Chapter 30

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The PvP system in Creators was relatively logical and relatively simple, just like any rules governing the relationship between real people, with all their advantages and disadvantages.

There was a simple rule - outside of peaceful areas, everyone can kill everyone. Of course, if a high-level player comes into the "sandbox" and starts slaughtering noobs, sooner or later, he will get a warning or even a temporary account ban, but so inadequate were relatively few, and, judging by the feedback, they were punished not so often. There were enough in-game methods, such as a drop in reputation for the too unequal kills.

There were two types of marks for relations between players. "Aggressor" was given to anyone who attacked a peaceful player but did not kill them, and "Assassin" was given to someone who attack a peaceful player and killed them or helped the assassin, for example, with healing.

The first mark did not affect reputation. It simply blocked the amulet of transfer for half an hour and all the time showed others that the player could be dangerous. If there was a conflict between two marked aggressors, the NPCs sided with the player with a high reputation, but again, not always - in our clash with a half-orc in the temple guards would be for me simply because of my class.

It was more difficult with the "Assassin" mark.

For "normal" players, this mark meant the loss of a bunch of reputation, the prospect of a long workout, double the penalty in case of death, as well as imminent aggression from the guards. The PK classes, on the other hand, could hide the flag. Only once a day and not earlier than an hour after appearing, but guards did not notice such hidden assassin marks.

Playing mercenary classes was relatively difficult. They were mandatorily part of the city's "underground" guilds and were required to fulfill a certain number of contracts. They played with a negative reputation, which meant they had no good relations with the NPCs, no discounts, and no access to trading houses - only to guild fence-sellers. Once they were in front of the guards, the guards would make a spectacle for everyone with chases and fights.

Nevertheless, the PK classes accounted for nearly a tenth of the population of the Creators.

The point was that at high levels, pumping and completing quests gave way to Clans politics. And where there's politics, there's compromise. In a city controlled by a guild, the guards acted in the interests and under the orders of the guild, and the mercenaries were free to go without hiding, the same contracts were given to them for the extermination of the enemies of the clan.

Sure, there were large cities that were not subject to the "light stranger" communities, but if you avoid them... While PvP was not the main thing in the Creators of Destiny, the right of everyone to defend their interests with a sword in hand was quite respected.

However, most of the mercenaries used throwing weapons. Specificity, so to speak.

Just like now - stabbing a passerby in the back with three crossbows at the same time.

With a sigh, I stepped off the circle of resurrection.

"Sometimes you eat the bear, sometimes the bear eats you. You can't have it both ways."

The priest nodded.

"It is. And it's a good thing you light strangers don't die forever."

"Yes, though the magic of summoning brings us into this world as oblivious youths, it also repays us generously."

So, what's in my inventory?

There were three scrolls of blessing - there was one left. There were three coins of gold and just over fifty pieces of silver. That was all, except for the death debuff.

Recent death - experience gain reduced by 10%

All specifications were reduced by 5

Time of action - 58 min.

Quickly opening the character menu, I was relieved to see that only four basic parameters had been lowered, essentially dropping me down a level. That's okay. I'll get over it. That's not what's important; what am I stupid about?

First of all, Vova, why are you given an aura to reduce damage from the Evil Ones? Each shot took off one hundred and fifty, so you could have reduced the damage of the first series of shots to four hundred... You could have restored two hundred with a bottle, and you could have easily managed another hundred by "touching" them on the run. No, there was a chance to take at least one with you.

Secondly, why was I walking alone? Jago admitted that the contract for me wrote the Greenface, and the level 100 has enough money to buy half of the local PK.

Third, I almost broke my arms and legs. I was hit by three crossbowmen mercenaries like Jago. They must have taken ten seconds to reload. If I hadn't been running like a deer, I would have had time to react.

And I could have been more attentive; the lurkers, up to level forty, could have been detected with my twenty attentiveness. I think I did, though, which is the only reason they didn't take me out with the first salvo. Yeah. Okay, I'll be smarter from now on.

There's no point in running there, so I'll consider it a speedy home delivery. But I won't leave it without consequences, either.

I saw three figures, the usual composition of a mercenary gang due to game mechanics - a PK can't give out a hit higher than a third of his own HP. It's a simple protection against those who like to mess with their neighbors, which the mercenaries had to bypass when they gathered in groups. Surprisingly, large squads were assembled very rarely - while you could easily gather two or three dozen players for a dangerous monster, the PK fans, on the contrary, acted in small groups.

Fifty-six minutes until my death debuff wears off, which means the Mercenary Cloak is triggered. Then the trio will be back in town. If they had a contract on me, they couldn't attack me in town, but I could attack them.

The third reason Paladins were unpopular, after complexity and monotony, was the way their skills worked - they determined whether they worked as a combat spell or a blessing. I couldn't bless evil even by accident, only attack. And if a tenth of players depend on a certain class for their actions, then that class will be crushed. No one likes nasty surprises, not even PKs.

If I use Exorcism on one of the trio in town, the guards will see the killer's mark appear, but they won't pay any attention to me - and it's not about reputation because Exorcism is not a combat spell and does no damage. It just determines who's who. And it doesn't even hang the Aggressor mark on me.

It's a shame that the three who attacked me were ranged. The Paladin had only one combat spell that worked at a distance. The others were for close-range combat, two or three steps away from me at most. So I had to determine my position and stand so that they were guaranteed to get past me.

What if it's not a contract but regular hunter players?

I thought for about five minutes. I could try one player from any group dressed in cloaks and passing through the city gates on the Misty Field side. Of course, half the players are wearing cloaks, but I could guess. Too bad if my actions are noticed... yeah, it's hard not to notice the blue and white flash in the semi-darkness of the gatehouse courtyard. If one paladin shows up to check everyone coming in for lurking PKs, that paladin better not leave town afterward. He'll be back in town soon anyway, right in the resurrection circle.

But I really don't want to forgive murderers!

When I got out of the virt, I spent half an hour fiddling with the mods, mostly for identification and tracking. There were doubts that it would be possible to combine and make them work so easily, but the game clearly provided for such a possibility. A quick search showed that I wasn't the only one so smart, and the system was quite workable. I returned to the game fifteen minutes before the deadline.

"Greetings, officer-in-charge!" I saluted the head of the guard. "May I ask for your help?"

The big man in the chain mail glared at me, then shrugged:

"I don't know, brother paladin. We're in charge of guarding the gate. It is better to ask for help from the barracks guards. They will give you advice and a patrol to help, not for free. And you have to prove yourself..."

I cut off the tutorial:

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"I know that. It's the gate guarding that needs help."

The officer sniggered:

"Then what help is there? We're guarding as it is."

It has come to my attention that several assassins will soon try to enter the city, hiding their faces. And they will likely be skilled fighters. I will try to use the power given to me by the goddess to identify them. But I'm not sure I can handle them.

"Don't worry. We won't pass the killers by. With these people, we have a short conversation!"

"I can only pinpoint one. And there will be more - three, maybe four. Will you be able to detain those who will go with the one I indicated?"

"We can do it!" The guard hummed again. "Do you want revenge?"

I pretended to be thoughtful, then stretched out: "I don't even sure. Rather, I want to bring the world into conformity with my ideas about it."

"Dangerous work."

With a nod, I agreed: "Dangerous. But if you do nothing, somehow it turns out even worse. Shall I stand here by the guardhouse?"

"Okay." He turned away and began to reprimand some peasant who was trying to get past the tax collector's table into town.

After adjusting, I chose a place in the shade of the guardhouse. It wasn't stealth or invisibility, but I couldn't be seen from the road. Also, I could only see thirty paces ahead, but I didn't need more.

Seven minutes of the debuff.

To level up a high-level warrior, healer or mage requires persistence, time, and knowledge of the game. To become a mercenary, you only need a desire. The contract will be offered automatically: either NPC-officer of Underground Guild or the player. For the money is a more profitable contract from NPC - to steal something from the same NPCs or make mischief, but the reputation falls. But the contract from the player is always more exciting. It's fun to be a mercenary. True, the gameplay of a mercenary at level one hundred is almost no different from level ten... but it's either a fun life or prospects. One or the other. "Creators" is a very life-like game.

Once again, I looked around the "battlefield" - a gate in the wall five meters thick, behind them a courtyard, windows only at the height of the third floor, from the courtyard - one relatively narrow street, after a hundred steps, diverging into the square, which is just halfway between the Market and the Exchange.

Where would I run from here?

I wouldn't have come here at all. Does the Underground Guild have a secret path? They must have one. But will they use it? I mean, it's got to be paid for, right?

Three minutes of the debuff.

Maybe I should take some fencing classes.

But how do they help? CoDs are a complicated thing, but not so complicated as to process the trajectory and collisions of the blade. So far I've been using my sword as a club, or rather as a whip. The path is drawn in fuzzy lines, and the blows are either stabbing or cutting. You can only parry in the game from the monitor. Virt gives too much inaccuracy. You have to chop and dodge rather than parry and shield. So it makes more sense to learn badminton.

One minute. There's no one outside the gate. Yes, of course, they are still glowing, at this distance from the walls would be visible. I must wait.

An hour later, I was still waiting. I had to get my tablet out of boredom and do some drawing. Forty percent of level twenty was left, so I should start getting ready and start stocking up on Companions and Blood Shields. I'm supposed to be able to do Abandoned Mines, level thirtieth dungeon. It would be hard, but it would give me enough experience to make me twenty-five in three or four days. And then you can pretend I'm thirtieth and go to Negrinka. The main thing is...

The monitor blinked green, showing a match.

I put my helmet on abruptly and looked around.

Hunter's Build: a mod that is customized to recognize the enemy or to analyze his equipment. At higher levels, it allows me to more or less estimate the enemy's strength and choose priority targets, but now I set it to search for the most popular mercenary outfits. Two of the trio passing within ten paces of me had their cloaks and boots highlighted in green, and the mod's frame reported that they were: Hunter's boots, +20 running speed. Mercenary cloak, +10 camouflage.

I almost missed it!

"Guards! These men attacked peaceful travelers!"

"Guys, the noob has decided to take revenge!" One of the three, a stocky dwarf, pointed a finger in my direction. "Green, do you know what a peace zone is? You've missed your chance! Shall we go outside?"

In Creators, you can't write something insulting to the victim via private message after you kill him with a stab in the back from an ambush. A lot of people miss that, apparently. Without answering, I approached the trio and raised my hand.

"We'll charge cheap for the lesson you can pay by the scrolls. We liked yours very much!"

I'm a lucky guy! It's really those three, not random PKs!

"Evil shall not be!"

Dravin, Murderer.

"Murderer! Get him!" The swordsman drew his sword and, contrary to his own words, immediately cut the bearded man.

The murderer's scarlet mark flashed over the mercenary, turning the melancholy guards into active fighters. The mercenary was pushed back against the wall and chopped at several swords, not letting him regain his composure. I began to count. In the seventh second, the dwarf scattered in sparks.

"Loot!"

The menu highlighted one gold coin, a dozen silver coins, and a branch. The old trick is that when you die, the item in your inventory is randomly selected, so many people fill up all the boxes with garbage, which falls with equal probability instead of useful stuff.

"And now you guys." The mercenaries, who were stunned at the massacre of their partner, recovered and ran away. Well, I can handle two. I guess so.

After I picked one of the two, a goblin, I marked the other, a tall man, with the help of a mod, and went after the big-eared man. The mod would remember the outfit, and if the mercenary didn't change it as soon as he was out of my sight, I would hunt him down. Goblins are good marksmen and have a racial bonus on the accuracy, but they're weak in close combat. Then again, there aren't many goblins in town, and it's hard to miss them, so I run for it.

It didn't take long to run, two minutes to be exact. The mercenary tried to get away from me to use his disguise, but I didn't let him out of my sight. I had to ignore the treadmill. I'd learned my lesson about the sudden fall, so I moved with my left glove out in front of me. Slower, but the goblin still couldn't break away.

"What do you want? It was a contract, all's fair!"

Why am I so lucky? Just out of the blue, he just spilled everything!

"Thank you!"

The goblin wasn't expecting such a reaction, but he tried to squeeze past me. I pushed him back into the corner with my shield.

"Nevertheless, the debt is worth paying! No evil shall be!"

Barigar, Murderer.

"Dash! A Stroke of Faith!"

The goblin got half his life blown off, apparently, he has a lower level than I am. It's all right. It will be a lesson. I swung my sword quickly, finishing off the stunning mercenary in five blows. In the loot this time there were two gold, silver, a stone, and a wristband. It was an ordinary store-bought wristband.

"Already done?"

I turned to the officer. He was standing almost close to me, staring at the melting heap left by my occasional foe.

"Done. But there's still one left."

"And how do you intend to find him?"

"Where does the frightened beast run to? To his hole. Can you show me the way?"

The officer nodded affirmatively.

"I will. There's a bonus for every one of them. I thought we'd get two, but you were so quick to chop this one up..."

"Never mind, the third one is all yours! By the time we get there, I'll have regained my strength."

The bazaar was packed with players. It was evening, prime time, and everyone was looking for a group.

The underground den was not so crowded. Mod whistled and lit a green light on one of the figures, carefully hiding his face in the shadow of his hood.

"You. Stand up. Your friends have already paid the price, it's time for you to answer too."

An arrow struck me in the chest but bounced back powerlessly. Long one cursed and tried to negotiate:

"Man, why are you mad? We didn't kill the first guy we saw on the road, we worked an honest contract. Who ordered you, ask him. You can sign us, what's the difference? I'm a good tracker, I can get a trace in a day, we'll find him and kill him."

As I listened to the mercenary, I tried to figure out why I had come here in the first place. Without deciding anything, I answered:

"Yes, you're right. But, unfortunately, it doesn't mean anything. No evil shall be!"

Ileris, Murderer.

"Murderer! Get him!" I stepped aside, letting the guards pass. The mercenary tried to fight back, but the guards crushed him.

"Pal, you're not right," the dark elf saluted me mockingly from a nearby table, "Now every PK in town will be after you. Out of principle."

I shrugged: "And when I come back to town, I'll come here with a dozen guards, and every two minutes I'll determine who's who. It's also purely out of principle."

Ileris scattered a bunch of sparks, and I managed to turn around and put my palm out.

"Loot." The mercenaries, who had risen, began to sit back down with a roar of indignation. "In ten minutes three mercenaries got thirty reputations for helping the guards, four gold pieces, a medium battered wristband, a poisoned arrow, two branches, and a stone. I'm not after an experience, you know, paladins are slow as it is. But it's possible to earn some reputation and gold."

The Dark One snorted skeptically: "Why gold and reputation for someone who can't use them?"

I tried to reproduce his intonation: "A contract to kill removes fifty reputations for the employer and costs three gold pieces. I'll come here, and check out the first one I see. If I'm not lucky, I'll make a contract on him. Then I'll check the second. The third. And so on until I run out of money. Or until I run out of you."

"Roleplayer? You think you're so badass?"

"I am a paladin. I am destined to bring justice where I think it is lacking. I am authorized to punish evil. I have been given the power to bring justice in the name of my Goddess! And I will use that power if anyone here is caught fulfilling a contract or just a PK."

"Are you sure you can handle it?"

"I've already set up the identifier, I've established reputations. If anyone wants a war, I have something to answer with. Anyone who has uncovered contracts on me - I recommend refusing. That's it!"

Nodding instead of saluting, I turned to the door, where the officer and a couple of subordinates were still standing.

It's a good thing the guards didn't leave. I don't yet have enough reputation to ask for help in the barracks, but the mercenaries don't know that and might think I have real power behind me.

By the way, why didn't the guards leave? Why did they leave their post at the gate in the first place?

"Good words, Brother Paladin. Do you think they'll keep quiet?" The officer closed the door of the den, looked around the bazaar, and turned to me: "You aren't dying permanently, but living under constant threat isn't easy."

"They won't. But those who are chickenshit will retreat. Those who are smarter will think about it. The greedy will calculate the price, and the lazy will decide not to strain"

"And the rest?"

"And the rest are less than a dozen people in the whole city. Those who are really brave and courageous go forward, not sitting in ambushes for other people's coppers. With these, I am ready to fight. It will be good training before I leave town. They say it's a good thing to keep your eyes open in evil lands."

"They say. It was interesting to see. So long, Brother Paladin. We must go to the barracks. The shift is over."

"And a good day to you, officer."

In my room, I was relieved to throw off my gear and look out the window. It had been a long day today, oh, a long day. Getting the quest, the fog, the first death, the first (and obviously not the last) confrontation with the mercenaries. And to finish it requires something serious, requiring attention, stamina, self-control, and strong nerves.

"Comp, finish the work."

Finding the phone, I scrolled through the address book and selected the number.

"Svetik, honey, hi. How about taking an unemployed manager to a restaurant?"

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