Chapter 34

* * *

The same destroyers have passed, destroying everything in their path, and nothing is left alive

Darn! When will it end?

I marked the seventy-eighth option and set aside the folder with the papers.

Searching in the archives turned out to be a real search: apparently, the developers wanted to make even this aspect of the gameplay as authentic as possible, and after a short conversation with the archivist I did not get, as is customary, an extract with all the information I needed. No - I looked for them myself!

The fight of free for all, now called "The Coming of the Armies of the Dark Mistress," lasted four years, ending in mutual extermination and the founding of the city of Adar, to whose town hall all these many documents were eventually brought.

In fact, the room with the archives dedicated to those events was filled with drawers of folders filled with papers of varying degrees of shabbiness. Well, since it would be too expensive and time-consuming to fill up so much text, there was only one phrase or even one or two words on each sheet. But there was a whole page full of letters. One had to find a readable text among this mishmash, put the phrase together, and only then it appeared on the record sheet issued by the archivist.

Realism, darn it!

I vaguely suspected that there were some mods or cheats that allowed me to immediately select the pieces of text I wanted without spending hours staring at the virtual paper I. But a much more obvious suspicion was that once I started cheating and goodbye, solution!

When my wayward partner and I had led, or rather escorted, the crowd of civilians to the gate, we had to return, for it was at the entrance to the city that one of the rescued told us that there were three more brigands: those who were trapping lonely travelers. Those we had beaten out were taking their prey back to camp, but the catchers were still sitting in ambush and posing a threat. We had to go back. Healer whined and moaned, my legs were humming, my eyes were slipping, coffee in my mouth was bitter, bandits were two archers and a mage, that is the most uncomfortable opponent for the paladin. We barely made it. The healer quit right after the fight, had to wait for his body to disappear, and then dragged himself back to the city, alone, looking in all directions.

After muttering to the priest in the temple that the kidnappers had been eliminated, I fell asleep and saw congratulations on receiving my new rank and a pile of reputation. They didn't give me any money or gear, the greedy bastards. I think I even managed to take a shower, judging by the towel hanging on the dryer, but when it was, in the morning I did not remember.

And here I am in the archives. "Warrior of the Temple Guard" at level twenty-five. Ten levels ahead of the average paladin. I was a little bit ahead, but that didn't help with the papers.

I adjusted my pillow, took a new sheet of notes from the drawer, leaned back, and started looking through it. Something was missing. That's right! I had to get up, go to the kitchen, make myself a coffee, peel off the finally cooled cookies from the tray and go back to bed. Work should be fun!

So, the sheet. There must be something in here that's useful, because I wasn't sent here for nothing, right?

"Stazza"... no, not that. "Vira"... not it again. Too "many letters," as they used to say when I was a kid, even if it was for a different reason. "Attb"... not... stop! "At the time before"... where? "Watch found"... "many fell"... Damn, what was in between? Watch found many have fallen - what to fill the gap? Nothing. All right, next.

"Buried"... "laid down"... "retreated"... "reaped"... no, that's not it... "waited"... "fort"... "tower".

Turning the leaf over, I continued to fish the words out of the mishmash of letters and signs. "At that time... the watch found... many fell and were buried... lay... could not return after... waited for help at the fort... the tower was destroyed over."

There! "The tower was destroyed over the entrance to the old warehouses". Buried.

Found it. No, I found it! This is exactly how a quest text to find a forgotten grave should look - a lot of water, vague hints, and minimum information.

I looked at the seven remaining shelves of boxes and grimaced. There was nothing to be done, so I had to check. No matter how I looked at it, there might still be a clue. But as long as I can lift the visor of your helmet and eat a cookie, it's working! Now let's get on with it...

So far, everything was going as I thought it would. The quest for the title of a full-fledged Warrior of the Temple included everything I was supposed to - the enemy was a little stronger than I could handle, the combat tactics involved the use of all the studied abilities, the reward was meager, but it hinted that things would be much more interesting in the future. So, by the same logic, I should be tested by a quest. But what could be the reward? I thought that just by finding the armor of fallen warriors, I will get my title, but it was given just for the simple task of carrying out the robbers and escorting prisoners. What can I get for a full-fledged story quest, then?

Struggling to suppress the greed that cried out, "Gold! EXP!" - I took the next sheet. "Atraz"... "melitre"... "monedgar"...

"Brother Paladin, are you finished? It's evening, the archive is closing."

I stretched out on the bed. The pillow behind me was in hard clumps, the blanket had slid to the floor, and the sheet was strewn with crumbs and even coffee. Of course, there are advantages to working from home, but there are also disadvantages, such as the lack of cleaners.

"Certainly, honorable Rakis. I've almost finished watching everything."

"Your diligence inspires some optimism about the current generation. Usually, people who come here demand to know everything about me and aren't even going to pay for it." The old man with the long gray beard and the scar across his face looked at me fiercely, as if expecting an objection, but then softened. "I always give them the same thing. As a small lad in the training detachment of His Majesty Aralix of the Seventh Uthar of the Second Heavy Infantry Regiment it was firmly ingrained - no diligence? No reward!"

I opened my mouth... and closed it. I picked up the sheet of paper with the notes reduced to a readable form.

In the battles for the foothills of the Adar range, the Uttar armies finished off the remnants of the Mala Destroyer's armies. The heavy infantry detachment closing the pass was retreating with the fighting and (apparently) encountered a detachment of special enemy fighters, suffered heavy losses, and the dead were left in the dungeons of some ruined tower, which was reported to the border fortress of Adar

"Tell me, honorable Rakis, did the paladins of Amala often go with your regiment? No, wait, let me even ask you this: did your regiment take part in the war over the Adar Ridge two centuries ago?"

The old man proudly stroked his beard:

"Sure! Yours was there, too! The annals of my regiment are like a second history of this city!"

"And how often do people want to know this story?"

"You first, brother Paladin. Why are you smiling like that? Did I say something funny?!"

"No, no, I'm just glad for the unexpected turn of the search. I have to find out where my brothers fell in that war, and suddenly I find out that such a worthy man as you, a veteran of a glorious regiment, works in the archive, where there is a lot of information about this very "Second Heavy Uthar Regiment". Admit it, honorable Rakis, you have this chronicle, don't you?"

If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

"Yeah, indeed. When I lost my leg, I was transferred to the magistrate and spent a long time digging through the dust. But what makes you think I'll give it to you?"

As expected.

"We can come to an agreement, honorable one. For example..."

The old man withstood the gold. The armor was considered unnecessary. He needed no help with anything. He's the wrong kind of NPC. He's the one who should be asking for help, offering me his notes!

"This will work! Bring it, and I'll give you my work... temporarily."

Wait, stop, what did I promise?

"It's about time we had a song about those glorious times! And it should be like a march! In the meantime, get out, young man, get out! I remember how many times I slept on a soft paper in the archive. Off you go!"

I walked out of the room into the hallway of the town hall, bowed mechanically to the magistrate's clerk, for whom I had done a couple of messenger tasks, building up my reputation, and stopped on the porch. A song? In the rhythm of a march? If I sing, the gods will descend from heaven and change my class to the knight of death!

Although...

Calling up a list of friends, I checked online. There is one!

Doroy, level 36 bard - Adar, the Tavern of Three Broken Fangs.

Outside the windows, the evening turns to night, but in Adar the day has just ended. A light rain had fallen, summoned by the city's magicians to sweep the sidewalk of the day's dust, and couples were walking the streets. Deliverymen were hurrying about - and why couldn't they do it during the day? The Three Broken Fangs Tavern was in what they called the slums. So-called because even the most deprived parts of the city were more fun than some of the more upscale places I'd been taken to in the real world. Here, even the drunks are not so much lying around as lying against the walls of the houses, there is no dirty swearing or depressing argument between a man and his woman about the fate of a never-existing bottle that one of them supposedly drank, no hungry children, no piles of garbage. The latter, however, is thanks in part to city services entertaining noobs with clean-up quests.

I would gladly trade my management company and neighborhood watchmen for the local utility magician and gatekeepers!

It's unlikely they'll agree, though.

I stood in front of the tavern for about five minutes, waiting for the stereotypical drunkard to fly out the door, but I didn't wait and entered. To the right of the door, on a high stool, sat a clan orc with a baton, a bouncer. At four long tables in the center of the room sat people of relatively bandit appearance - not exactly thieves, but no longer law-abiding citizens. So, people (and not people) of hard fate. The walls were lined with tables for two or three, separated by wicker partitions.

Next to the counter, on a stool similar to the orc's, my acquaintance sat cheerfully playing something.

"Will the sir order?" The orc swallowed bits of words, looking at me with some disbelief. Yes, what's a paladin to do here?

"Is there something to eat here?"

The fanged bouncer searched for the expression on my face that should appear when such words are uttered, did not find it, and answered without banter:

"The poultry is fresh. The beer, too. Inexpensive." He said the last word familiarly, then frowned.

"I'll try the poultry."

I had a piece of ham and pie left in the fridge from a convenience store.

"Please take a table, sir."

I made my way to the indicated place, where the innkeeper was already bustling. It's nice to be respected. Even if it was for belonging to a powerful organization and a fat purse. Which I did not empty in vain before going to these places: kill not kill, but steal there are masters. At least NPC thieves never take everything you have in your inventory.

"Poultry, bread, something to drink."

I sat down at the table, facing the mini bandstand. Doroy nodded, noticing me without stopping to sing. If I had to look up analogies, it was a fight like mine in the dungeons. Bards need to perform in front of an audience. Otherwise, they can't pump up their skills, and the higher the bard, the worse the low-ranking melody-buffs work.

"Your dinner, Holy Warrior," the half-orc girl stopped at the table and quickly unloaded a plate of meat, a thick piece of loaf, and a jug of wine onto the table.

"You can just "brother paladin," I don't claim to be a holy one."

"Look at you, a brother! But if I..."

"But if you don't shut up, I'll go outside with you and ask you what you have against the Temple." The murmur of voices died down, and they looked at me, assessed me, came to some conclusions, and went on about their own things. The fat beast folk who spoke twitched his nostrils in displeasure, but looked at the calmly seated bouncer, and turned away.

"Excuse me, beauty one. Just a brother paladin. Also, do you have any juice? I'm not much of a drinker."

The girl looked at me mockingly but nodded and, picking up the jug from the table, went to the counter. There was no one to stretch their arms toward her and no one to pay her vulgar compliments.

The innkeeper is human, his daughter is half-orc, and the bouncer is clannish from the steppes. The innkeeper's wife, an Orcish woman, must be in the kitchen. It's a good place, worth remembering. A sort of "slum deluxe."

I turned off the virt and bring a plate of ham, a slice of pie from the kitchen, trying to make it look like slices of bread, and a liter bottle of iced tea. I guessed - the juice came in a similar jug, one of the ones on the shelves behind the innkeeper's back.

"Synchronization."

And now it's okay to eat. I had been in bed all day, and I had worked up an appetite.

"Hello, Paladin! Wandering around places like this will ruin your reputation!"

"I rarely use it anyway. Care to join me?"

"No, there's food without buffs. And I had already had my lunch."

Lunch? Siberian, I guess.

"As for me, I'm going to have dinner."

The bard stared at me for a minute or two, then he couldn't stand it:

"Are you actually munching on something now?"

"Yep."

"Yeah... I thought I was a paragon of wagering by giving concerts to NPC, but to combine food in real life and in the game... Meat?"

"Meat. And pie. And tea. Just try.".

"A poet!"

"Mm... you're the poet, and I need you!"

"Like Francois Villon? Stealing something, keeping watch?"

"As a bard of the thirty-sixth level. You should write a march."

Doroy turned to the counter and shouted: "Innkeeper, please bring me my honey. A worthy conversation requires a worthy drink!"

"Don't you forget, bard, that you're paid for the whole evening."

"I do, honorable Chiari. But songs make my throat dry."

After chewing the last piece, I wiped my glove with a towel and asked: "Are you pumping or are you roleplaying?"

"Both. And I also earn, ten silver coins an hour, plus half the tips."

"Smooth. There's no need for repairs and no consumables? But I'll give you twenty gold pieces for the written march of the Second Heavy Uthar Regiment."

"And how did the valiant warriors distinguish themselves? What needs to be praised?"

"The heaviness of the armor, the bravery of the warriors, the anger of the enemies, and the drunkenness of the barracks after victory. As usual. Five verses, a beat to the tune. And..."

"What?"

I pondered. It might work.

"I have a strong feeling that if you write this March, you might get a little bite out of it, and not just from me."

The bard nodded thoughtfully.

"Do you have a plot quest?"

"It looks like that. And where there is a plot quest, there are many surprises."

"Like those lucky Reunion League kids?"

"I hadn't heard. What's the matter with them?"

"A plot quest was found, for the guild: the liberation of the area from evil, which the guild claimed. As a result of the mistake, someone wrong was killed. For all members of the guild Gods put a ban on EXP gain for a month, and the guild from the seventh rank was lowered to the fourth."

"Harsh. Will you do it?"

"Deposit in advance."

I called up the exchange menu and handed the bard five gold pieces.

"All right, I'll finish my song, and then I'll start writing."

"Why not right away?"

"I have a contract, alas."

I stood up, and made my way to the counter.

"Dear Sir, I beg your pardon, do you need this bard?"

The fat man looked me over with a quick calculating look.

"He made a contract, and he has three more hours to work today. But if a respectable brother would pay two gold pieces..."

"Fifty pieces of silver. And another twenty to the local musician who replaces the bard."

"But my visitors will be left without such wonderful music..."

"They can replace this loss with excellent wine and excellent meat."

The innkeeper thought, shrugged, and stretched out his hand. I counted the silver into it.

"Yagiri! Quickly into the hall, with music!"

A half-orc boy ran out of the kitchen aisle, sat down on a stool as usual, and immediately played something on a double flute.

I returned to the table.

"Here we go. Problem solved. Can you make it by tomorrow morning?"

"Easy. But if I get the debuff, I'll write shameful ditties about paladins until it's gone!"

"Don't talk about paladins. About me, all you want. What time do you have?"

"Novosibirsk."

"So tomorrow at two o'clock in the afternoon, at the gates of the Town Hall?"

"That's fine, I'll make it in time."

"Just..."

"I'll do my best, don't worry."

"It's a deal. Walk you out?"

"What am I, a girl?"

"Don't musicians get attacked after their performances? I remember hearing a couple of stories..."

The bard laughed:

"Ow, Paladin, it's the peace one! And I'm a bard with a pumped charisma! You think I'm doing all this work for nothing?"

I shrugged.

"I wasn't interested in bards, I'd rather swing a sword..."

"Yes, yes, plain and simple paladin, two buttons, one tactic. I believe it, I believe it."

"Well, see you tomorrow, then."

After saying goodbye to the bouncer at the exit (he responded with a complicated movement of his hand - I think that should mean something), I went out.

A slum, they call it. No fighting, no darkness-a small reptiloid lantern man with a basket in his hand went from one lantern to the next, took off, hovered in front of the lantern cage, slipped a fire lizard through the bars with an elegant motion, and, landing heavily, hurried to the next. I stood, watching as the salamander's distant cousin made herself comfortable, curled up in a ball and glowing with a steady yellow light, and went toward the temple.

Strange day. I had been in the game since morning, but except for the morning warm-up, I hadn't swung a sword once. I ate a lot of cookies, so I should bake some more tomorrow.

But that will be tomorrow.

At night I dreamt about fire lizards running around the apartment. I loved it.

* * *