53

The Smell of Rain

Out of breath, Rian stopped after a match to rest on the sidelines of the arena. Other players gradually showed up, appearing from the corner of sight and stepping into the ring as if they were popping into existence when he wasn’t looking—instances, overlapping.

He finally checked his PVP rank. It had been hours since he’d started, and by the end of his impromptu-marathon session, he had leveled to 32. He’d been so absorbed in fighting that he hadn’t even thought to spend his new skill point until now.

As if it were even a choice at this point, he dumped all his AP into Strength, then Power, and felt every muscle in his body resonate and tighten.

For his new skill, every choice was in the service of defeating Ogrot, and the single strongest option was to remove any weapons from the equation. Rian picked his skill accordingly.

Counter Critical (Level 1)

(Passive)

Striking in moments of heightened vulnerability, a Monk’s fists become lethal. If the target is struck while attacking, the Monk has a 10% chance of inflicting critical damage. Parrying has a 10% chance of causing a critical Parry, forcing the target to drop their weapon or anything in their hands.

The odds on the effects weren’t great, but it was a start. All that remained in his skill kit as a Monk was Meditate, Combo Attack, and whatever Mirage skill he would get upon reaching level cap.

Sitting at a record of 16-7, his PVP position had already shot up. The notification that he’d risen from the Silver ranks to Gold appeared in front of him with fanfare, flashing lights, and the bright sound of clashing metal. He dismissed it, then checked Ogrot’s status.

He’d entered the Rift of Gorgheit.

Already?

Rian’s stomach dropped. As he’d feared, Ogrot had access to a unique Godly Fragment. It had hardly been a day and he was already on his way to find Yindra. With the Nemesis-status perk, Rian saw that Ogrot was in World 1-2.

The voice at the back of his mind, telling him that there just wasn’t enough time to get on Ogrot’s level no matter what he did—he shut it out. Thoughts like those just served to slow him down. He would do what he could. And if it weren’t enough, the rest of Moonlight would pull through.

He let the guild know about Ogrot’s entry into the Rift, then got ready to jump into more matches—only to realize he needed to repair his equipment. His linen jacket was fraying and his gauntlets had begun to wear down from the onslaught of fights.

Overhead, against the glass dome of the arena, rain had begun to fall. Floating gold lamps glowed in response to the darkening sky, clouds rolling in from the west. He wondered if it was because of what Kat had done earlier, outside of Nostdal. She’d summoned an entire storm, and now it seemed the weather was being affected here.

Walking to the entrance, Rian found a station offering free repairs. Behind the counter was an NPC, handling swords and bracers and shields and all manner of equipment. The NPC held his hand over damaged items and used a bit of temporal energy to send them back in time to when they were new, then returned them to the player.

Standing beside the NPC was Corvis, pretending to be an assistant, mimicking and mocking the actual repairman’s movements but always staying just out of the way. Once, as the NPC attempted to repair a rusty sword, Corvis positioned his staff and let the eye atop it open, its gaze suddenly igniting the sword with hellish fire before he immediately closed the eye again, extinguishing the flames.

The NPC stepped back. “What the—” He looked down at the sword and blinked.

“What can I do for you, adventurer?” Corvis said, grinning as Rian stepped up.

“I’ll need these repaired,” Rian said, taking off his gauntlets and paying him no attention. He gestured to the counter, and his linen jacket flashed into existence upon it, a gray t-shirt taking its place upon his body.

As the NPC went to work, Rian glanced aside at the sound of laughter. It was the heartiest laugh he’d ever heard. A true belly laugh.

Standing near the edge of the arena was a tall, plate-armored man with three other players nearby. The man slapped his palm against a mage’s back, nearly toppling him. “And then he tanks Mizuxe without a dispersion factor!” His voice drawled with a thick, distinctly Russian accent. “It does not even occur to him! Madness, I tell you. An absolute fiend!”

At a glance, the plate-armored man was a capped Paladin. A gigantic steel hammer rested upon his back.

Every word he spoke sounded like he was shouting. When he laughed, he threw his head back. He radiated enthusiasm, and the faces of those around him seemed to reflect it. Rian almost felt himself break a smile. Then he glanced above the man’s head.

His guild was Ichor. At the same time that Rian noticed his guild, the Paladin seemed to notice his.

“Ah, you! The Moonlighter!”

Breaking away from the others, the Paladin rushed up to him, armor clanking.

Rian was about to step away, but the Paladin placed his tremendous hand on Rian’s shoulder. He hadn’t really grabbed Rian—it was just that his grip was so commanding that Rian couldn’t move as the Paladin spun him around to face the group.

Before Rian could even do anything else, the man placed his arm around his shoulder in a half-hug.

“Let me tell you—” The Paladin gestured to the small crowd with his other hand. “Moonlight, ah. Those were the days!”

He wasn’t even addressing Rian. He was still talking to the others using Rian like a prop. What the hell is this guy on about?

“It was during patch 1.01,” the Paladin said, “that Moonlight was the strongest guild around. Truly a force to be reckoned with, before LastWhisper had topped the endgame charts.” Jostling Rian with one arm, he made a fist with the other. “The two sisters—Trini, Katrin—had only begun their dispute, the biggest rivalry in all of Mirage.” He seemed to lose energy for a moment, shrugging. “At the time, of course. But! Even now, remnants of the old era walk among us. What have you to say about such things, my fellow?”

“I…honestly don’t know what you’re talking about,” Rian said.

“You don’t know? Why, even our guilds—yours and mine—were once great rivals!”

“Not as bad as LastWhisper, I’m assuming.” I’m hoping.

“Heavens no! Nothing but a bit of friendly competition.” He turned to the others and said, “No one likes LastWhisper anyway.” They shared brief laughter in agreement. “Ah!” The Paladin sighed with such force that it was more of a grunt. “Yes, Moonlight was once a truly wondrous guild, the feats they pulled. How the times have changed. Old rivalries burn to fading embers. The glory days are behind us, as it were.”

While listening to the man wax poetic, Rian managed to inspect his equipment—a ton of defensive enchantments and healing boosts similar to Ogrot’s load-out. He was in the top 80,000. A Platinum-rank player.

The Paladin looked down at Rian. “What do you say, my friend? Perhaps we may rekindle that flame with a new spark. Watching those matches of yours has gotten me fired up—that steadfast look in your eyes was something I haven’t seen in ages. Let us fight, for old times’ sake. You’ve got me in such a nostalgic mood, I cannot pass up such opportunity!”

He finally let go of Rian and then offered his hand. He introduced himself as Pitune, the name appearing above his head. Rian exchanged his tag as well.

The automatic matchmaking of the arena always paired up relatively equal opponents, so fighting someone like this Paladin wasn’t possible outside of arranging the match ahead of time. Even if he was about to demolish Rian in a match, fighting a tanky class like a Paladin was valuable if only to prepare him for the true fight ahead—against a Berserker several times more geared than him.

He had to wonder if there was some covert motive for Pitune to fight him. Rian’s rank was nearly ten times lower. He was probably going to get stomped. Nonetheless, he couldn’t pass up the opportunity to improve.

Rian agreed to the match and stepped into the ring. As he walked, he heard Pitune whisper to one of the other players, not quite out of earshot. “He’s probably as washed-up as the rest of them, but it’s worth a try.”

Pitune had dropped his accent. Even his cheery attitude was absent, the way he spoke. It seemed his demeanor was just a front. Maybe Pitune was roleplaying, but there was a chance that something else was going on here. It wouldn’t have surprised Rian. Almost everyone he’d run into was hiding at least something. He, especially, knew that better than anyone.

“Have you noticed by now?” Corvis said, floating nearby. “His guild. It’s similar to the one that bowman was in, back near Elmguard. Lahir, I believe.”

But Rian remembered it being Petrichor, though. Not Ichor, like Pitune’s was.

Standing on the other side of the ring, Pitune retrieved his massive hammer off his back and held it forward. The air shimmered at the edge of the arena, the instantiation successful. Any sight of the spectators vanished, leaving them in an empty, domed room. Yet the rainfall remained, pattering against the glass ceiling.

“Now,” Pitune said, “show me that the embers of old can still burn!”