The Citadel (Mirror World Book #2) (9 page)

I took another swing.

You've tried to clear a Pile of Brick Rubble.

-6 to the item's durability.

Durability: 11/20

"Wow! Aren't you good at it!" Marcus exclaimed. "I almost envy you!"

I couldn't tell whether he really meant it. I took another swing.

You've tried to clear a Pile of Brick Rubble.

0 to the item's durability.

Durability: 11/20

"Oops," he said. "Spoke too soon, didn't I?"

I grinned and took another swing. And again. And another one. After my third blow, the system duly reported,

Congratulations! You've cleared a Pile of Brick Rubble!

Reward: 5 Tyllill crystals.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Marcus beeline for the trunk containing his stuff. Then the half-naked tramp was gone, replaced by a fearsome level-160 wizard.

How weird. Only a moment ago, I couldn't have cared less about his level, treating Marcus just as a fellow player; if anything, I'd even felt slightly superior to him. That's the power of a person's gear in Mirror World!

"Did you get some tyllill?" he asked once he'd checked all his stuff.

"Yeah. Five crystals."

"Not bad. Congrats. It's the best resource in the whole of the Citadel. At first you could trade it but the admins pulled the plug pretty quickly. Now it's no-drop. Basically, tyllill is one of the reasons people come here for, together with quests and Valor. So? Are we quits now?"

I shook his proffered hand. "We are. If ever you get caught in a Pile of Shit, just buzz me."

He laughed, waved his goodbye and darted toward the West side of the fortress.

I was about to switch my bot on when a system message informed me of the reactivation of the magic shield. According to the script, we seemed to be relatively safe... for the time being. In which case, I'd rather take my time. Let's have a look at this tyllill.

Item name: Tyllill

Type: binds on pickup

Player's level: 0 and above

Style: Universal.

Tyllill crystals are one of the ancient mysteries the Founders left behind. Their true purpose is yet unknown. If you stay diligent in performing your quests, defending the walls of the Citadel and being useful to its denizens, fortune might smile on you too, rewarding you with one of the precious crystals.

Important! The item is categorized under Precious Artifacts of the Maragar Citadel. To check its exchange rate, Click Here.

The words Click Here were highlighted in blue. I followed the link. Oh! This was getting interesting. Apparently, you could exchange tyllill for lots of things: various Rep points as well as elixirs, items and bonuses.

Breathless, I scrolled through the list of Reputations with Mellenville. Got it! The exchange rate was predictably shameless: one to ten, and not in my favor, either. But at least it was something.

A musical voice distracted me from reading,

"Excuse me! Could you be so kind as to help me, please?"

I turned round, meeting the stare of another Alven player. Unlike Marcus, this one still had half of his clothes on, even though they looked admittedly weird. He wore leather pauldrons over his white starting shirt and a matching leather belt. His bare feet were stuck in a pair of boots. Apparently, part of his gear was no-drop. On one hand, it was rather convenient: you didn't have to do a corpse run. But on the other, when you wanted to change your current gear for something more powerful, you'd have to throw all your current items away.

"Sure," I said. "Provided I can do it."

"You can," he pointed at the spot where a leather shop had stood less than an hour ago. "I need to get into that Pile of Brick Rubble to get my stuff..."

Chapter Seven

W
hile I was digging for the Alven's stuff, a long line of half-naked players formed behind my back. Apparently, refusing someone's request for help was considered very bad form here. If you didn't want to end up on some clan's black list, you'd have to comply and do what you're asked: in my case, swing my pick. Expecting any kind of compensation for one's toils was out of the question. Tyllill crystals were my only reward. Which was nothing to sniff at, actually.

Less than thirty minutes into my community work, I realized why it wasn't remunerated. I had competition: some builders, a few rescue workers and a couple of fellow Mine Diggers. An hour later, two stonemasons joined me matter-of-factly, bashing their hammers through my pile of junk. So that's how it was, then? What I'd first thought to be a liability and a waste of time was in fact some sort of privilege?

Still, I soon saw that these two smart guys had no hope in hell of outdoing me. Tyllill crystals went to the player who dealt the most damage to the pile. My stats made me beyond competition. I cracked the brick tombs like walnuts. In the time it took a stonemason to deal a couple of points damage with his hammer, my pick ripped off a good seven — or even ten in one case. So it didn't take long for the opportunistic "rescuers" to realize that they should stay away from me.

Because all these local "rescue teams" started to breed like locusts! I made a quick estimate: the numbers of "casualties" had plummeted, averaging 1 per each 15 rescuers.

I was also quite upset by the fact that tyllill dropped rather irregularly. The five crystals I'd gotten from Marcus' grave was the top. Each pile yielded me one to three crystals at the most. A few times I got nothing at all. So much for my pick-brandishing.

Engrossed in my crystal-farming, I hadn't even noticed that the street had been cleared from debris. Still, the rescue operations were far from finished. From what I gleaned from the players' conversations around me, the entire East part of the Citadel looked the same. Plenty of work for everyone.

An hour later I swung my pick one last time.

Congratulations! You've
cleared a Pile of Brick Rubble!

Reward: 2 Tyllill crystals.

Good. Enough for today. I didn't see any more piles of rubble left, anyway. The last street had been cleared of debris. I'd done good. I hadn't even had time to take a look into my bag. Let's check our spoils.

Before I could open the menu, a new system message made me freeze like a salt pillar, open-mouthed,

Valorous warriors and denizens of the Maragar Citadel! Congratulations! You've successfully completed yet another event, defeating the Caltean aggressors! Glory to the Forces of Light!

Special thanks to those who helped defend the Citadel with disregard to their own lives!

We congratulate the warriors who excelled defending the fortress walls:

#1: Count, for killing 230 enemies

#2: Turbo, for killing 198 enemies

#3: Irene, for killing 173 enemies

The heroes will receive commemorative Citadel medals or upgrades to those they already have, plus 5000, 3500 and 2000 Tyllill crystals respectively.

We would also like to honor the following citizens of our glorious fortress:

#1: Olgerd, for clearing 254 Piles of Rubble;

#2: Sancho, for clearing 65 Piles of Rubble;

#3: Corinne, for clearing 49 Piles of Rubble.

The heroes will receive commemorative Citadel medals or upgrades to those they already have, plus 5000, 3500 and 2000 Tyllill crystals respectively.

Our congratulations to the winners!

Another system message popped up,

Congratulations, Olgerd! Today you've written your name in the history of the Citadel!

Reward: a medal, Hero of the Maragar Citadel

Reward: a medal, Rescuers Top 1000

Reward: a medal, Pile Buster

Reward: 5000 Tyllill crystals

I stared impassively at the total number of crystals I had. Five thousand nine hundred freakin' eighty. Or, if you wish, almost 600 pt. Reputation with Mellenville.

I hurried to open the menu and indeed discovered three medals: one green and two gray ones. The green one was "Hero of the Maragar Citadel". I'd done quite well — without as much as breaking sweat. I'd also gotten myself a helluva lot of exposure. Which was much worse.

I had to dash.

I activated the bot. I needed to see Captain Gard ASAP. I left the street to the applause of the players. A few seemed to have taken some screenshots. Bummer! What had I been thinking of? On the other hand, how was I supposed to know it might have ended like this?

Calling myself all sorts of names, I finally made it to the barracks.

The number of NPCs was quite astounding. I'd never seen so many non-player characters in one place.

The entrance to the barracks yard was guarded by a lancer who looked very similar to the ones I'd met when entering the fortress. His helmet dangled off his belt, his long hair clotted with sweat. His armor was deformed and dented, his shield covered in scratches. His forehead was bandaged with a strip of white cloth. This event must have cost him dearly.

The sentry frowned, gloomy. Getting on this guy's bad side was the last thing I needed. But strangely enough, his face began to clear as I approached.

"Aha, Olgerd!" he growled good-naturedly. "Great job! As long as we have guys like you behind the frontline, we'll keep going! It makes fighting the enemy so much easier for us."

A nametag appeared above his head. Oh wow. Did that mean my medals had begun to work their magic?

"T-t-thanks, er, Eric," I stuttered. "I do what I can."

"I can see that. Keep up the good work! Now you'd better hurry. Captain's waiting for you. Right through that door, second floor."

I didn't wait for him to repeat it. Still, I couldn't help wondering: if, according to this seasoned war dog, the Citadel was "safely behind the front line", where did that leave Drammen Town?

It took me no time to get to the second floor. All the NPCs in my path exhibited a friendly interest in me. Probably, my situation wasn't as hopeless as I thought it was.

Another NPC stood guard by the door to the Captain's office — or rather, a room which was hung floor to ceiling with all sorts of slashing and stabbing weapons.

The Captain's adjutant, however, didn't look as friendly as the sentry I'd just met. He looked me over with his hard and prickly stare, then nodded at the door. I stepped in.

Captain Gard — because it was him (the portrait I'd seen in his house bore a striking resemblance to him) stood stooping over a huge desk. I was about to step closer when I heard his hard commandeering voice,

"Stay where you are."

I obeyed. Some voice Tommy's Dad had! It literally sent shivers down your spine. Still, it wasn't a nasty voice. Angry, maybe. No wonder. I might be angry too had I not seen my family for months at a time.

The thought scalded me like a cold shower. How sure was I that Captain Gard had even seen his wife and son? Had he ever been on his street or inside his own house? I'd never thought about it before. They were only NPCs, forever locked in their respective locations, doomed to play their parts using a limited emotion simulation tool.

It felt so sad. My heart clenched as I thought about my two girls.

I felt so sorry for this guy — and his family, too.
Easy, Olgerd, easy,
I said to myself
. Thoughts like these aren't healthy.
Make sure you don't lose your virtual marbles.

Finally, the Captain finished studying whatever lay on the desk in front of him. I heard the rustle of paper: he seemed to be rolling a map up, wary of spying eyes. His vigilant glare watched my reflection in a polished cuirass on the wall. Yeah yeah, some spy I was, blowing my cover all over the Citadel. I suppressed a sigh.

Captain Gard turned round. I recognized the firm chin and the scar that ran across his right eyebrow and cheekbone. The sinewy body of a gymnast; the stern stare of the portrait. Still, my first impression persisted: this wasn't a bad man. A
man
?

"Master Olgerd, I received the new recruit list already two days ago. So you shouldn't be cross with me for making you wait a couple of minutes. As far as I understand, you weren't in a hurry, either."

His voice matched his stare. What a predicament! Landing on the wrong side of the local boss was the last thing I needed. I had to talk my way out of it.

"I was, Sir. But as you probably already know, I'm not exactly a recruit. Or rather, I'm not a recruit at all. I'm not a military man. Yes, I reported to the Citadel voluntarily, wishing to be useful, but a different kind of useful. Not the military kind of useful. When I received my, er, orders to report here, I wasn't given a deadline. Had I received one, I assure you I'd have arrived on the dot. And as for today, I couldn't ignore the pleas for help."

"Which is commendable," the cold voice said. "But this is irrelevant. Let's get to the point."

"I'm sorry to interrupt you," I ventured, "but before we do that, I have a message for you from someone."

It took all of my self-control to blurt this out under his angry glare. Excellent characterization. The game developers earned their keep.

"And who might that be?"

I'd managed to rile him. His jaws clenched.

"It's your wife."

Yes! Dead on. The guy was knocked out. Excellent. Even the room felt warmer. Phew! Those game developers were a right bunch of sadists.

Gard's face changed. His eyes widened.

Unwilling to prolong his agony, I offered him Mila's letter.

Congratulations! You've just completed a quest: You've Got Mail!

Reward: +250 to your Reputation with Mellenville.

Excellent. Very, very good. Couldn't have been better. And this was only my first step on the way to my becoming a defender of the Citadel.

Gard's hands shook. Was I the first one to witness this? How many players had already been here before me? Or was I the lucky one following an unbeaten path?

It was so nice to see a smile on the stern face of this warrior. Oh yes. Tactfully I coughed, addressing the Captain who was already engrossed in reading,

"I'll wait outside, Sir, if I may."

Without receiving an answer, I slid out of the room. I could very well wait in the reception. It wasn't going to kill me.

Gard's adjutant must have noticed his boss' state of mind. I could literally see his jaw drop. I could have bet anything that this was the first time he'd seen Captain Gard smile.

The reception was quite busy with both players and NPCs. The air reverberated with voices, jokes and laughter. I must have landed in the very midst of the Citadel's defenders, fresh from their battle with the Caltean invaders.

"Ha! There he is, my competition!"

It took me some time to realize they were talking about me.

"Count, look at this Digger! He's definitely not digging it, is he?"

I looked up at the voices. Three players: red-skinned Narches. It was the first time I was seeing examples of this dead race. All three were tall — almost seven foot — with four arms, levels 200+.

The strongest and best-equipped of them was the one called Count. "Best-equipped" was actually an understatement. Compared to the others, he looked like an MMORPG superstar. His armor was speckled with red and purple. His Valor was level 100! I wouldn't have been surprised if he'd taken part in the battle for the Barren Plateau.

"Whatcha stalling for, Dwarf?" Count flashed me a pearly smile. "Let's get to know each other."

I glanced at his friends' nicknames and immediately knew. They were the top three players who'd garnered all the rewards in today's event. All three were sporting small logos featuring a red skull against a black background. The logo of the Dead Clan.

I nodded back. "Pleased to meet you," I said to all three.

"The event was rubbish," Turbo growled. He was the tallest.

"Guys, leave the poor Grinder alone."

It was Irene who'd said it — who could be called petite compared to the other two. The powerful crossbow behind her back looked more like some science-fictional missile launcher. Her black hair was pinched in a ponytail. Purple armor hugged her slim figure.

"Please don't take any notice of them, Olgerd," she said with a smile. "It's just that we've wasted two days already on these ridiculous mini-events. We've come here to get us some scalps. Instead, we're hunting mobs."

By "scalps" she must have meant Dark players. Okay. As far as I was concerned, they were welcome to continue wasting their time. As for me, this "ridiculous mini-event" was about all I could stand.