Once out of the house, I throw the newly acquired talent point into Ambidextrous and the three stat points into Constitution, bringing my HP to ten thousand. Then, after checking the map, I exit the settlement and start eastward, toward the rock marked with a dotted line.

  Roughly fifty yards at the mouth, Uroh's Passage widens significantly deeper in. The uneven walls and ceiling are covered with a strange deposit, making the rock look homogeneous and almost like burnt plastic. It's also dark here. Dark even for me, with my keen sensitivity to light. In Anthrum, light is produced primarily by vegetation, which appears to be thoroughly lacking in this section of the cavern.

  The atmosphere is dreary, no doubt. The dude with the ladle mentioned kougs living here... I can't imagine a dragon wandering in here voluntarily, let alone a koug.

  Chapter 28

  The cave I need is located in the left section of the tunnel, roughly twenty yards off the floor, a narrow but otherwise comfortable footpath runs up to the entrance at a gentle slope. Comfortable by my standards, at least. Back on Earth, it wouldn't be scalable without proper rock-climbing gear and experience—or an Olympic medal in gymnastics.

  A wall of mist curls and coils fifty yards ahead, blocking the way further. A ghastly, hypnotic sight. Anyone who has ever burned plastic as a kid should remember the coal-black threads rising from the bonfire, through the smoke. This wall is similar. Dirty gray smoke with black impregnations—in constant motion.

  I activate Shadow Vision for curiosity's sake and give a curious grunt. Now the tunnel looks like a beige corridor blocked off by a billowing black haze. Well, that doesn't help. If the color beige is somewhere in the range of white and red, where does the color black come in? Finding no answers, I wave dismissively, pick up the crystals needed, and quickly make my way up the footpath.

  An unpleasant surprise awaits me above: the cave entrance is blocked off by five large lilac spheres. Roughly one-and-a-half feet in diameter, four of the spheres stand out in front, in a row, with the fifth slightly behind them. The contours are hazy on account of my only seeing them thanks to the skill obtained a few hours ago.

  I focus my eyes, then swear with exasperation.

  Phaelican Egg.

  Craptastic! Covered thoroughly with sharp spikes, the eggs look like bald hedgehogs, the legends above their "heads" glaring red. Each egg a healthy level 180 with hidden HP. Most annoyingly, there's no getting around them. Not unless I get really good at high-jumping.

  Did that jackass send me to my death? He had to have known about the laying in the cave! Then again, should I be surprised? These are drow, a race of traitors and reprobates.

  With a sigh, I look up and examine the cave carefully.

  At a glance, it looks slightly bigger than a hockey rink. An even floor with an eerie palisade of stalagmites, like teeth bared in an ominous scowl at the low ceiling. Rock fragments strewn everywhere, with streaks of limestone and jagged holes gaping in the walls. Actually, the ground and the ceiling bear the same holes, their provenance unclear. The biggest of them is directly across from the entrance, this one shrouded with shimmering blue film. A dungeon entrance, though I can't tell much else from here, some two hundred feet away. The cave is littered with eggs, laid in small clusters ranging from three to ten. There's also moss, and plenty of it, bordering the limestone patches. Well, at least the old man didn't lie about that. The question still remains, though: how do I get inside?

  If I try smashing the eggs, game logic dictates they'll either explode or hatch. All have HP bars, and the color is a hostile red, meaning the smallest action on my part should set off the script. It may even trigger by my drawing near or attempting to jump over the eggs. A chain reaction is unlikely given the distance between the clusters, but drawing aggro of even one might also draw the creature who laid them. And though I haven't a clue as to who this Phaelican is, I highly doubt it's your garden-variety chicken.

  And then there are the dubious-looking holes in the ground and walls.

  I peek into Chronicles, just in case, but find nothing that relates to the subject. Better play it safe, then. Slipping into invis, I shift behind the rock, then use Diversion to toss a distracting totem into an opening between the two central eggs. Should they explode, I'll be safe from the splinters, and should mobs turn up, I'll play it by ear. In my experience, "chicks" that hatch under similar circumstances don't live long: they emerge, wreak some damage around them, and croak. There are exceptions, of course.

  But my fears prove unfounded. A second after the totem lands, a clapping noise sets off a shower of bones striking rock, viscous goo splashes onto the ground, and a heavy stench permeates the air.

  I wait for ten seconds, then peek out from behind the corner. Satisfied that the coast is clear, I leave my cover, grimacing while still moving carefully. What remains from the five eggs is a pool of vapid slush with lumps of bloody tissue floating in it. Right of the entrance, about a dozen chipped hollows are now visible in the rock. So, the spikes are the eggs' main weapons. Interesting.

  I pick up a small bone fragment, examine it, then toss it back in the puddle. A fighter in plate would probably survive one such egg without difficulty whereas I wouldn't last five spikes. This Phaelican laid its eggs, invisible to the naked eye, all over this cave. And though they can't all explode simultaneously, the eggs can still thin the ranks of uninvited guests quite significantly. One generation of the species defending another. Makes sense from nature's standpoint. And if that's so—that the eggs are designed to protect themselves—it's unlikely their mum will show up. Still, I shouldn't let my guard down.

  I wait a little longer, then step over the puddle carefully, take a scraper out of my bag, and make for the nearest hole at the edge of which grows what I came here for. Brown moss.

  It takes me half an hour to round the cave in a circular pattern, avoiding the layings, and collect all the reagents growing here. Moss isn't starleaf—it can simply be scraped from the rock. It's another matter whether this brown pulp can even be called "moss." In the real world, moss typically grows in swamplands, but games need not conform to such conventionalities. At any rate, I manage to collect sixty-seven grams of the reagent, amounting to sixty-seven portions by the local standards.

  Eres' Lair turns out to be a standard level 200 instance designed for a party of five. I avoid stepping inside for obvious reasons. "With a shield or on it" is an idiotic principle that the devs instituted when it comes to dungeon crawling. Essentially, nobody can leave a dungeon above level 30 for as long as the final boss is alive. Full stop. And I couldn't solo clear a level 200 dungeon even in a full set of scalable gear, let alone in my current getup.

  I do my best to steer clear of the holes in the walls as well—excess curiosity can easily prove fatal in my situation. I'm not here on a scouting mission, so I'll survive without the non-essential knowledge.

  Finished with the gathering, I cast one last look around the cave and already start making my way toward the exit when a barely audible sound catches my ear. A soft grinding of metal against rock, coming from below. It can only mean one thing: someone is climbing up the footpath to the cave. Instantly fading into invis, I make it to the entrance in two quick leaps, then shift right and literally hug the cold, uneven wall. Then I wait. I have no friends in Thalim, so I shouldn't expect anything good from the visit. Let's just hope it's not the egg-layer itself returning home...

  Chapter 29

  I don't have to wait long. Only five seconds pass when two familiar characters walk into the cave. Feret and Gehinal, the "patrolmen" pair from the alchemist's house.

  The two drow skirt the pool at the entrance carefully, stopping right across from me, less than ten feet from a cluster of eight eggs. Evidently, they see the laying just fine. Why are they here? Not to gather moss, that's for sure. With their weapons drawn, the purpose of their visit is crystal clear.

  "We're late. The bastard gathered the moss and took off," Feret breaks the silence, his tone angry and annoyed, confirming my suspicions. "Alahun said that the outsider won't see the eggs, but then how did he manage to clear the entrance?"

  "Nope, the bastard is still here," the other replies confidently. "He has to get back to the old man, and we would have seen him returning." Gehinal shifts from foot to foot, cranes his head, and shouts. "Come out, kinless! We don't want your life! Just hand over your money and the gathered moss, then scram!"

  Now that is patently insane! Robbing players with neutral reputation is unheard of in this virtual world. Are they acting on their own initiative? No matter. If these two are looking for easy prey, they're in for a rude awakening.

  Without waiting for an answer to his proposition, Gehinal draws an ostentatious sigh, tosses a Flare under his feet and turns to his buddy.

  "We light up the cave, section by section, then—"

  He stops short mid-sentence. Yanked from invisibility by hostile magic, I stand there behind them, not bothering to hide. Apparently sensing something, the drow turns sharply and meets my eye.

  "Hi there!" I flash an amiable smile, then leap forward with my heel, smashing it into his chest.

  Sure, I could have simply escaped while they weren't looking. Even now I could simply leave, Flare or not. But these NPCs simply became the straw that broke the camel's back. The last drop of bizarre, obnoxious, insufferable NPC antics that made the cup of my patience run over with righteous wrath!

  Caught unawares, Gehinal flies back from the impact, his arms spread wide as he tries to keep his balance barely a foot from the laying. Feret reacts instantly, raising his sword overhead as he turns, but freezes midway, immobilized by a Kidney Shot.

  I toss a Diversion at the eggs, Shadowstep behind Feret and yank his wrist towards me, then hide behind him like a human shield.

  Bursts of bone spikes fire and plunge into Gehinal's chest. Feret's body shudders in my hands, my shoulder burns with a sharp pain as the ring on my finger starts flashing a timer.

  Your Toughness skill has increased to 4%.

  Gehinal's body convulses. The drow drops to his knees, crimson blood splattering all around, and falls face first to the ground. Down more than nine tenths of his HP, Feret elbows me in the stomach, then turns and delivers a swift chopping blow that strikes me in the forearm. I sidestep and counter with a Stab, and the blade pierces the armor with unexpected ease. The enemy's weapon slips out of his hands and falls to the ground with a clang. A second later, he collapses at my feet, motionless.

  Your Toughness skill has increased to 5%.

  The pain tears at my flesh with red-hot forceps. I feel like a Voodoo doll skewered with a hundred pins all at once. An overwhelming smell of rust assails my nostrils, and I barely hold back from barfing. But then regeneration kicks in and quickly disperses the crimson fog. The pain begins to recede as I sheathe my weapons, then stand there for thirty more seconds and steady my breath.

  Well, I'm still alive, and that counts for something. Though it was a close call, so I shouldn't be too ecstatic, even if it's the spike hitting my shoulder that caused most of the damage. The introduction of pain is a real disruption to the balance of things. But now I've also confirmed that Obliteration works as intended—Stab would never have taken off that much HP, even if critting. But that's not the most important thing, either. I focus my eyes on the cursed ring and scan the slightly updated numbers.

  True Darkness' Embrace [CURSED]

  Accessory; ring.

  Bound item.

  Indestructible. Cannot be unequipped.

  Artifact, scalable.

  No minimum level.

  Grants -4.00% of total HP every second.

  Grants an additional -4.00% of total HP every second in combat.

  -400 to damage (True Darkness)...

  -20% to physical damage

  -20% to magic damage

  -20% to damage-over-time

  -20% to armor class

  -10% to maximum resistances

  Obliteration.

  Crafted by Arkam, the Herald of Darkness.

  There it is. According to the log, the ring devours only four percent HP in combat. I thought that the percentage would get stacked, but turns out that the System separates the debuffs, which is certainly good news. Perhaps the percentage devoured out of combat is still affected by Spirit—that much would make sense. And the four hundred additional True Darkness damage... I have maximum Dark magic resistance, but it doesn't seem to impact this number, which suggests that True Darkness is different from the standard Dark school of magic. I've never heard of it, but that doesn't mean it doesn't exist. Oh well. Win some, lose some.

  Eight hundred damage per second... At ten thousand total HP, that is hell of a lot! Five-six seconds and I'm a goner, rendered helpless by the pain shock. Then again, it could all be worse...

  Chapter 30

  The blood on the ground has mixed with the goo oozing from the smashed eggs. I've never been to a slaughterhouse before, but I imagine this is what it must smell like.

  Stepping lightly around the scene to avoid leaving a trace, I quickly loot all the corpses. Nineteen silver coins, one scroll of Lesser Madness—a low-level curse that reduces Intellect by five percent for half an hour, a Greater Elixir of Strength, four HP potions, leather patterned gloves and a level 170 uncommon one-handed sword with the emblem of House Akkri on the pommel. Not very rich at all.

  I don't even bother taking the gloves and the sword. There's no easy way of selling them, and carrying them on my person is too dangerous. Why keep evidence of murder? Killing important NPCs results in an instant loss of reputation and a corresponding achievement, no proof necessary. But these losers were anything but important, and my culpability in their demise would require proof. Had I killed them in my typical fashion, I would need to dispose of the corpses, but these can keep lying here as they are. I doubt anyone is going to notice a knife wound on Feret given the bloody mess that is the front of his torso. Forensic autopsies haven't yet been invented in this world, so I'm not worried.

  Moving away from the bodies, I take a mirror out of my bag and give myself a once-over. The right side of my coat is ripped and stained with blood, the leather on the shoulder is sliced in several places, the pants and the boots are covered in goo. Mm-hmm.

  I sew up the cut on the shoulder with a strap of leather from a Small Repair Kit. Drow may not have forensic experts, but they don't want for logic, either, and the last thing I want is to become a quarry for an entire House.

  The leather closes up magically on the coat sleeve. I grunt with satisfaction upon closer inspection, then make towards the exit.

  Do I feel like a killer? Yes, I do. But it doesn't bother me none. I'm no Raskolnikov and these aren't old women. They were out to kill, but got killed instead. Even if these drow are alive now, that hardly matters. Everything has changed, but some things are as true as they ever were: in a merciless realm such as this, it's kill or be killed. I resolved this back in the caravan. It's possible I might need to kill innocents... I don't have anyone in this world aside from Daria, and I will kill anyone whose death might serve my purposes. At the very least, I want to believe that. Will my hand be steady when the time comes? I guess we'll see.

  The door to the lab is open. I walk in unannounced, as before, and greet the alchemist who's busy arranging wares on one of the shelves.

  "Greetings, master! I've brought you what I promised."

  He might have been the one to send those two assassin wannabes after me, but it doesn't matter. I need the recipe. In theory, I could bump off Alahun and then search the place, but a murder like that would be nearly impossible to conceal. I would be prime suspect as the only outsider in Thalim. Moreover, the dude mixing that stinking swill saw me, as well as the drow brigade lugging rocks from heap to heap. If I kill him, I'd need to kill them all.

  The master freezes still at the sound of my voice, then slowly turns around.

  "You're alive?" he says with relief in his voice. "They managed to warn you in time?"

  "Who are 'they?'" I ask, feigning surprise to play along. "And what is it they needed to warn me about?"

  "Phaelican... The Rock Burrower," Alahun clarifies, looking me up and down suspiciously. "After you left, I remembered that tis the season she lays eggs. The worm itself is nocturnal so it poses no danger, but the eggs... They're invisible to the eye and explode on touch, shooting bone needles all around. When I realized my blunder, I asked Feret and Gehinal to catch up and warn you. It appears that you missed them and had an encounter with the eggs."

  The alchemist spreads his arms and draws a tragic sigh.

  "Indeed, master," I nod, looking him in the eye. "I nearly died at the entrance to the cave, but it all worked out."

  "It's a pity how memory goes with age," Alahun sighs yet again. "To compensate for my culpability, I'm willing to give you the recipe for only thirty-five portions of the reagent. But tell me, how did you survive? And how were you able to gather the moss? After all, it is known that the Phaelican lays no less than fifty eggs."

  Bad memory, eh... The way he recovered by offering a discount, it's almost like he was prepared for this turn of events. It's possible that when those two decided to go after me, it was his idea that they wait a bit just in case I got lucky and gathered some moss, which they would easily loot off my corpse. Then again, he probably doesn't lack for moss all that much, whereas a sapphire is quite a valuable gem. Either way, if he's willing to give up the recipe, I'm willing to leave the matter be.

 

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