The Battle (21 page)

Sitting on the steps of the First Temple and watching the bustling yard, I shuddered and groaned with a brutal mix of pleasure and pain. Lizzie sat behind me on her knees, tenderly yet firmly massaging my weary shoulders.

Not one jealous gaze came from the huge crowd. And no wonder. The three-hour-long thundering of the High Circle Magic and the horizon-wide tornado swelling in the sky over and over again had unnerved even the most resilient.

The creation of one hundred and twelve Astral Absorption scrolls had cost me a repeatedly broken collar bone, the dislocation multiple joints and a painful crunching in my spine.

With every cast, it had gotten harder to resist the recoil. My footprints pressed into the basalt tiles had already turned into a pilgrimage site, becoming some sort of cult.

True, I had kept five Reset Potions for myself. I’m no masochist. Getting your bones crushed time and time again is hard, even if it is for a great cause.

Plus, my greedy pig had awakened, damn him! He stretched, threw the golden cover on the cage floor, put on his richly embroidered gown, and started giving me hell over my unselfishness.

But whether another hundred seals did my aura any good – only the Fallen One knows. My ethereal body itched in an unusual way. It had swollen to an embarrassing size.

I just hoped that my radiant, mint-coin-like appearance would give the enemy hiccups and wet pants.

The astral world had had it rough too. After dumping and scattering a few megatons of pure energy in its surroundings, the First Temple acquired an anomaly. Patches of incredibly bright Northern lights now swam over surprised faces while the Alliance’s wizards were already using the 19% increase of mana regeneration speed.

That’s right, the wizards of the whole Alliance. While preparing for operation Vengeance, we were also performing a mass evacuation from the castles that were doomed.

The Super Nova territory became studded with massive arches of dozens of cargo portals. People cried, stripping their homes down to the foundations and cramming every inch of free space they could get with various belongings.

Tens of thousands of people were moving around the territory, getting on Lurch’s nerves. He couldn’t keep an eye on everyone even in theory, and watched only the external wall line per my request.

The castle’s indignant sobs would penetrate the mind from time to time. The edifice couldn’t help but pay some attention to its inner perimeter, where it noticed more destruction that the guests were causing.

I grinned, imagining what a shock it must’ve been for the weeping Alliance folk to tear up their contracts with their NPCs of which they’d grown so fond over the years.

The chefs smelled of fresh bread. They knew everyone’s tastes and preferences. The sweet service girls blushed amusingly but never refused an affectionate request to warm someone’s bed. The impeccable valets assumed the roles of secretaries and reviewers. The reliable guards were also there, with whom I had often stood on the walls and drunk beer behind the sergeant’s back.

They were all being gathered together, in the halls and in the yard. They hugged the puzzled servants, guiltily averted their teary eyes and gave fun little trinkets as gifts.

And then the commandant ground his teeth and canceled all the current contracts.

A round of popping sounds, tightly closed eyes, a heavy silence...

Cheerful cries scared away the ravens that always accompanied large armies and flocked to castles under siege. Another game designer touch, damn them to hell.

Most of the NPCs refused to dissolve in the Great Nothingness. Having long ago gone perma, they kept shifting from foot to foot, looking around in surprise and smiling shyly at the rejoicing people. Unexpectedly, the clans had acquired thousands of loyal teammates. Everyday characters diluted the hardcore gamer population.

Only the treasurers scratched their heads in thought, calculating how much gold had been overpaid for the domesticated characters.

With a smile, I sipped hot tea from my favorite mug. Getting Flint’s obstinate granddaughter to go perma had really taxed my strength. The stern girl, beaten savagely by life, didn’t believe in much. In my abdomen, I could still feel the cold of that moment when my Divine Spark had nearly gone out.

I would occasionally freeze in fear, concentrating on my sensations to make sure that the bright little ember was still in its proper place, growing hotter as it restored its former strength.

But the icy feeling just wouldn’t go away. The trauma was most likely psychological. So I treated it as such, with fragrant herbal teas and the steam of a hot mug.

Lizzie, her firm breasts pressing into my back, was hinting at a more radical therapy. Alas, the leader’s burden bound me hand and foot, chaining me with responsibilities and forbidding the simple pleasures of life. I simply had no time for fun.

Grateful for the little things, I was looking around in surprise, trying to see what my castle looked like now. A Gypsy camp? A nomad caravan? A guerilla band?

The refugees made fires, set up tents and sheds, craftily stealing every cubic foot of space they could. All of the First Temple’s wings were filled. All the land between the first and second wall lines had been turned into camping zones. Yet it was still crowded.

But they’d have to suck it up. The Valley was off limits until we'd driven off the enemy. Before then, like hell I’d let anyone out! The lightsters were still shouting out the attractive reward for the First Temple’s portal coordinates on all the market squares.

But now, given the current congestion, our chances of catching the trained subversive were slim. True, Lurch kept vigil. The hounds were going out of their way. Security officers in disguise were snooping around among the guests. But the law of large numbers was still in force.

And speaking of numbers, we'd decided to attack a hundred castles at once. After a quick chat with the interested parties and adding up their forces, I was tempted to change the name of the operation from Vengeance to Impossible.

Our alliances had put forth seven thousand, trying to cover as many targets as possible and to compensate all the losses caused by the invasion, including moral damage and missed profits.

But they couldn’t multiply themselves, so they had to aim lower. Twenty castles was their limit. Three hundred medium-level warriors per castle was enough of a gamble already. I concluded that any further division of forces was nothing short of complete idiocy and forbade it on the spot.

Whoever was driven by greed to choke on a piece too large for them would punish no one but themselves.

The rest of the targets was greedily split up between the Chinese, Japanese, Koreans, Vietnamese and Indians. Even my humble comment that I would charge three hundred thousand gold for every scroll provided didn’t scare anyone. The clan leaders merely nodded, waved me away and kept arguing.

Really, it was a humane price. Probably less than five percent of what could be taken from an inhabited castle. Goods didn’t rot or expire in the virtual world. The warehouses got filled to the brim over years of farming, expanding and laying claims to all the empty buildings.

I had recently faced this issue myself when I opened one of Super Nova’s storehouses and discovered almost a hundred thousand units of different types of meat in it. Everything from rabbit to demon.

In the following twenty-four hours, mules had become the most wanted job in AlterWorld.

Despite the threefold salary increase, demand clearly exceeded supply. Pro looters were on cloud nine like Hallmark during holiday season, turning a month’s profit in a single day.

Storage yard costs became equal to a carpet of gold coins large enough to cover the floor of the space up for rent.

Even I had to overpay despite having a lot of friends in the field. This made Durin sniff with displeasure and cast pensive glances at the Indian combat elephants.

I agreed with him: the mounts looked intimidating, and if we leveled up their load capacity, they could tow away a tank.

Yet the best aspect of the guild of broad-shouldered dwarves wasn’t strength, but rather logistics, equipment, skills and well-organized activity.

I chose a sweet and high-ranking target for the Children of the Night – the Shui Fong capital Nova, protected by many layers of force fields.

This was precisely one of those hard cases for which I’d kept twenty backup scrolls.

I also did it for those who could figure out how to hit the target wizard with AMA in a way that prevents concentration and ruins a scroll worth as much as a house.

The yard grew even busier. Commandants began chasing away civilians to clear some space for the clan forces.

The ground shook slightly as the remaining beaten golems crawled out of their hangars. They gnashed their teeth in rage to the sound of their loudly creaking joints.

The unsaddled drivers, having lost their vehicles in the last battle, marched on foot with other warriors, watching their luckier comrades with jealous eyes.

A group of ogres rolled out the traditional siege equipment – trebuchets, ballistas, and arrow launchers. The inexpensive farm horses shuffled after them, drawing ammunition carts.

Then, a special warehouse vehicle followed, a double ring of guards around it. Its cargo was securely covered with a tarpaulin but I knew what sat atop the sandbag underneath – a registered 800-bomb. We had but seven of these bigass babies left in our warehouse.

An assassin was marching next to it, a pensive look on his face. He had achieved the Holy Unmercenary status two hours ago and was now preparing for action. Why was he nervous? This wasn’t a Japanese kamikaze mission, we’d return.

Although... as the Badaboom example showed, this fella would quickly make the KOS-list of a very powerful alliance. This could certainly be stressful, especially if Shui Fong put a fine price on his head. The secret Bounty Hunter guild had branches in every cluster.

Oh well, we would stand by our comrades. We tried not to make the mistakes that our forefathers had. Leave no enemy alive. The excessively merciful would pay with the lives of their children and grandchildren.

The 800 was followed by Gimmick’s upgraded cart with Gimmick steering his steed. He wished to be present at the field testing of the deadly toys which his genius had given rise to.

I heard quiet footsteps behind me. Lizzie quickly got up and stood like a speechless statue, torn between her sense of duty and religious fervor. Only one creature could have evoked such a response from her.

I rose, turned to the god exiting the Temple, and respectfully bowed my head. "Greetings, Fallen One!"

I didn’t call him Fallon in public – I wasn’t an idiot. Honestly, I deserved divine wrath for those two or three times when I publicly undermined his authority. Yelling at a god rocks, no doubt, but it is better done without witnesses. Good thing he’d never read military service regulations.

The Fallen One nodded majestically, then gave me a slight wink and froze upon the steps in the pose of an emperor welcoming a parade. The Cloak of Darkness floating on his shoulders, the universes dancing in circles in the folds of this pseudo-cloth. The sun blinked and hid behind the god’s back, its halo illuminating the Head of the Pantheon in all his greatness.

What was it he’d said? "I will be a flag flying above the fighting ranks?"

Well, he certainly gave those ranks a morale boost! They sucked in their stomachs and put on those dumbass hero looks.
Enthusiasts!

The next moment, I started looking for a place to hide: a very gloomy-looking Macaria followed the Fallen One outside.

Hm, the young and pretty girls for which we commit the most outrageous acts sure mutate into bitches fast... Is it genetic?

Oh, Fallen One...
When you choose your life partner, don’t forget to take a peek at the potential mother-in-law. Most likely, that’s exactly what your gorgeous princess will turn into in some twenty years.

In Fall’s case, who was the bride’s mother? Dejanira, the daughter of Dionysus. In a fit of jealousy, she had sent her husband Hercules a tunic laced with poison, dooming him to a sudden death.

So yeah...
Should I warn Fallon about that?

I crept sideways like a shadow sneaking away from the offended goddess. Making a semicircle, I held my staff close. The warriors were uneasy themselves. The priests whom I had restored to office tried to hide from her gaze.

We had twenty minutes left till X-hour.

Quartermasters hurried to and fro between the ranks, dishing out ammo according to the battle plan.

A magic glow covered the even square formations. Everyone got carried away with buffers, burning up pricey ingredients for useful effects.

The raid expenses counter inevitably began to creep up.

Nothing to save on: we had a hard battle ahead of us. Allied officers who were mixed with our own each saw us differently.

To the Japs, we were heroes treading a warrior’s path. An ancient Japanese book teaches one to always choose the way that leads to death. The Chinese were grateful to us. We let them save face by taking the most difficult burden on ourselves. They were too frail for it.