End Online: Volume 4 (16 page)

“What?! Why?! There is no
need to fight in there. And if you die while fighting, you will respawn all the
way back in Iceridge. That is at least three weeks of travel in game time to
get back here!”

“Haha, there is no need to
be worried. If a player dies in the colosseum, they are revived in the waiting
room just outside the arena. There is also only half the death penalty.”

“Really? I have never
heard of such a thing.”

“It’s true,” Sir Laurence
semi joins the conversation, whispering gently to Verde. “It is to incentivize
players from other kingdoms to take part in the arena. Else, only players from
the Kingdom of Dalbe would participate.”

After saying his thoughts,
however, Sir Laurence becomes silent as he stares at me sternly.

“Well, I suppose it should
be fine then. But what are we to do during this week? Or do you expect us to
simply wait for you?”

“Why are you so concerned?
I was, umm, thinking that there would be a quest or two in the city you could
do, or enjoy the sights.”

“Because we’ve travelled
so far together, of course! Why go so far only to separate now? You didn’t
think this through very well; do not be so selfish!” Verde furrows her brows
and glares at me with displeasure.

“I’m sorry… Please,
forgive me.”

“Just hurry it up.” Verde
sighs in resignation, her expression softening to look at me with worry..

Fen and I soon split apart
from the rest of the party and walk toward the colosseum. I believe everyone
else is will take up a local quest, but they don’t specify what their plans
are. Perhaps they intend on becoming gladiators as well.

I stop by a local healer
on the way and pay an exorbitant fee for a detoxification that eliminates my
‘drunk’ status. Once the treatment is done, my head does indeed feel
considerably clearer.

I pass through multiple
dusty streets before I finally arrive at the gladiator’s entrance to the
colosseum. There are even more players waiting around in this area compared to
when I accepted the quest to qualify as a participant, but I only recognize a
few of them from last time.

I move toward the guard
standing next to the entrance. He starts to get nervous when he sees me approach
and even places a second hand on his spear. I can see his knuckles turn white
from the force he is using to hold the weapon.

“Excuse me, I have
accomplished the task of collecting two hundred Antril horns.”

A trading window opens up
before me and I select the items from my inventory and place them within it.

“Y-yes, this is very good.
Y-you have indeed completed the request.”

The standard ‘Quest
Complete!’ notification appears before me, but as soon as I dismiss it, another
appears in front of me.

I browse my inventory and
finally find a shabby looking, round insignia with a carving of a helmet on it.
The helmet is the type a warrior would wear, covering the entire head with a
T-shaped opening on the face. The item also says that it will be automatically
equipped when inside the battle colosseum and will unequip itself when I leave.

For some reason, I don’t
gain any infamy this time when I turn in the quest. I wonder if it could be due
to there being no room for negotiations, or perhaps some other factor. While I
now have a method to work off my infamy, I still prefer to avoid gaining any in
the future if possible.

“Please, f-feel free to
enter whenever you like. T-the quartermaster will be able to assist you with
selecting matches and events to participate in.”

The guard quickly steps to
the side and allows me to enter the door behind him. I take one last glance at
the players milling around the entrance before entering the colosseum with Fen.
I notice that Fen technically didn’t complete the quest and become a gladiator,
yet the NPC didn’t stop her from entering along with me. The guard must
automatically recognize her as my ‘Companion’.

The inside of the building
is well lit by torches along the sandstone walls, but the air is quite damp and
cool in here. I walk into a large room full of weapons and armor. A few players
are busy around anvils and furnaces forging these weapons. I approach one of
these players and ask about all the items he is crafting. He has curly brown
hair, a face full of freckles, and is wearing casual grey clothing while
inspecting his creations.

“I do it to improve my
‘Smithing’ skill. One of the rewards that most winners are provided are various
ores that can be forged into more armor and weapons. Considering that the
durability of weapons and armor drops shockingly fast when fighting other
players, it is a good hobby.”

“Really? I wouldn’t
imagine it would drop that fast.”

I already knew about ores
and sometimes a few other crafting items being awarded to the victors from
battles. It is apparently an incentive to keep the arena constantly busy, and
it works.

“It is because nearly
everyone becomes a heavy tank during a fight, relying on defending against
blows rather than avoiding them. A player’s attack will also damage the armor
more than most monsters. The reverse also happens, a player hitting a shield
with their weapon will lower the weapon’s durability more quickly than cutting
into monsters. Speaking of which, you are welcome to purchase any of my extra
armor and weapons if you need some.”

“I understand, that makes
a lot of sense now that I think about it,” I consider it to be similar to how
nothing damages a rock more than smashing it into another rock of similar
hardness. “How much for those leg guards over there?”

“They’re not a bad quality
piece of armour. Made of ‘Diamond Silver’ and intended for players level 220
and up. I will sell them to you for 350 gold if you like.”

I can’t seem to find a
response after hearing his price. For a place like Swordbreak, that price is
unheard of.

“Haha, don’t be too
shocked. Down here in the pits, weapon and armor are priced at the normal rate.
We only trade between fellow gladiators and aren’t greedy for money, just
enjoyable matches.”

“S-sorry, I was just a
little surprised by the price is all. Would you happen to have any short
swords?”

“A short sword? No, I
can’t say that I do. Long swords, axes and various other two-handed weapons are
the only weapons that are generally in use in the arena, so that is all we
make. We do have a few projectile weapons and ammunition if it helps, but you
will have to make your own short sword if that’s what you want.”

“You don’t happen to take
requests, do you?”

“Sorry, only from more
friendly acquaintances. It’s nothing personal.”

I would work hard and make
my own weapon, but I will need other skills that can aid the ‘Smithing’ skill
to improve the weapon or imbue it with enchantments. And after all that effort,
there will be far better weapons placed on the market from rare loot and boss
drops.

“Think nothing of it,
perhaps another time.”

“Haha yes, perhaps another
time.”

I leave the player behind
and head through a large double door off to my right. There are two more doors
leading out of the room, but I choose the closest one to me for convenience.

Behind mystery door number
one is a dome-shaped room many times larger than the last room and full of
weights and other training apparatus. My first thought upon seeing the area is
that if a gym existed two thousand years ago, it would probably look like this.
I can see several players at various points of the room using the equipment to
train their characters. With death in the arena only exacting half the usual
penalty on players’ stats, this area must be a fantastic way to regain any stat
points that were lost. Strange how I never read about this area in the End
Forums.

I leave the room and try
the next door around the room. This one is on the exact opposite side of the
colosseum exit. This room is the smallest so far, with a single desk at one end
of the room, and several boards throughout the room full of upcoming events and
people requesting matches with strange and fantastical rules.

There are several players
searching over the boards, but only a single NPC wandering around the room with
a large wooden staff in his hands. He appears to be a weathered man in his late
fifties with streak of grey hair along the side of his head. Behind the NPC are
two stone passageways, curving away and ascending to unknown locations.

I instantly recognize him
as the quartermaster that I need to talk to in order to register for any
events. Even though this is a game, I still feel a little nervous as I walk
toward him.

“Good afternoon, I would
like to register for a match.”

The hint of a frightened
expression appears on his face momentarily, but is gone in the space of half a
breath.

“HAH! YOU WANT A MATCH?!
What match do you want?!”

There is something about
his voice that contains a certain familiarity, but I can’t seem to recall what
it is. I massage my temples while I fruitlessly try to figure it out.

“Hmm, I would like a
standard one on one match.”

The man flips through a
few parchments until he finds one he approves of and slaps his hand on the
table with a loud crash, causing me to jump in fright.

“Follow the path to my
right and be ready in ten minutes! DON’T REGRET IT IF YOU DIE!”

“Fen, I need you to stay
here for me. I will be back soon! If you have any troubles, log out
immediately.”

The wolf girl nods her head
in understanding. It should be possible for her to fight with me in a two on
two match, but I cannot risk her dying like that. We stare at each other for a
lingering moment, before I finally turn my head and break eye contact.

I walk through the passage
on the right, the only sounds being the echoes of my boots clicking on the
ground. My heart rate doubles from nervousness and I start to consider the
possibility of being easily defeated. Successful players who fight in the arena
are generally either high levelled or highly skilled, sometimes both.

Up ahead of me, sunlight
is pouring in from where the passage comes to an abrupt ending. I walk out into
the ambiance and am momentarily overwhelmed by the shouts of the crowd. My eyes
adjust to the light rapidly, revealing a large, sand-strewn oval battle ground
with six raised arenas on it. Half of the arenas have two players fighting on
them, while the other half have four.

“Hey! Are you going to
stand there all day like an idiot? Come sit down and join the queue,” A gruff
voice sounds from my left, startling me.

I turn my head to the left
and see a line of players sitting on a stone bench against the edge of the
colosseum floor. All their torso armors are blue with their gladiator’s
insignia attached in the center of their chest. The insignias are in all grades
and colors, the highest being a single player with one glowing dimly with the
green of ‘Epic’ rarity.

There are a total of 26
players in the line, half of which are staring at me.

“Yes! Of course.”

I rush over and sit at the
far end of the line of players on the bench. This must be where everyone
waiting to battle waits for their turn to arrive. I notice that none of them
seem to be equipped with their weapons or shields.

“So, what’s your grade?”
The player directly next to me asks with a friendly smile. He is a large,
middle-aged man with thick beard and a blue insignia on his chest.

“Huh, what?”

“Your grade. What is the
rarity of your gladiator’s insignia?”

“Oh, sorry. It is only
common. I’m new to the arena.”

I pull open my cloak
slightly to reveal the plain white insignia attached to my ‘Silverhusk Plate
Armor’. When the man sees it however, his smile instantly disappears and
hostility flashes in his eyes.

“I think you’re in the
wrong place here. How about you walk away and leave this area before I make
you.” A few heads turned at his words, staring indifferently at me.

I open my mouth a few
times trying to find the words to respond to him, but the immense pressure from
everyone causes my potential responses to catch in my throat. It took nearly a
minute before I finally manage to regain my speech.

“E-excuse me? What did I
do? I’m sure you were all new to the arena at some point and had common grade
insignias. I hardly think that is any reason to kick someone out.”

Hard stares bore into me,
causing me to avert my eyes from them. The player next to me who had suddenly
become hostile is the one to respond.