The Duty (Play to Live: Book # 3) (20 page)

And back in those days, how many men could resist the temptation of grassing up the village girl who'd rejected their advances? And what holy Catholic brother would contest his accusation, impatient to get another victim for his torture chamber, to undress and shave her naked body, drooling in anticipation, then study it meticulously in search for the Devil's marks? And that was only the beginning, the first step on the path of absolute power of one "trembling creature" over another.

I shook off the gloomy thoughts and peered into the system message window. What a bitch! Apparently, Lloth was offering me a tailor-made bait:

The Goddess has looked with favor on your sacrifice.

New religious status achieved: Junior Priest.

Special skill: by offering a sacrifice favored by the Goddess, you will receive 1% of her XP.

So you are using the stick and carrot tactic now, aren't you, Spider Lady? As if I didn't realize that if I wanted to reach level 300 and get a hundred uncategorized skills in the bargain, all I had to do was sacrifice the remaining prisoners on your altar. But what would that do to my mind after it had streamed terabytes of human fears, thoughts and desires? Could it be the path downhill, the very process of turning into an Evil Overlord—becoming a demented monster who only cares about his power—and to build that up, he has to kill more and more every time, increasing his fix.

I noticed Widowmaker's intense stare as he whispered something into his private channel; glimpsed the spiral of superior officers and their men tightening around me. Did they know something about it that I didn't? Were they afraid I might lose it and order them to collar and bring me another sacrificial victim?

Sorry, guys. Sure I'd love nothing more than to become one of those tough nuts and finally be able to hold my head up high—whether walking down an unlit street at night or standing up to some bent cops. If anything, my life in AlterWorld had only strengthened that desire. But I wasn't prepared to pay this kind of price for it.

If only I could, I'd decline this dubious status completely, even though—to be brutally honest—my high morality had little to do with it. More precisely, I didn't trust my own willpower. The temptation was just too much—and it's all too easy to justify your actions after the fact. I was pretty sure that if we dug deeper into the captured slave drivers' past, a good half of them undoubtedly merited capital punishment. And judging by some real human emotions finally showing in their faces, they understood it too.

Unfortunately, I had no say in it. The game had no reverse options. The reward corresponded to my actions, so I had to grin and live up to it.

I made a show of flinging the dagger back into the inventory. Mechanically I wiped my hands on my pants.

Widowmaker with his keen instincts immediately ran up to me. "Sir, we have a Mao's Legacy clan representative here," and added in a low voice, "he's seen everything."

I stared at his drawn face. Ignoring the first part of his report, I asked him, "You don't think it was the right thing to do, do you?"

He knew immediately what I meant. "Every coin has two sides," he shrugged. "Would be stupid to think the Dark Pantheon's purpose is to give away freebies and save kittens from trees. Personally, I'm only too happy it happened. There's a limit to wagging your finger at them: bad boy, don't do it again—don't kill, don't torture, don't rape... And now our First Priest has a proper stick capable of bringing them to justice and beat some common sense into those who're still redeemable."

I nodded.
You can't do good without using your fists,
familiar strategy. There is no light without shade, and the light itself came in all sorts of shades. The flare of a nuclear explosion that left nothing but gray human silhouettes scorched into the remaining walls, was that the ultimate good? And the darkness of a nuclear shelter concealing and saving lives, how would you define that?

My train of thought was interrupted by the Mao clan's negotiator who'd approached silently, his back bent in a deep bow. This wasn't the nine obligatory ritual kowtows due to an Emperor, but neither was it a negligent barely polite nod. I responded with a cursory bosslike version of the same and raised a quizzical eyebrow.

Not a muscle twitched on the face of Daxueshi Xiao Long who'd arrived to personally conduct the negotiations. Serpent had a perfect control of his emotions. Expressing his repeat pleasure at seeing his Russian brother, he faltered before finally side-stepping the diplomatic etiquette.

"Sir Laith, I have become an unwilling witness of that rat Weidong's execution. Don't get me wrong, I have nothing against it. That piece of elephant dung has long lost his mind. The only reason he was still walking this earth was because you couldn't deliver him a final death. But what I've just witnessed, I... I could have written it off as a hoax but Weidong has been perma for over two years, and now his status shows
offline
! Could you please tell me if this asswipe has died for good? Your artifact, it's not a fake, is it? One word from you would make hundreds of honest Chinese people very happy, lighting festive lanterns in their homes!"

Overtaken with emotion, Serpent swung his hands around indicating the size of the happiness showering the unsuspecting heads of peace-loving Chinese workers. Then he froze, awaiting my answer, his stare fixed on my face, his nostrils widening, his sensitive fingers about to close around my wrists taking my pulse like some human lie detector. I could understand him. Any information about a weapon capable of killing an immortal was in the same league as a definite answer to the question of the existence of God.

After a moment's hesitation, I told him the truth. Possibly, it was my subconscious attempt to wash my hands of the man's cruel punishment—my desire to explain that I wasn't his executioner. Because I wasn't! Because when you actually stab a living shaking body, staring into the victim's fading eyes and listening to the wheezing sound coming from his pierced lungs—that's unbearable.

"I'm afraid he's alive."

Everyone tensed up in surprise—not only the negotiator, but also the mercs who'd surrounded us in a demonstration of my protection and status.

"He's alive," I repeated. "But if he had a choice, he'd probably prefer to die. Lloth has some truly limitless imagination, considering human flesh is so vulnerable and sensitive to pain. Especially facing an eternity."

Something must have flickered in my eyes because the negotiator gulped and shrank back, his cheek twitching. "Have you... been there?"

I retrieved the Spider Dagger and showed it to him. "A gift from Lloth's very own hands. Just don't think I came by it easily or even that I'm happy to have it."

Subconsciously, Serpent swayed forward, his hand shaking greedily, betraying his desire to possess it. The dagger played along with me though, demonstrating its unyielding nature and divine fury. The blade's six legs swung to one side, snapping through the air and missing his greedy eyes by a millimeter.

Again the negotiator shrank back, but there was no fear in his stare, only a thoughtful reverie. "May I... might I ask you to do me the favor of selling me this item? I could give you a million gold for it."

Seeing my skeptical smile, he hurried to add, "Three. Five. Oh, ten million, dammit!"

Jesus. It looked like the shrewd court advisor already had a list of the dagger's next victims up and running. Given some energy and disingenuity, he might in a couple of years' time take over the whole cluster. No wonder his eyes were glinting—did it mean that my hunch was good?

I shook my head. "My lord Daxueshi, I highly appreciate your offer. But I received this dagger from the hands of the Goddess herself and it is non-transferrable. Besides, you've just seen it doesn't want to be transferred. The dagger isn't what these negotiations are about. Shui Fong is, and their warriors are already tightening the noose around the castle. In view of which I would like to remind you of the purpose of your visit. I hope that this delay was caused by your impressionable nature and not by any preliminary agreement with our enemy."

My voice grew cold as I said it but Serpent had already brought himself back in check, forcing all dreams of the almighty artifact back down to the bottom of his heart. He turned back into an emotionless diplomat with a mind as sharp as an analytical machine. His squinted glare studied the walls, the court, the prisoners, as if he was selecting a long-range target. Finally he nodded and rubbed his hands, looking well pleased.

"Very well. I confirm the deal. But this situation allows us to play an interesting game with far-reaching consequences. I hope for your cooperation: after all, any weakening of Shui Fong's positions is in your interests, as well."

I gave a cautious nod. His words made sense but I was wary of showing him my interest in anything at all. His plan was simple: to create an ambush by allowing Shui Fong members to break into the castle, then attack them with superior forces and take as many prisoners as we could. We signed an agreement cementing the deal with delayed change of ownership. Three hefty million dropped into my account, although the castle itself was to remain our property for another hour, granting the "Maoists" the right of free movement around the castle grounds. I felt uneasy as the first fifty steel-clad warriors burst out of the portal and began scurrying around the court looking for suitable ambush locations.

Time to leg it. The last overloaded dwarf exited the dungeon and reported in the chat that the castle was empty as a barn in springtime, stripped of the last mouse. The warehouses would be empty within the next ten minutes. Excellent. We were on schedule.

I nodded at the prisoners. "Do you reckon they're thinking of ratting to their clan that they've seen your men here?" I asked Serpent. "They seem to be taking note of everything that's happening."

His cheekbone twitched, betraying his mistake. Then his face lit up. "You can sell them to me! How much do you want per head?"

This kind of wording made me feel uneasy. Still, the Shui Fong hadn't replied yet, obviously playing for time either hoping to win the prisoners back in battle or even counting on them to deal us a blow to our backs.

I cringed, then explained our prisoner swap principle to him: a Russian-speaking slave for each Chinese PoW.

Serpent shook his head. "It's not impossible to find a hundred and fifty Russian-speaking slaves in fifteen minutes. Even our clan shelters a couple dozen of them, all victims of tragic circumstances sent to us by providence. But Sir Laith, I would dare call such strategy shortsighted. Such demand will inevitably result in soaring interest in and prices for your fellow countrymen. In other words, you will actually encourage headhunters to target your cluster in the hopes of high profits."

That set me thinking. I really didn't want to put the Russian slaves on a pedestal, making them the object of slave traders' especial interest. My goals were entirely different: I wanted every slave trader to shrink and turn pale the moment a potential slave opened his mouth and used the language of Tolstoy to tell them where to go stuff themselves. I wanted them all to know that cavalry wouldn't be far behind and that it would chop off any greedy hands right up to their asses.

But surely Serpent had his own agenda in mind? "What do you suggest?" I looked up at the man.

He smiled oh so sweetly. "Thirty Russian slaves and a unique treasure from our clan storeroom in exchange for all the prisoners."

I raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Surprise me."

He rolled his eyes, promising something out of this world, then shot a rapid succession of words into the chat. Soon the portal's iridescent film parted, letting out the Maoists' treasurer surrounded by five guards. He approached us. Obeying Serpent's nod, he reached into his inventory for an ancient-looking little box made of dark wood. Carefully he opened the lid. Inside, a small hand mirror rested on a cushion of worn suede. The mirror was made of some sort of pinkish metal, its surface polished to perfection.

The Mirror of the Creator

Durability: 1/1. Indestructible

Extra characteristics: none

Gingerly I took it my hands. It was heavy—probably, half a pound. Not a single scratch that could point to its ancient origins. "What's the catch?"

The Belorussian guy leaned close to my ear, whispering, "Sir, that's adamant. By God! Nine ounces of pure adamant!"

I remembered the Fallen One posing as a miserly Scrooge as he'd pinched tiny bits of adamant off the coin-sized plate while fashioning my artifact. "Are you sure?"

Gimmick took offence. "I am Master Golem Builder! Substance identification is one of the first things a crafter learns!"

"Okay, okay, I believe you..." I turned to Serpent who looked pleased with the effect. "Why don't you use it yourselves? Is there a problem?"

He faltered, then answered, "The item is indeed indestructible, as it says. You can't melt or crack it, you can't even break a piece off it."

"And why would we need a faulty item like that?" I tried to talk down the price without actually letting go of the treasure.

He squinted in a foxy grin, "Judging by your interest, you know how you can use it."

The motherfucker was too observant for his own good. Sure, all you needed was a special tool. Like the hands of a High God. "Okay. It's a deal. Bring us your Russians and feel free to collect the prisoners."