CHAPTER 29

Quickly grasping what the experienced dwarf wanted me to do, I rolled to my right, jumped up, and assumed my ready stance. The ore held his scimitar in both hands and swayed a bit. Either he was crazed, or he was trying to hypnotise me.

"They really did a number on you," I said. "Eh, don't worry about it. If you kill me, you can use my money to buy a whole herd of cows. That way you can have fun with them at night and eat them for breakfast in the morning."

"A-a-ah!" The enraged orc again tried to charge me, but he no longer had any sense of where he was going and earned himself a hefty blow to the stomach. He awkwardly turned to find my mace in his breastplate, and I expected his health to turn red at any second. We gradually worked our way to the edge of the road, where Rone had just finished off one of Vuiikh's compatriots.

Rone had taken his time playing with him, as the difference between their classes and levels was too great to fight on equal footing. I noticed Rone standing there and went around him, but my crazed opponent tripped and fell headlong. I'm not the most honourable person you'll find. Well, let's be honest, I'm not honourable in the least. So, when I saw him lying there, I jumped in and smashed my mace right into his head twice.

There was no need for a third time, as Euikh was dead.

"Whoa!" Dorn said. "You don't go after someone when they're down—"

"Though that was a PKer," Rone interrupted. "PKers get what's coming to them. So, are we going to put them through the ringer again? Think they'll come back here?"

"I doubt it." Dorn shook his head. "Why? They know we'll take everything. No way they come back."

My inbox dinged. Yet another message from my green-skinned fan.

"I swear I'm going to find you in real life. The game doesn't even matter; your life here is going to be a living hell. But I'm going to find you in real life, and I swear you're going to die like..."

I didn't bother reading the rest. He was obviously just a hothead who couldn't string two thoughts together. He was probably really young—they're all like that. There was nothing for me to worry about. He'd be off yelling and screaming for an hour as he bashed in a few wallsand thought up a hundred ways to cut me into little pieces. Then he'd convince himself that it would happen just like he thought and go to bed. In the morning, he'd think he'd already found and dealt with me. Just a lot of noise with nothing to back it up.

In the meantime, the dwarves had picked through their victims to see what they'd earned, fair and square. I headed over to Eurikh's body to see what he had. The scimitar was pretty nice, and it was poisoned, too, while his armor was nothing special. Four hundred and sixty gold and some other little things rounded out the picture.

Oh, hold on…

Sprinter's Ring

+4 to stamina

+5 to agility

+0.5% health regeneration speed

+7% to movement speed

Durability: 96/110

Minimum level for use: 21

Happy birthday to me!

"What did you get?" asked Dorn. "You lit up like a Christmas tree."

I proudly showed him the ring. In fact, I must have looked something like Frodo, which Rone noted with a chuckle.

"You have a long way ahead of you, my young hobbit!"

"Yeah, not bad." Dorn pronounced his opinion with the air of an expert. "For your level, at least. Anything else?"

"Not really. Some gold, a scimitar, all poor to middling. Bunch of trash."

They keep everything in their rooms." Rone spat.

"The bastards know everyone picks dead PKers to the bone, all the way to their watches and gold fillings. So, they don't carry anything around with them. But what's the point? You kill people, and then you don't even get to use what you took. Idiots..."

"I think they're sick," I said. "Inadequacy complexes. Take Vuiikh, did you see him at the end? He wasn't a person, just a charging mule. Hooves kicking and foam flying from his mouth..."

"Who knows if he's crazy or just some mutant," said Dorn. "But we need to let the clan know. They'll take care of him."

I almost wanted to tell them about my idea but decided against it. What was the point? Much better to keep it to myself.

"Thanks, guys." My appreciation was sincere. "If it weren't for you, I'd be leaving Tocbridge in my underwear annoyed and humiliated right now."

"Oh, come on, you could have just let the clan know, and we'd have sent you some money," said Dorn.

I hadn't even thought of that. Complaining to them had crossed my mind, but not getting some financial support.

"We make sure we always help new members. Within reason, of course," said Rone.

"Where were you going, by the way?" asked Dorn.

"To Fladridge." Honesty is the best policy.

"Oh, wow, you have a ways to go. Listen, we just finished an ability quest, and we were going to see the instructor in Khitskern for our reward, but it doesn't matter which city we go to. We have a portal scroll that costs 1,500 gold. If you want, you can give us 500 gold, and we'll all go to Fladridge. We're always up for helping volunteers, but I'm sure you understand that scrolls cost money. No offence?"

Dorn looked at me quizzically.

"Sounds great!" I agreed immediately. "I can give you more..."

"No need. Five hundred gold a piece is fair. Plus, we got some stuff from those guys, too, thanks to you. If you're good, we can go now."

Dorn pulled a scroll out of a pouch on his belt and used it.

Fladridge turned out to be a pleasant little city pulled straight from Medieval Europe: tile roofs, neat little houses, ladies in bonnets, and men in frock coats. All it needed was a church steeple peeking above the buildings. But where would they find a steeple, and especially a church to attach it to, in Elysium? They were pagans, after all. Although, wait a second—I guess they were atheists. There were some gods of a sort, but they drove them out. All that were left were legends and four dryads. Even atheists change their minds sometimes, though.

Rone, Dorn, and I split up in the city's central square, as the dwarves were on their way to get some sort of ability.

I made them promise to let me buy a round of beer when next we saw each other and sent them friend requests. They laughed and looked at each other, but they accepted. Before they left, I asked if they knew where the class instructors were.

"Kids these days are all so lazy." Rone looked at me disapprovingly. "No running around looking for them. No. Point them in the right direction, so they don't have to bother to even turn their heads."

"Rone, let's adopt him!" said Dorn. "It'll be so much cheaper, and in the last half hour, we've basically become his fathers. There, son, over in that alley between the buildings."

The dwarf pointed in the direction of a small street.

"All right, see you later." Rone thumped me on the shoulder. "Send us a message if you need anything."

"And send us the money when you have it." Dorn clapped me on the other shoulder.

Off they went.

It was time for my revenge. I'm not that mean of a person, but I had to do something. There wouldn't be dwarves in the bushes coming to save my skin every time. It was as clear as day, however, that the orc wasn't about to let me off, and so I had to neutralise him. That or make it so that he would be too busy to worry about me. The good news was that I had an excellent plan.

I looked around and noticed something at the southern end of the square that I needed for my Very Sneaky Plan:

a mailbox.

Mailboxes were everywhere in Elysium, from villages to cities to nomad camps in the Plains to the wildest outposts. You may not find a trader, but you could always find a mailbox. Not only that, but they were always designed to match their environment.

Players could all use the game messaging system, but there were a few occasions when you needed a mail-box. For example, if you wanted to challenge someone to a duel. Clans declared war on each other by mail if they absolutely hated each other. Of course, they just sent couriers to each other with a memorandum of hostilities when they disliked but still respected each other. Mailboxes were also important when you wanted to borrow something, as they were considered strong proof by the developers in their role as arbiters.

All that aside, I walked over and activated the mailbox in the square.

Would you like to send a letter?

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