Loading...

Information #5: experience after the death of a normal monster or boss is distributed equally to all players within thirty meters of it.

Still loading...

Information #6: the rules prohibit players who have not taken part in the battle to run up at the last moment and get experience. Such actions are punishable by a permanent ban.

Loading completed.

Ronnie opened his eyes and the first thing he did was to throw his things out of the tent and then climb out himself. Nearby, Illyseh was sitting in a Bedouin pose, twirling small stones over his palm with the magic of light.

“Decided to get some sleep?”

Ronnie entered the code, packed up his tent, and answered:

“Something like that.”

“A dragon attacked the fortress. There’s a battle going on there right now.”

Ronnie mumbled back and said it was time to move out. Illyseh stood up and asked:

“Before we go, I’d like to know if you have any information about the dragon that I should know?”

Ronnie shrugged and answered:

“I’m contractually forbidden to open my mouth.”

“It’s just the two of us.”

“I don’t think you understood me very well.” Ronnie bent his hand palm forward and stopped it at the level of the solar plexus, and continued, “That’s where I am.” He raised his hand to the level of his head. “Here is Top Secret and our agreement.” The hand rose above the top of his head. “And over here is the AI, which monitors my every action and word. As soon as I take a step to the left or a step to the right, I will remain an eternal slave to this guild, which is not in my plans.”

“Your task is to achieve the goal, and the means by which you achieve it is up to you.”

“Telling you mean changing what’s going on means breaking the pact.”

“Don’t tell me you think the AI is some invisible judge-God who sits in your head and controls your every action, your every word?”

“That is exactly what I think.”

Illyseh cursed, waved a hand in Ronnie’s direction, and they headed forward down the tunnel. The thick soles of the military boots pressed the small pebbles on the road into the dry ground. They crackled and burst. Their eyes adapted to the darkness, and the brief glow of light only stirred and irritate. Illyseh cancelled the spell.

The stale air pressed against the healer’s and sniper’s breathing, and the body felt tired. Liquid mud and slime dripped from the ceiling and onto the uneven surfaces of the walls. Puddles were encountered at some points along the way; they checked their depths and moved on. Then they almost fell into a trap on a cliff, but they successfully overcame that as well. After two hours, they encountered a circular hole in the ceiling through which rays of light were shining. Little flakes of dust swirled around them like gnats. The place was surprisingly easy to breathe. They decided to take a brief break and sat on either side of the gap in the darkness, facing each other.

“It seemed to be a dull day,” said Illyseh.

“It must have cleared up.”

“I doubt that very much,” he answered, stretching out every vowel in his words horribly.

They sat in silence for half an hour. Stamina was up to ten for both of them. Ronnie checked the number of restorative potions, syringes, and ammo. Enough for a couple of battles. Without another word or comment, they both set off again. Ronnie immersed himself in thoughts of what had happened at his apartment, while Illyseh chatted with Yleen, following the progress of the battle through forwarded messages from Mercyaa. All the healer’s fears materialized. He could barely contain his anger.

Focus on Ronnie, Yleen wrote. I’ll let you know how it ends.

“How did you learn to create twentieth-century weapons?” asked Illyseh and heard a loud echo through the tunnel’s darkness.

The healer’s question was like turning a trigger, and an episode from the past flashed through Ronnie’s mind. There he sat in a chair, his father Tyriel in front of him with a Barrett in his hands, he twirled the rifle and placed it rattlingly on the table. The timer clicked. Blake rose and assembled and disassemble the weapon. His father watched his son’s progress intently, and every time he got it wrong, he slapped him in the face with all his might. The time was up. Tyriel pressed the button, clicked again, and the timer froze.

Blake put the gun down on the table, rubbing his broken knuckles. At least he could ask what happened, he thought. The blood, warm and thick, ran down his fingers. However, he tried not to show it. Tyriel said, “Good. You’re making progress.” Then he asked the AI to hand him the bandages and the disinfectant and continued: “You deserve it.”

Blake nodded contentedly.

When Tyriel finished bandaging his son’s hands, he squatted down at eye level with his son and asked:

“Does it hurt less?”

“Yes.”

“It’s good.”

Tyriel stood up and picked up his rifle, hung it behind his back, and headed for the exit. Already in the cab, as if casually, he asked:

“Did he suffer?”

“Very much. “

“Good. Don’t let anyone bully you.”

Illyseh received a new message from Yleen: We lost. The dragon has won. All the officers are dead. We are now playing by Top Secret’s rules. The healer’s facial muscles tensed. The palms of his hands started sweating.

Ronnie rubbed his eyes. In the darkness, he could see the outlines of the road and the walls and an owl. He felt the Barrett in his hands, an integral part of his body, without it as without hands. The sniper turned to Illyseh, at this scholar who never left the walls of the libraries. The healer stopped and stared at him with his gray eyes, waiting for an answer.

“You wouldn’t understand,” Ronnie said and walked forward.

The corner of Illyseh’s mouth twitched. He stood still for a few seconds, tense and sullen, and watched his partner’s dark figure merge into the gloom.

“Why did you choose military victory?”

“Because it doesn’t restrict me. It’s real freedom.”

“I don’t see your freedom. Didn’t you sign a contract a few weeks ago that makes you obey those assholes from Top Secret?”

Ronnie grinned and felt a mixture of mad joy and anger inside him.

“According to this contract, we must kill everything that gives experience in this dungeon. It suits me just fine.”

“They manipulate you, lying to your face from the first meeting.”

Ronnie looked at him deadpan, pressed his lips together, and said:

“Do you think I’m blind? I see they took advantage of my weakness, and when they realized what they were dealing with, from the moment we arrived in the fortress, they were puzzling over which moment to finish you and me off separately. One said so to my face.”

“We need to stick together and think about how to defeat them. You cannot rout a clever enemy by force alone.”

“I understand this very well.”

“One more thing. I have a hunch that Top Secret was involved in your assassination in the Nepril Desert. They tricked you into this mission by using hired assassins.”

He turned and sniffed his nose and asked:

“Do you have any proof?”

“I’ll give it to you soon, and I’ll tell you everything.”

“Good.”

Illyseh removed his helmet and scratched the stubble on his second chin with his long fingernails. They continued walking in a growing silence that made it hard to bear. There was no breeze, no fresh air. It was a horrible place. The darkness became denser and denser, and they had to let out a sphere of light, only this time, they left it flying behind their backs.

Ronnie noticed how his hearing and sense of smell were heightened. He distinguished the faint scraping of bugs from crevices and holes, the flapping of wings somewhere in the distance. The smells surprisingly did not get worse.

Then a new message came to Illyseh, after which his hands lit up, palms clenched into fists and dug into the walls. Ronnie turned around and asked:

“What happened?”