Character: Ronnie. Level 21.
Strength 5.3 - first modification.
Agility 15.5 - third modification.
Reaction 3,2 - no modification.
Magic 0 - no modification.
Amount of experience 2%
All indicators are normal.
People have always imagined the representatives of the blacksmithing craft as huge muscular demigods of tall stature with a long beard. Ronnie was no exception to the rule. A year ago, he went to meet Doffersnoah in person for the first time. How surprised was he when an ordinary man who looked about forty-five or forty-six opened the door to the workshop? Black, greasy hair, combed back, slightly touched the shoulders. His eyes were silver gray to match the steel. Prickly stiff, unkempt stubble, gray in places, overgrown around the mouth and chin. A wrinkled forehead and a flimsy, withered body. His teeth were yellow, but even. He was leading a monologue on the topic of how people used to kill animals to get food, “and now what? All products are artificial, made in laboratories.” In conclusion, he added, “killing is a part of a human being, whether we like it or not, and hunting is his craft, which provides sustenance. As soon as people moved away from this concept, they became as artificial as their food. Empty shells absorbing empty shells.”
After so much time, they reunited again. Both worked on the Barret’s silencer and finishing up the new rifle for five full days. By the evening of the sixth day, with the last 9.3x64 mm bullet fired, the last stage of work was completed – accurizing. Doffersnoah breathed a sigh of relief. Ronnie put the safety on, pulled out the magazine and stood up, stretched his back and handed him the SVDK and said, “Whoever owns this weapon, he’s a lucky guy.”
The sun sank below the horizon, and with it the full moon rose, catching up with its eternal enemy on the edge of the same plane. The blacksmith took the large-caliber Dragunov rifle and brought it to the workshop. A minute later, he came back out and brought two folding chairs and a table, and then whiskey and a couple of glasses appeared. They sat down at the edge of the world, at the place of its formation, where infinity stretched across the surface of heaven and earth. There in the deserted valley, every part of the landscape smelled of antiquity and primitiveness. Moreover, wherever they look, everything seemed to store knowledge and secrets lost in centuries of history. Amber-colored moss covered the ancient gray cobblestones with a warm blanket. The green grass bent in a bow under the gusts of the ocean wind. Salty air filled the lungs, removing from them all the gunpowder and soot that they had inhaled during production. The waves straightened their hunchbacked backs and beat against the rocks, making the sounds of dull cannon shots. Many enormous boulders to the east of these two forgotten souls joined and created a kind of ruined hill, in the dangerously large crevices of which orphan trees grew and bloomed.
“If someone wrote a book about us,” Doffersnoah said, “it would be a book about stupid men running after their fate. There would be no loud speeches and good deeds in it. It’s just them and the road, studded with gunpowder and leaves, with only a weapon with a couple of magazines in reserve and a drop of brain that decides who will live and who will die.”
Ronnie agreed and said, “It could be an interesting book,” and watched as the blacksmith poured a light brown drink into his glass.
“Want some?”
“No,” Ronnie answered and leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes and felt what his ancestors on Earth might have felt tens of thousands of years ago.
“After I sell this beauty, I’ll be able to buy the last few hectares of land from my neighbor. Then I’ll divide all my possessions into sectors and start growing herbs for alchemists.”
“I see you have everything figured out. The customer should be someone serious.”
“Damn, he’s a top class man and as simple as a child.”
“You and him found each other.”
Doffersnoah gulped down the drink and poured himself another one and stared at the horizon.
“Why Brigitte?” Ronnie asked.
The blacksmith laughed in response.
“Brigitte is the name of an ancient goddess who patronized blacksmiths. She’s also a great friend of mine. You know, the places here are beautiful, but sometimes it’s lonely. That’s why I’m talking to her.”
“And how’s it?”
“What?”
“Your conversations.”
“It’s great, kid. She’s a good talker. Better than any therapist.”
“It’d do well to listen to him, Ronnie.”
“Leave me alone.”
“Why?”
“Cuz you pay them for listening to you. She does not need it. In addition, she can advise me on something, and these pricks, it feels like as if they studied at the owl house, where they adopted the secret knowledge of nodding their heads and moo in agreement with a ‘hoot, hoot’."
Ronnie smiled slightly and said, trying to justify them somehow, even though he did not believe it himself:
“They ask leading questions so that you can get to the problem on your own.”
“Let them shove them in their ass. Only priests are worse than them. That’s exactly who you don’t need to go to. Listen to what I’ll tell you: she’s a professional. Try it sometime. And start with the name.”
“I don’t believe that artificial intelligence is better than a human.”
“You don’t trust people, you don’t trust AIs. At some point, you will have to choose.”
“Then I choose people.”
Doffersnoah let out a sarcastic laugh and waved his head:
“How long has it been since you talked to people?”
“It depends, what do you mean by “talked”."
“Heart-to-heart communication.”
“I don’t remember.”
“That’s what I’m talking about. Go outside and listen to someone’s dialogue. It feels like people are born from wooden stumps.”
Ronnie shrugged and scratched his head and stretched his neck a little and the legs.
“Wooden stumps? It’s funny.”
“My father also said that the better the technology, the dumber the person.”
“A dubious statement. Technologies do not create themselves.”
“Shit, Ronnie. You’ll find fault with anything,” Doffernoah replied, and drank more whiskey and poured another fifty grams into the glass.
The blacksmith leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees and said:
“Listen, kid, there’s only one thing that’s bugging me. It doesn’t give me any peace. If a doppelgänger can change shapes, then why didn’t it just turn into a bird and fly away?”
“How would I know?”
“No one’s going to punish you for an assumption.”
“Well, in this case, I think the one who was born to crawl is not destined to fly. Or maybe because it has never killed flying creatures.”
“It hasn’t killed you either.”
Ronnie raised his fist to his chin and thought about it and answered:
“You’re right. So it’s the first one, then.”
“Have you met this monster before? How did it replicate your body? For this, it would need to observe you. I would say closely, with a couple of measuring instruments.”
“I don’t know. I saw some strange figures in the desert, but it was so far away from me that even with the twenty-seven binoculars, I could see nothing. If it was a doppelgänger, then it has eyesight.… You understand. Anyway, the game mechanics here are sometimes strange. This guy turned into not only me and the players it killed. It also mirrored Nika and the boss monster I had previously met in Nepril, the Emperor. I told you about him.”
“Maybe the doppelgänger can read the monsters’ memories or find a common language with them? That would explain everything. He saw you, followed you, then followed Nika, talked to the desert emperor, went to our lands, met a couple of players on the way, killed them, and reached Otron, where everything happened.”
“Why would it follow me?”
“Maybe it wanted to avenge its friend.”
“Its friend?”
“Well, I meant that wild boss you killed in the desert.”
“It sounds plausible. If this conversation had happened a couple of weeks ago,” Ronnie said and grinned and shook his head, as if refusing something and continued, “I would have said that you’re out of your mind, that monsters don’t live behind the scenes, but after killing this wild-boss, when I returned to the game before dark, I saw on the horizon some magicians battling. And it definitely wasn’t players.”
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Doffersnoah clapped his hands and laughed and said:
“Fuck me. The world of Thalack is like a living organism, and we seem to be parasites in it, violating the usual order of things. Damn. Everything here is frighteningly real.”
“It doesn’t smell like the twenty-fourth, but some kind of thirtieth century.”
“You’re right. It’s a pity that we didn’t get any items from the doppelgänger.”
“Yeah,” Ronnie said and nodded.
“About Nika. Why did you decide to save her?”
“Because she is a human being, and she suffered.”
“Do you think the monsters here don’t suffer?”
Ronnie closed his eyes, and it seemed to him that the cry of seagulls was heard somewhere.
“They are lines of code. Their feelings are unreal. I have no compassion for them. The only thing all the monsters are doing here is killing another and get his power. Here, everyone is trying to kill each other in order to become stronger.”
Doffersnoah was a little saddened and replied:
“It’s a strange world, don’t you think? Imagine that on Earth our children are not killed immediately just because they are waiting for them to kill enough people by absorbing their magical energy.”
“Do not compare the game and reality. Games are created in order for people to do any shit they want in them without consequences, things for which in the real world you’d be easily sent to jail. On Thalack we are Gods. Here we live in harmony with our nature. We die, we reborn, we take revenge, we point a gun at another, we pull the trigger and bang! You have a lot of money, experience and items in front of you, and you have a PK debuff that many low-level players absolutely don’t give a shit about. For many, including me, the main thing in this game is a sense of superiority. That’s why we are out killing monsters or players, climbing up in the military rating. Nothing compares to this feeling.”
“It’s good that my nature is different. I am in this world like a wandering pilgrim, who, even in the face of omnipotence, remains himself. Killing players does not bring me pleasure, although the story with monsters is ambiguous. I try not to kill the conscious ones.”
“As I said, everyone has their own believes, as long as it brings happiness.”
They were silent for a while, thinking about what they had said and watching the luminous waves of the surf that beat against the rocks and went back into the dark abyss of endless waters.
“I’ve been meaning to ask,” the blacksmith began, “this amulet, where did you get it from?”
“Amulet?”
“The one on your neck. Don’t take me for a blind man.”
Ronnie pulled out the FuruGovest and twirled it in his hand.
“I forgot about it,” he said and paused for a moment, like an actor in a drama theater. “I took it from the boss monster I killed in the desert.”
“Have you found out about its effects yet?”
“No. Now it’s useless, like an ordinary decorative thing.”
“Such items, they are like comrades-in-arms. While everything is quiet and peaceful, they sit next to you in the trench and wait, but as soon as the battle begins, and you see death firsthand, they will lend a helping hand.”
“Where did you learn to speak so beautifully?”
“I’ve read a lot of books to my wife.”
“She can’t do it herself?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
Doffersnoah took a glass of whiskey and drained it and poured again exactly the same amount as it was, as if he measured it with a ruler. He drank more without further explanation and wiped the stubble on his face. Ronnie leaned his elbow on the arm of the chair and propped his cheek with his fist. They sat in silence for several minutes until the blacksmith spoke again.
“Do you know what always bothered me about this game?”
Ronnie grunted in response.
“Why can we create only one character and even change his appearance is impossible? Except for minor details. I think it’s all about the nerve endings. We become one with our characters, becoming his consciousness. We live in an interesting time. Maybe it’s the same in reality? Maybe we are the consciousness of someone else?”
“You’d better drink less, otherwise you’ll end up in the wrong place doing wrong things.”
Doffersnoah muttered something under his breath, then raised his voice and said:
“Fuck you, Ronnie. I can drink here, even until I’m blue in the face, and smoke as much. I get pleasure only from the realization that there is an effect, but there are no consequences. So what do you think?”
“I think everything you said is nonsense. We are aware of ourselves. That’s the difference.”
“Then why are scientists still unable to determine exactly how thoughts or words that come out of our mouth appear in our head? We don’t think when we talk, do we? What’s about dreams? They’re a mixture of reality and imagination. Maybe it is through them that our subconscious speaks to us.”
“Have you read books on philosophy for your wife?”
Doffersnoah laughed and added the phrase: “If only.”
Ronnie did not take his eyes off the horizon, watching the three feet tall waves rushing forward. They reminded him of the ranks of a medieval army during an offensive. Moreover, the dark blue clouds seemed to imitate their celestial brother not only in color, but also in shape, merging into an unattainable gloomy valley together.
“When are you going to the dungeon under the Orodrim Eoul mountain range?” Doffersnoah asked.
“Tomorrow.”
“Well, it’s a pity that in this cycle of bullshit, you found yourself in its very epicenter. But what surprises me most is that the head of the alliance, the Lord of the Vanguard, took the bait so easily. Eh... and I voted for this idiot last month.”
“People at the very top are thinking about how to maintain their position.”
“And at the bottom about how to make the lives of their own kind better. I know. An old fairy tale. Some decide, others endure and execute. That’s how it works.”
“Write this thought. If you start writing, it’ll come in handy.”
“Jokes aside. Have you ever wondered why, out of the entire guild alliance, only Top Secret members are in the scouting squad?”
“The leader of their guild is the deputy head of the alliance. If the Lord says nothing, then others will remain silent and will not resist his decisions.”
“In reality, this might have happened. But not on Thalack. In politics, everything works for your benefit, and people’s greed, like their stupidity, has no boundaries. So listen to what I’m going to tell you and pay attention. A guy came to me a couple of weeks ago, a banker, so talkative that if you gag him, he’ll talk with his ass. Of all the news he told me over a cup of tea, one caught my attention. I remembered it. He boasted he gave the Top Secret guild the biggest loan in history. He said that although he doubted they could return so much money in one year, but he signed the approval. If it worked out, he could buy both a fortress and a city and whatever else his greedy heart wished for. Ronnie, these guys thought it all out. They were preparing in advance.”
“Do you think they bribed all the guilds in the alliance?”
“Not only that. It would not have taken even half of that amount.”
“What’s the amount?”
“Billion CP.”
“Why do they need so much?”
“To build a new city.”
Ronnie laughed dryly in response, and Doffers continued:
“You’re a master in killing, and I in creating. I’ll sort it out for you. Let me explain it to you. In simple words, they will pay off the bank by going through the S+ rank dungeon, which leads to new lands, huge and undeveloped. As soon as their plan works, they will first invest in a city and an airport. The entire server of a million players will go there, because here’s nothing to catch. They sell the lands, new monsters to kill, and there are new opportunities, a breath of fresh air. Yet Top Secret won’t stop there. They’ll buy out as much land as possible with the remaining money and then either rent it out or resell it many times more expensive than the market price. Trust me, this alone will cover all their expenses. Some players are ready to buy my land right now for a hundred times more than what I payed for it. Do you understand where I’m getting to? You’re their secret weapon that will lead them to success and mountains of gold.”
“Are you hinting that they will get rid of me, because on another side of the mountain, it matters not if they have the PK debuff or not?”
“I’ll bet my hammer on that. Be ready to fight back.”
Ronnie thanked his friend for the advice and replied that he’d also been thinking about it and closed his eyes. Doffersnoah crossed his arms over his chest and looked ahead and noticed how a bird flew near the shore, whose body resembled a human, head bald, like a bowling ball. The skin was gray, and beneath it was a sinewy, muscular body. The wings on the back were translucent, revealing strong black bones and dark orange skin without any plumage. Instead of legs, the creature had a snake’s tail. It flew over the surface of the water like a fighter jet, deftly grabbing the fish with its hands and devouring it on the flights. Then a dragon’s head appeared out of the water, grabbed the predator, and dragged it into the abyss. Doffersnoah twitched in surprise. Ronnie felt it, opened his eyes and looked at him.
“Nothing,” the blacksmith answered, and waved with his hand. “I wanted to say: be careful. I know that this game has become more real for you than the real world.”
Doffersnoah drank another glass and again poured the same amount as before, not a millimeter more, not a millimeter less.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if during rest, you’re sitting in your kitchen or in the loggia, and thoughts about yourself are spinning in your head and you want to escape from them.”
Ronnie turned his pupils in his direction, and the blacksmith did not move and looked at the sea, at the rising white moon and the departing orange sun.
“And in dreams,” he continued, “you see a reflection of your past. I’m saying this because it’s the same with me. So many years have passed since the moment I can’t talk about, and the pain has not subsided for a minute.”
Doffersnoah emptied the glass and forcefully put it back, took the bottle of whiskey and twirled it in his hands, examining the fiery liquid.
“We aren’t players here. We are fugitives from another planet in search of freedom, which is expressed in everyone’s own way: for me in solitude, and for you in travel and the desire to win. If you are so eager to become the first, then you already know what you’ll ask the developers and as a result, you can’t afford another mistake.”
Ronnie exhaled heavily.
“Can you tell me why you’re trying so hard?”
“No.”
“Cuz you don’t want to lie?”
“Rather afraid. You’re right. In fact, it’s just like you said. You come out of VR, look around and feel how every corner in the real world feels alien.”
Doffersnoah looked at Ronnie and saw the interest in his eyes and replied:
“I understand. I feel the same way.”
“What’s your deal?”
“I dedicate my life to my family. However, it’s not about me, it’s about you. You’re young, not even in the middle of your journey yet.”
“I want to stay here on Thalack.”
“What will happen when the servers will shut down forever?”
“I’ll find other virtual worlds.”
“Then what are you afraid of if you have decided everything for yourself?”
“I’m afraid of the unknown.”
“Everyone is afraid of it.”
From the black thickness of the oceanic surface, a huge white whale jumped out with its mouth open, which could fit half of Otron. There were three rows of teeth on the lower jaw, each with a couple hundred sharp fangs, and between them lay a sea dragon, dead and torn. So much blood flowed out of his long worm-like body, it poured out of the predator’s mouth’s edges, a devil sleeping in the dark depths of the waters. The mere sight of him filled everyone with primal, pure horror. Dark blue dragon scales protected the monster’s body with magic tiles. Snowy eyes without pupils spewed indifference and cold calm. It growled like a hundred tubas playing the lowest possible note in the conductor’s direction. Ronnie and Doffersnoah saw for three seconds how one fifth of the whale’s body froze in the air, as if celebrating a successful hunt, and then fell on its back and disappeared, leaving behind only a bloodstain and waves seven yards high, which crashed against the stone cliff of Cape Carnil. After that, several blocks collapsed down, shattering into pieces.
“Damn, what a monster,” the blacksmith said.
“Now I understand why the players stopped roaming ocean.”
Doffersnoah laughed, but his face was sad. He poured some whiskey and drank it without delay and said: “I want to tell you something personal...” Ronnie stopped him, said that it’s not the time to plunge into the problems of the real world yet. Was there really nothing two friends could discuss except their problems? He put his hand on the blacksmith’s shoulder and added:
“Okay. Let’s have a drink together.”
“What do we toast to?”
“For the universal madness that cannot be curbed.”
“And for the fact that when death comes for us, we’ll spit in its face.”
“Because it deserves it.…”
“Because it deserves it.…”
They clinked and emptied their glasses, and both winced a little. Ronnie felt the warmth flow through his body and became somehow calmer. In the grave-white rays of the moon, a flock of DaenMads flew by like a blue cloud. One bird came down to them and sat on the table next to the whiskey. It looked at Ronnie with glowing eyes, and then at Doffersnoah, cawed and flew away.
“These monsters are fucking weird.”
“Just ignore them.”
The blacksmith filled two glasses; the bottle emptied. He looked at Ronnie, stood up and said:
“One toast came to mind.”
Ronnie got up reluctantly. Part of the moon disappeared behind a thin haze of clouds. The blackness of the night was getting thicker. The waters of the ocean became eerily gloomy, as if they had turned into a lifeless plain littered with ashes. There was no end in sight to it. Out of this outer darkness, the low voices of howling and weeping monsters and the gnashing of their teeth could be heard. The waves hit the stone cliff of the cape with greater force.
“For a war without consequences.”
The chilly night light flashed white in Ronnie’s eyes. He raised his glass and said:
“For a war without consequences.”
They finished the get-together and agreed to meet at nine in the morning.