avatar in this world. Is carpet a character class? I''m sure I could do that quite well." He lay down flat and crossed his arms in front of his chest. "Maybe a librarian or a scholar?" "Do I look like I enjoy sitting in a dusty room and reading books? I can do that at home too." "We could harness you to the back of a troll and have you carried around. You can then fight from there with a crossbow." "I can''t express in words how bad I think the idea is." "Magician?" "Will I be able to conjure up functioning legs? Probably not. Otherwise, the moderators would surely have managed that. So, no." "Knight?" "Want me to crawl over and bite your legs! Wait, hold still." Weylan raised his hands defensively: "Listen to me! Knights are... well... mounted. I''m sure you''re just as good on a horse as any other revenant. Join the centaurs and you won''t stand out at all." "Do you have any idea how to steer a horse? With your thighs! And you can only hold yourself up properly with functioning legs. If you put me in the saddle, I might as well be in a wheelchair. Getting on and off the horse is a real pain. Believe me. I had two years of riding therapy. My parents thought it would have a calming effect on my mind." "Wait, what by Cofefe is a wheelchair?" "A chair. With big wheels on it. On which I can push myself around. Or let someone else do it. The only problem is that it doesn''t work very well on cobblestone pavements like here." "Wait until you''re in the side alleys. Sometimes you sink into the mud up to your ankles. With wheels? Good luck." The revenant raised his hands in annoyance and gritted his teeth. Weylan ignored him and continued thinking: "We could have a wheelchair built at the mage academy. There are a few enchantments for merchants'' carts. They should also work on a smaller wagon. Or a rolling chair. You won''t sink in; you''ll be faster and more agile." He put down his backpack and took out a charcoal pen and a packet of parchment, from which he carefully removed a sheet and then stowed the packet away again. He placed it on the smooth floor of the spawn point next to the revenant: "So, how big are these wheels? Like this? So close to the front wheels? That''s pretty wobbly. We''d better move the front end further forward. Lower it a bit... Can you still grip the big wheels like that? Good. Then there are compartments for weapons and equipment on both sides. A large luggage compartment at the back. Maybe a quiver or two. Ideally a Bag of Holding enchantment somewhere, if you can afford it." The revenant watched with moderate interest until Weylan drew small curves on the sides of the wheels. "What''s that supposed to be? Propeller?" "Sickle blades. Like the old Cathurian chariots." The revenant leaned closer over the drawing. "Isn''t it very dangerous when I drive through the city?" "I''m sure you can make it retractable somehow. Or you accept that no one should stand in your way." Franziskus grinned. "The legs go forward, like this. With a reinforcement all around. Then your comrades can use the wheelchair as a battering ram if necessary." "I''m not sure I like the idea..." "You¡¯ll have an equipment storage. Plus a small barrel of rum or beer here and a few barbecue skewers on the other side. Mobile picnic. The adventurer groups will be keen to take you with them." The revenant took the pen out of his hand and made a few changes. He studied the rather wild drawing and then nodded thoughtfully: "I would need a class after all. What would be most effective?" He looked up at Weylan indecisively. "Whatever you want. You can harness a couple of draft dogs in front and have them pull you around. That would be a beast tamer. Or you can use magic to get up to speed. Once you''re agile enough, you can do anything. Swing an axe, shoot bows, cast spells, crack doors..." The hand with the charcoal pencil slowly sank down: "Yes... and the women like a shopping cart driver with an axe." "If nothing else helps, just put all your points into Charisma and become a bard. That''s what my friend Dorm used to say." "Bard... The guys who play magical support songs? Something like that to motivate their group to fight better or faster?" "You mean Arcane Bard. But yes, there are supposed to be such things. In the stories, they were always the core of a powerful group of heroes. Trulda once said that there aren''t many revenants who take such classes. Too much in the background. More support than being out in front among the enemies. Spellsongs are mainly there to support others. You need charisma above all, and with a focus on that, on the other hand, the physical skills for combat are lacking. Even outside of combat, it feels much better to be strong and skillful." "Are you a gamer too?" "A revenant? No. But I know a very nice revenant who explained the most important points to me. So I can see that you haven''t chosen your appearance yet." The revenant looked down at himself, frowning: "What do you mean?" "Well, medium height, medium build, light dark hair. And the face..." "What about my face?" "Pale, no chin, no outstanding features. I mean, if you wanted to be a thief it would be perfect. No one could describe you except: he had a face." "This is my normal body. They scanned me exactly." "You always look like that?" "Yes!" "I''m sorry." Weylan paused dramatically and then added: "For you." "Hey!" "Well, what do you think of the idea?" The revenant stared into space for a while. His eyes twitched back and forth. Then they flashed golden. His skin suddenly looked healthier and more radiant. His features subtly more attractive. His hair formed itself into a fashionable hairstyle. "That''s it. Class selection done. Arcane Bard, level 1. Now let''s head to that academy then." "Hang on a minute, I''ll get a wheelbarrow." "Oh, no! You won''t!" Weylan shrugged his shoulders calmly: "I can drag you behind me by the legs, but that will take much longer." The revenant clenched his hands to the sky in frustration, then dropped back onto the stone floor in resignation: "Okay. Get a wheelbarrow." Chapter 64: Dorm Dorm carefully turned the lever on the vice a little further, causing the fist-sized walnut to crack softly. He stopped and began working on the now securely fastened nut with a fine saw, meticulously cutting around the seam. Ensuring not to saw too deeply and damage the inside, he made slow progress. After what felt like an eternity, he managed to pull off the top half successfully. Inside, the nut revealed two intertwined golden-brown hemispheres, resembling human brains, as described by the alchemist who had instructed him. The thought of having something like that in his head was quite disgusting. He stretched briefly to loosen his tense limbs and then continued. Thinking nuts were a crucial ingredient for an elixir of wisdom, but their very hard shell made accessing the kernel without damage challenging. If the nut kernel was even slightly damaged during opening, it became useless. The last three nuts had either shriveled up or had been sawed into. Now came the delicate part: loosening the nut from the shell with a flexible knife. Dorm carefully inserted the blade along the shell and moved it back and forth to remove the joints. After a few more minutes of careful work, he put the knife away, donned thin gloves, and lifted the nut kernel out of the shell with shaky hands. Perfect. The second successful extraction of the day. He placed it on the shelf next to the others. The supervisor, a revenant still wearing his beginner''s clothes, approached: "Only two pieces? How are we supposed to meet our production targets like this?" Dorm shrugged wearily: "It''s damn difficult. There''s a reason why these nuts sell for so much." The supervisor glared down at him angrily: "Well, then you''ll probably have to work for a few more hours. We need at least three more nuts by tomorrow morning." Dorm laughed tiredly: "Forget it. My eight hours of work were over half an hour ago. I''m leaving now." He tried to get up, but the revenant pushed him back into his seat with a hand on his shoulder. Though still a novice, he had focused his attributes on strength. Dorm''s jaw dropped: "That''s enough! I quit." The revenant stepped back, mockingly covering his mouth in surprise: "No. Really? What am I supposed to do now?" Dorm stood up and grinned triumphantly: "Nothing. I can quit at any time. I''ll have to read the part in my contract again, but I''ll only have to work for another week at most." The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there. The revenant nodded thoughtfully: "Yes... there''s probably nothing we can do. A contract is a contract. Go to the quartermaster and pay your debts; then he''ll mark today as the start of your notice period." Dorm stomped off but glanced over his shoulder on the way. He didn''t like the revenant''s nasty grin. He found the quartermaster in his usual office, engrossed in bookkeeping. The books and pages of paper lying around were covered in ink splashes, a testament to his poor penmanship. The man looked up, annoyed: "What now?" "I quit." The man rolled his eyes, stood up, and went to a cupboard with many large drawers: "Name?" "Dorm." Without looking at Dorm, he nodded and opened one of the drawers. After a brief search, he pulled out a notebook with a few pages. He opened it and skimmed the contents: "Your current debt is 17 gold pieces, four silver pieces, and six coppers." Dorm''s jaw dropped, but he quickly regained his composure: "What''s this nonsense? I don''t owe the Brotherhood anything!" "And what about this bill for all the food?" "Board and lodging are free!" The man grinned ominously: "Board and lodging are free... in the canteen assigned to you." "I always ate here on the first floor below our work area." The man nodded patiently: "Correct. But your assigned canteen according to the contract is the one at the northern vegetable market. The one here in the building has a clearly posted price list for guests." "What? What are you doing?" The man held out a copy of his contract and pointed to a passage on the penultimate page: "Here is the information about your assigned canteen. The food there is free for you. At the one here in the building, you are a paying guest. Since we''re not interested in guests, we have correspondingly high prices." "No one ever told me I couldn''t eat there for free!" "This is clearly visible on the sign at the entrance as a price list for guests." Dorm became desperate: "No one told me this wasn''t my real canteen!" "It''s in your contract. It''s not my fault you didn''t read it properly." "What if I just leave?" The quartermaster shrugged: "I don''t care. The World Voice will probably turn you into a zombie and send you back. Or something like that. None of your colleagues have tried it yet." "I have to tell everyone!" "I''m sorry, but... No. To be honest, I''m not sorry that you can''t do this. Your contract forbids you from talking about its contents with others. Even others who are subject to the same contract." Then he grinned spitefully, "I hereby assign you to another workhouse, per section 23 of the contract, since you verbally threatened illegal termination." Dorm turned and tried to run through the door. Before he reached it, however, he received a warning from the voice of the world. His steps slowed, then stopped. His shoulders slumped. It was like in the old stories. He was screwed. Even if he saved every copper coin he earned and spent the time to go to his assigned canteen, he¡¯d need¡­ counting three silver coins a day¡­ about two months. If he met his work quota at his new workplace, which he doubted. And if he spent nothing. He looked at his worn clothes and shoes, remembered the soaring prices, and sighed. Yeah. That would take a while. Chapter 65: Weylan Weylan paced restlessly in his master''s office. He had submitted his report the previous day, and Master Jago had gone to investigate the guild masters himself. It was well past time for their lesson to begin, but Jago was uncharacteristically late. This was the first time it had happened, and Weylan couldn''t help but worry that something might have gone wrong. Despite his concern, Weylan hadn''t noticed any unusual commotion in the building. The servants were going about their normal routines. However, idleness was not an option; when Jago returned and found him doing nothing, a scolding was inevitable. He picked up a report from the inbox pile and began to read. Just as he dipped the quill into the ink, the door swung open. Weylan''s hand instinctively gripped an inconspicuous letter opener that, not coincidentally, was , perfectly balanced as a throwing dagger. Master Jago stormed past him and dropped into his chair. Without a word, he grabbed a report from the pile and began reading. Weylan waited a few minutes, then coughed softly to get his attention. Jago sighed, crumpled the report, and tossed it into the waste bin. "The baron is a..." He stopped himself, visibly censoring his words. "The baron disagreed with my assessment that we urgently need to draw a line here. If we give in now, the revenants will keep taking advantage of us until they''ve polished the tavern counter as smooth as glass." "What did he do instead?" Weylan asked. "He paid for everything," Jago replied with another sigh. "A load of hare''s clover for an outrageous sum. He also paid out a few other monopolies, claiming the adventurers had earned it through their cunning." He imitated the baron''s high-pitched voice: "After all, they should have fun." Weylan looked at him in dismay. "The revenants will steal the butter from our bread if we let them get away with this." "That''s no longer my decision," Jago said. The two were silent for a while, thinking. Then Weylan, rubbing his chin thoughtfully, said, "Master Jago, shouldn''t we still try to prevent further monopolies?" Before his master could answer, he continued: "Only so that it doesn''t become too easy, of course. After all, that would be boring for the revenants. They like a challenge." Jago stared at him, then a broad grin slowly spread across his face. "That''s right... It would be a shame to disappoint our heroes. Let''s see what we can do to make it not too easy for them." He reached for a report and began reading, still smiling. Weylan did the same. A while later, Jago got up and took a folder of documents from a cupboard. He leafed through it, then read one of the documents more carefully. As he rubbed his chin thoughtfully, Weylan walked over and looked past him. "The Seamstress Guild is complaining that someone is selling cheap clothes? What''s the problem?" "The problem is that someone is selling clothes cheaper than the guild, and they''re losing revenant business," Jago replied, tapping a spot on the document. "Is that forbidden?" Weylan asked. "Only if the quality of the goods is below the prescribed minimum values. Get me a few samples from the store listed here." Weylan preferred any task to reading more reports, so he ran off immediately. He slowed down at the end of the corridor and turned back. Jago was already grinning as he held out a wallet, which Weylan pocketed wordlessly before dashing off again. Once he returned, they spread the clothes on the table, which Jago had cleared. Thin linen pants, simple shirts, and woolen cloaks. Jago placed his hand on a shirt and shared the information with his apprentice. Garment: Linen shirt Material: Linen fabric Quality: Journeyman level Jago weighed his head thoughtfully. "Journeyman quality. Quite adequate. The cut is fine, the material perfectly acceptable." He glanced at the guild regulations. "Everything complies with guild standards. I just can''t figure out how they made it so cheaply. They sell it for three silver coins. Normally, it takes at least five silver to make a profit of one." Weylan hesitated. "What if the dealers stole the material?" "That was my first thought," Jago said. "But there were no reports of thefts or complaints of merchants being blackmailed. The guild investigated too. A revenant group called ''The Brotherhood'' has been buying large quantities of cloth. Volume discounts, but nothing unusual. They can''t have reduced the cost that much." "Where do they produce their goods?" Weylan asked, moving to the city map on the wall. "Outside the city, in an area the Brotherhood bought. We have no jurisdiction there." "Can''t we just go check it out?" Weylan didn''t understand the problem. "The Brotherhood has forbidden access," Jago explained. "According to the law, they can defend their grounds. It''s not illegal to sneak in, but they can legally attack intruders. Two revenant groups took quests to investigate other suspicious events there. Mystery quests." Weylan whistled, giving no indication he knew about the quest he had initiated. "Many old legends began with unremarkable mystery quests. What did they find out?" "One group was wiped out, and the other was driven away before investigating further." "Maybe I should give it a try," Weylan suggested. Jago shook his head. "I was just at the Adventurers'' Guild. The revenants weren¡¯t novices. You shouldn¡¯t approach this area alone." You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story. Weylan nodded solemnly. "I know. There''s still a lot to learn before I can confront dozens of revenants. Normally, I¡¯d ask for more weapons training, but that will have to wait. I have an appointment tonight." "Something about the bathhouse you''ve been investing in?" Jago seemed quite satisfied with himself. Weylan''s mind raced. How much did he know? Then he kicked himself mentally. Of course, he realized the steward had been informed of the ownership change. All official paperwork went through his office eventually. "I know I don¡¯t pay you enough to afford something like that. But a young merchant apprentice matching your description sold some magical moss to the Sewer Guild for quite a sum. I wonder if there is a connection¡­¡± ¡°Well¡­¡± Jago gestured for him to stop. "I know you''re working for this mage. Is he a danger to the city?" ¡°I honestly don¡¯t believe he is, master. He just wants to sell some of his collections and invest the gold. It''s like a retirement fund.¡± ¡°Then I will ignore him. Don¡¯t worry, I¡¯m not mad at you. Assassins are supposed to have secrets. It¡¯s good training. We really need to train you in disguise skills. But not now. We have too many other problems. Just remember to inform me if you suspect this mage plans anything that could endanger the citizens or yourself.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll keep that in mind. See you tomorrow.¡± Weylan left and immediately went over to the Adventurers Guild stand at the main spawnpoint. "Hey Weylan, did your master finally let you out of the dusty study room?" Trulda waved him over. "Hello! I wasn¡¯t sure you''d be here today. Didn''t you say you were scheduled for tomorrow?" Weylan ignored the line of people waiting at the stand. "Sindri swapped with me because she wanted to attend a lecture at the Mage Academy this afternoon. Something about new quests for noobs they''ve come up with there. She thought someone from our group should be there so we know what they''re planning." Weylan shrugged: "Probably just more new variations of fetch quests for ingredients. The alchemists are getting pretty desperate. Last week, some wannabe alchemist revenants showed up again, buying up ingredients and equipment everywhere." "Can you wait a few more minutes? I''m about to close the stand for the day." Some of the revenants already in line groaned in annoyance. One turned around and raised his hands soothingly. "Hey folks, no panic. We''ve set up a night counter on the side of the guild building. We''re closing here, but you can continue asking your questions there." The revenants grumbled as they moved off. Trulda said goodbye to her colleague Indris and joined Weylan. She slipped her arm under his as they walked past, and the two strolled from the marketplace to the main street, where a colorful mix of revenants and locals were bustling about. "Hey, what do you want to do tonight?" "The same thing we do every night. Try to take over the world!" Trulda laughed: "You actually remembered that? You''ve never even seen the series." "I just like the story. Is there any way you can bring those animated films into our world?" "No chance. The AI doesn''t cooperate with that. No movies, no books, no pictures. Revenants can only memorize things and recreate them here. Even for that, there are a lot of restrictions. You wouldn''t believe how annoying Trademark can be." "Trademark? The demon of intellectual property infringement? I''ve heard of him. Last week, he supposedly caught a revenant at the spawn point and stripped him down because he showed up with a black mask and a strange black armor. All he was trying to do was walk into town with his severe asthma." "The Disney franchise is the worst." "What''s a¡­" Trulda waved dismissively, grinning: "That''s too long a story." She glanced to the side and suddenly squinted her eyes: "Hey, isn''t that your friend Dorm?" Weylan spun around. He looked around briefly, then spotted his old friend shuffling along the street''s edge with his head down. Weylan pushed through the passersby on the main street. "Hey, you old toad-kisser!" Dorm lifted his head tiredly, then his face lit up with life: "Weylan! You''re alive!" "Of course. Weeds never die. How are the others?" "Long story. All the able and willing to fight stayed in the village, the rest are scattered around the city." Weylan took a closer look at his friend. The dark circles under his eyes, the hunched posture, the calluses on his hands: "Dorm, don''t be offended, but you look like a deathly ill sheep in need to be put out of its misery." Dorm glanced around and stepped closer to Weylan. He lowered his voice: "Can we talk about this somewhere¡­ less public?" Weylan also looked around but saw no one unusual. Trulda grabbed both of them and steered them toward an inn in a side alley she knew well. There, she found a table in the back where they couldn''t be seen from the entrance. As they passed, she greeted the innkeeper by name and ordered three light beers. Dorm nearly downed his beer in one go and leaned back. Then he began to speak: "I''ve had a really tough time in the city. First, I couldn''t find decent work, then, like many refugees from our village, I signed a really good-looking contract with the Brotherhood." Trulda snorted derisively: "Brotherhood? Which one? That''s not exactly an original name for an organization." "No idea. I never asked." Weylan interrupted: "It doesn''t matter what they''re called. I want to know why you look like you''ve been working in the dwarven mines for a year." "That''s a¡­" "If you try to give me the ''it''s a long story'' excuse, I''ll kick you in the balls." "All right!" Dorm took a deep breath, then spoke so quickly that they could barely keep up: "We came to the city. I had no work. The Brotherhood offered a job contract, and like most of us, I signed it. At first, everything was fine. Well, the work was crappy, but you can handle eight hours of scraping hides or sawing walnuts. The food was plentiful and pretty good. But that''s where they tricked us¡­" He fell silent, opened his mouth, then closed it again. He grimaced as if in agony. Weylan looked at him confused, then groaned: "You''re not allowed to talk about the contract terms?" Dorm nodded. "And you signed a contract with the World Voice as a witness? Otherwise, this wouldn''t work." Dorm nodded again. "Seriously? Didn''t we grow up with the same horror stories? This never ends well." Dorm shrugged painfully. Trulda nudged Weylan in the side. "Your friend seems to have enough problems already. Let''s look for a solution instead. Contracts with the World Voice have to be fair. So, there must be a way to terminate it. Dorm, what do you need to get out?" "Over 17 gold pieces. I know you can''t help me with that. I''ll be free in a few months anyway. Don''t worry." Weylan didn''t have to think about what to do. He took out his coin pouch and counted out 18 gold pieces on the table. "Here, buy your freedom, get yourself a new shirt and pants, and come by Trulda at the Adventurers'' Guild stand. She''ll find you a decent job." He turned to her questioningly: "Right?" She nodded. "Of course. No problem. If nothing else opens up, we''re always looking for runners for the guild." Dorm looked from one to the other in disbelief. He glanced around to ensure their conversation wasn''t being overheard. Then he leaned closer to Weylan: "Have you already started a thieves'' guild in such a short time?" Weylan laughed heartily: "No, not yet. I work for the baron''s steward. It pays quite well." He glanced at his now nearly empty coin pouch and winced involuntarily. "Though I''ll have to be quite frugal for the next week. But it doesn''t matter. The main thing is we get you out of this debt slavery." The two embraced, and Weylan could feel Dorm trembling slightly. Too much tension being released. He sighed. What should he tell Dorm now? Probably not much. His friend was loyal and admittedly more honest than he was. But he was also a terrible gossip and couldn''t keep anything to himself. He''d have to keep him away from his secrets. But it would still be fun to reunite with his friend. If he had the time. Well, he''d make the time. Chapter 66: Legolias The elven mage, Legolias, stroked his long blond hair thoughtfully, watching two helpers wrestle with a cloth-wrapped ring in the courtyard of the mage academy. He approached them: "Okay, you need to squeeze the ring here until both sides touch. Now twist the sides against each other until it forms a figure eight. Good... Now fold it around here so that it''s a ring again." Following his instructions, the helpers pushed and squeezed until they had a flat, round bundle one step in diameter. One of them, visibly straining, held it against resistance on both sides. He looked at the mage: "How does this work now?" "The wooden tires were made elastic through alchemy and have a spring-like tension, as you just noticed. Now, throw the whole thing into the empty space." The helper looked suspiciously at the package he had just folded with great effort. He shrugged and threw the bundle a few meters in front of him. It twisted and turned, then sprang into a hemispherical tent. The surrounding mage students applauded. Legolias bowed to his audience, then went to the tent, marking two places with tailor''s chalk: "We need openings here and here so the rings can be tied together with a short piece of rope once it''s folded. With a little practice, one person can do it alone. This way, the tent can be easily transported. The runes and gemstones for the necessary enchantments should be engraved here in the frame." An older magician who had been watching silently stepped up next to him, glancing at a clipboard: "After the first three attempts, I wasn''t expecting success anymore." Legolias glanced at the tattered tarpaulins and broken wooden tires waiting to be taken away at the edge of the pitch: "It wasn''t easy to remember exactly how it was set up. I''ve never dismantled a pop-up tent at home." "It turned out surprisingly well. I didn''t understand the concept at first, but seeing it makes it simple. The alchemical solutions are relatively cheap, and the construction is easy for a journeyman carpenter now that we have the exact setup. What enchantments are needed now?" "Nothing really, as long as the tarpaulins are waterproof. But the tents will sell better with a magical anchor. A modification of the root spell should work, along with water resistance to withstand heavy rain and temperature enchantments against heat and cold." He looked thoughtfully at the tent. "Can the tent be enchanted to be bigger on the inside than on the outside?" The mage chuckled and patted him on the back: "You''re funny. That would require a level 5 enchantment for the Bag of Holding effect to contain living creatures. At that size, we¡¯d need all the mages and students at the academy for about a month to gather the necessary mana. That''s beyond our means, at least until a few of you revenants reach archmage status again." "One can always dream." "For luxury models, we could add illusionary camouflage, drying, and self-repair." Legolias shook his head slightly: "Almost every group now has spell foci for drying, simple repairs, and cleaning. But cloaking sounds useful." The older mage frowned disapprovingly: "Spell foci... I would love to know who makes these artifacts. The head of the academy has sent messages to all mages in the area, but no one knows who makes them. We couldn''t even find out who buys such quantities of magical wood and mythril. The manufacturing method must involve magic, as the mythril structures are very fine and inside the wood core. Extremely material-saving, efficient, and with high precision." He stared grimly into space. Legolias waited, then coughed: "Master Rundrakun, how could you make such complex structures? Is there a crafting skill for that?" "Ancient legends mention such skills, but they can only be learned by heroes of Grandmaster level." "But there aren''t any in the world at the moment." Rundrakun nodded: "Correct. So, there are really only two explanations left: Either a dungeon has specialized in producing complex artifacts..." Legolias snorted with laughter. "Yeah. Sure." Rundrakun shrugged, amused, and continued: "... or someone has found one of the lost artifact forges. Work sites where legendary revenants crafted their artifacts. The first were completed around a year before the end of the Necromancer war and gave our allies a huge advantage. These archomechanical constructions require incredible amounts of resources, gathered by entire guilds worldwide over the course of the war. One forge is in the capital, owned by the High King. The second was destroyed by necromancers." "And the others?" Legolias waited tensely for the answer, but the older mage only laughed: "What others? Those are the only two whose locations were ever made public. There''s supposedly another in the realm of the elves and another on the Elysian Isle." Legolias interrupted him: "Let me guess, the artifact forge on Elysian Isle only makes toys?" "Of course. Magical toys and artifacts that only work on the Isle of Children." "Are there any older artifact smiths?" Rundrakun swayed his head thoughtfully, then shrugged: "There have always been rumors. But nothing concrete. Perhaps one of the elven high mages who still has the ability to build an artifact forge has survived. But then why is he wasting time making comparatively weak artifacts in large quantities?" He stroked his beard: "Maybe it''s a new kind of inferior artifact forge, capable of producing artifacts but with significant limitations in complexity or material selection. Or simply limited to spells up to level two." Legolias realized they had strayed far from the topic and pointed to the tent, which had been folded up again: "Is that enough for our agreement?" Rundrakun paused, then nodded: "Yes, of course. It''s a technique from the revenant world that could be adapted for our purposes. In return, I will teach you for a week as agreed. What should we start with?" "Magic missile training. I can''t manage to raise the spell from journeyman to master level. I''ve been at Journeyman-X for a week and have already done all the exercises in the textbooks dozens of times." The older mage laughed and patted him on the back: "You''ve been studying at the academy for six weeks. That''s commendable, but it doesn''t work like that for revenants. You need adventures, quests, practical experience. Study will get you to journeyman level, but not beyond." He patted Legolias on the shoulders encouragingly as he guided him toward the exit. "Go out and use your spells. Then come back, and I''ll show you how to refine your technique. Or I''ll teach you a few new spell components you can integrate into your formulas." Legolias found himself out of the courtyard and stood in the corridor, undecided. He shrugged and wandered through the academy to the exit. He stopped in front of the academy, looking around with a lost expression. The streets were full of NPCs and heroes. Where could he find a suitable quest now? Most were overcrowded or required unpopular travel times. As a mage, he was bad at sustaining long fights or solving non-magical problems. Being a mage was cool, but a fighter could wave his sword all day. He usually ran out of mana after five minutes of fighting. And without magic, he wasn''t viable against opponents of his level. Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website. One of the passing adventurers, a mage in a colorful robe, saw him and stopped: "Legolias?" The elven mage grinned briefly before his face darkened. He stepped back, raising his staff menacingly: "Darken O'' Mighty... we meet again. The master of the darkest magical arts is up to his unholy mischief!" Darken struck a pose and declaimed: "This time, the light of your white elven magic will not triumph! Feel the power of dark... homeopathy!" He flung a vial, which he had fastened in his sleeve with a leather strap, directly onto the ground in front of Legolias. The elf made a quick gesture with his open hand, and a wide jet of flame vaporized whatever the vial had contained. Fleetfoot rolled her eyes, "Seriously?" The two dropped their threatening stance, embraced briefly, and patted each other on the shoulders. "I haven''t seen you for weeks. Seemed like you disappeared off the face of the earth. Are you ok?" Legolias waved it off: "I''ve been looking into the new magic system. These modular spells are fascinatingly versatile. And what are you up to?" "Well..." Darken looked around furtively. "We''ve found something..." Legolias gestured for him to continue. "We have discovered a hidden quest." Fleetfoot snorted: "He bought it from a dodgy street dealer." "He isn¡¯t... We''ve worked with this guy before. Remember the story with the giant snail? He was fine. And the artifacts he got us are great. The prices for them have gone up a lot since then. We got our spell foci for a bargain." Fleetfoot nodded reluctantly. Legolias beckoned them into a side alley. "A quest? Can you use some help?" "Actually, we already have a magician." Legolias looked around in mock confusion, pretending to search for someone behind Darken. The master of the dark arts snorted: "Yes, of course, I mean me!" He shrank into himself a little and continued more quietly: "But you''re right. We''d have a much better chance with a classical magician as well. Do you have time?" "I''ve just been thrown out of the academy because I need practical experience to improve my skills further. And a few levels with the associated feats wouldn''t hurt either. What''s the quest about?" Darken made sure no one was within earshot, leaned over to Legolias, and spoke softly: "We bought an access pass to a secret dungeon." Legolias backed away: "You can be sold anything. There is no..." Darken frantically motioned for him to be quiet, moved closer again, and continued quietly: "We don''t pay until we''ve been in the dungeon and are satisfied. No advance. Nothing." Legolias was confused. This didn''t sound like a usual scam. Were they trying to lure the group into a trap and rob them? Possibly. He had never heard of secret dungeons. As soon as one appeared, it was immediately located by numerous artifacts. The Adventurer''s Guild and several of the great churches then spread the word. Quests popped up, and adventurers flocked there until someone could regulate access, either emissaries of the guild or the crown. "Tell me more." "We got an address and an access pass for a magical portal that leads to the Assassins Guild training dungeon." "There''s no... okay, there''s probably a super-secret assassin guild somewhere. But they won''t reveal their training methods." "Access only works when the assassins are not training. They rarely need the dungeon. At least, that''s what my informant says. It''s only for advancing to journeyman level." "I''m already at level 6." "Never mind. We''re all at level 5 after going up and down the last few levels like yoyos. I''ve lost count of how many times we''ve died in the last few quests. In the dungeon, we''ll all get to at least 6, and you''ll get to 7. There''s bound to be endless loot. We could use it. It''s expensive to keep replacing equipment lost in battle." "When do you want to start?" "We''re on our way now. Do you need any more equipment?" Legolias waved him off, pulling a vial from a hidden pocket in his robe. He uncorked it with his teeth and drank the glittering blue liquid. He checked his stats in the menu, then nodded: "Mana is full again. Everything else was already at maximum. I have my staff and a dagger. We can start our adventure right away." A few streets further, they waited at a fruit stand for the group''s warrior, then set off for the outskirts of the city. The sun slowly set and disappeared behind the high mountains. Magical crystals on wooden poles at crossroads began to glow from within. Legolias noticed figures jumping from rooftop to rooftop. Fleetfoot followed his gaze and grimaced: "Amateurs. They bounce too hard without absorbing their weight or rolling. I''m sure it rumbles all the way down to the cellar of those houses. Bloody noobs who think they''re skilled thieves." Legolias nodded, keeping an eye on the shadows on the roofs. He had no desire to be ambushed. Half an hour later, they arrived at a relatively quiet bathhouse. At the reception desk, Darken presented a metallic disk, though Legolias couldn¡¯t make out the details. The receptionist directed them to the bathtubs in the back room. The group made their way through the bathhouse. Most patrons were leaving. A rotund merchant, drying his hair with a towel, passed by and gave the group a curious glance. He leered at Fleetfoot and sneered, ¡°Three men at once? That¡¯s going to be a long night. Enjoy yourselves.¡± Fleetfoot''s hand flew to her dagger, eyes flashing with intent. Darken swiftly placed a calming hand on her shoulder, holding her back. The merchant, his laughter fading, hastened his pace and cast a wary look over his shoulder as he hurried away. "That rotten little..." Darken pulled Fleetfoot behind him, pushing her, Legolias, and Bernd into the designated room before following and bolting the door securely. The room, like the rest of the house, had plank walls and floors. In the center was a large tub, nearly three paces in diameter, filled with steaming water. Legolias circled it, soon noticing a round pattern of inlaid runes with a ruby at the center¡ªa heating artifact. Though the enchantment appeared fairly common and inexpensive at first glance, the runes were intricately crafted and seamlessly inlaid into the wood, far better than what he''d seen at the local academy. It didn''t quite fit the bathhouse¡¯s rustic decor but suited a building owned by a powerful organization. Returning to the door, he scrutinized it: ¡°The door looks like the others we¡¯ve passed, but the wood grain is different. This is black oak¡ªheavier and harder than most woods. I once had a shield made from it when I was a knight with a previous character.¡± He ran his fingers over the metal bolt, adding, ¡°It¡¯s very securely fastened. No one¡¯s getting this door open easily.¡± As he turned back, he saw Darken counting the planks on a wall. Darken measured three hand-widths up from the floor, placing a finger on a knothole. Moments later, he found a second one an arm''s length away and pressed both simultaneously. The indentations closed as his fingers withdrew, leaving no visible change. Darken calmly braced himself against the tub and, with surprising ease, slid it almost silently across the floor, revealing a trapdoor beneath. He held a coin over the trapdoor, and it sank down. Bernd approached the opening, puzzled: ¡°The hinges and handles looked like they should open upwards.¡± ¡°If you had pulled it, a trap would have been triggered.¡± Darken explained. The warrior glanced around nervously but found nothing amiss. Meanwhile, Fleetfoot examined the ladder. She pulled a stick from her shoulder bag¡ªfar longer than it should have been. Using the hook at the end, she prodded several points on the ladder. ¡°Seems safe. No traps down here, but the trapdoor does have a trigger. There¡¯s a pulley system underneath, but I can¡¯t tell what it activates.¡± The group descended into a cellar room that was completely empty, save for a wall with a stone ring set into it, surrounding a smooth black stone surface. The ring was adorned with copper and silver inlays and numerous intricately arranged gemstones. Legolias whistled, impressed: ¡°Wow. This could take us to the other end of the continent.¡± Darken nodded. ¡°Remember, you can¡¯t tell anyone about this. If the Assassins Guild finds out we used their dungeon, our characters won¡¯t be safe from being hunted anywhere. This is one of those stories where the AI ignores game balance entirely.¡± Bernd pushed past him and thumped his fist against the stone wall: ¡°Blah, blah, blah... We know. Darky, open the portal!¡± Darken touched the portal circle with a coin. The light reflections vanished as shadows filled the circle¡¯s interior, accompanied by a low, ominous hum. He tossed the coin into the portal, where it disappeared. ¡°The Wandering Shop merchant said we have one minute to cross after I throw the coin through. Anyone need to do anything?¡± Everyone shook their heads, except Bernd, who quickly downed an elixir, his skin turning slightly grayish. Legolias nodded approvingly: ¡°Stoneskin elixir. Quest reward or did you find a store selling it at a decent price?¡± ¡°One of the few useful quest rewards from last week.¡± Bernd raised his shield, gripped his sword, and leaped through the portal with a short jump. The others followed him. Chapter 67: Dungeon Delve Malvorik had excavated a new cave next to the underground duskgnome village, creating a semi-circular arena with a large mirrored wall opposite the grandstand. Most of the duskgnomes were already seated, while others fetched drinks or small wooden buckets of exploded corn, a new delicacy introduced by Trulda. The dungeon''s adventurers had gathered in the front row, making the stone bench more comfortable with blankets and cushions. Trulda was debating with the duskgnome Skorr Callad about whether salty or sweet exploded corn was better. Princess Ulmenglanz had the dungeon create various types of moss to test whether it was suitable as padding. The first attempts were not quite to Malvorik''s taste, as the moss was too damaged by spectators and needed active dungeon help to regenerate. Malvorik noted. The dryad princess grimaced: "This underground world is unnatural enough already. This room is especially ghastly. Unadorned stone walls, stone seats, a huge wall of mirrors..." Weylan whistled: "Hey, the revenants are about to come in!" Everyone hurried to their seats. On the mirrored wall, a semi-circular room in the dungeon appeared, with the portal embedded in the straight wall. The reflective obsidian surface changed to a lightless blackness. The entrance room had square stone tiles, all the same light grey color. Opposite the portal, a corridor three steps wide and four steps high led out. The walls of the room and corridor were overgrown up to the ceiling with climbing plants. A chaotic tangle of wooden poles and scaffolding allowed the plants to grow half a meter into the room and a good distance along the ceiling. Irregularly distributed glowing fist-sized crystals in the ceiling illuminated the dungeon in different colors. A warrior with a freshly painted wooden shield jumped into the room, looked around quickly, and stepped forward to the left, where he remained bent over and ready to jump with his shield raised to ward off a still unrecognized danger. Behind him, a mage in a white robe, a slender woman, and another mage in a black robe entered. They all stopped and looked around. Malvorik''s voice echoed in the spectators'' minds: Names appeared above the heroes on the mirror surface: Bernd (Warrior, Level 5) Legolias (Mage, Level 6) Fleetfoot (Thief, Level 5) Darken o'' Mighty (Master of the Dark Arts, Level 5) Ulmenglanz looked up. "Legolias? I met him in the city. He seemed like a decent guy. I wouldn''t underestimate him. He seemed to know more about magic theory than most revenants care to learn." Weylan nodded thoughtfully. "He actually took lessons in theory at the Mage Academy. Everyone else just wanted to learn spells." Malvorik spoke up as the group entered the dungeon: