Project Daily Grind (Mirror World Book #1) (17 page)

Chapter Sixteen

A
t three in the afternoon we decided to stop for a lunch break. We deserved it. We’d done the whole of level 6. Predictably, our haulers had suffered the most. Still, they didn’t complain—they even tried to be cheerful about it. As far as I could understand, we were making good progress. If we kept it up, we could mine more Twilight Crystals.

We also celebrated Knuckles’ new skill point. Twenty more, and he’d make a new level. Everyone seemed sincerely happy for him. I sat there keeping a low profile. I’d already done nine skill points. And the best was still to come.

Only now did I realize the true value of my Shrewd Operator. Knuckles had the highest skill numbers in the group but he’d remained a Seasoned Digger for two months already—and that’s considering he was only doing the mining!

I didn’t disclose my stats. Not that anyone had asked me about them. They seemed to be seriously thinking I’d only just got a new level. The few precious crumbs they received to their skill were a pittance. For the first time in the cave I wished that my Operator slowed down a bit. The cave was crammed full of crystals and I kept hacking at them non-stop. Both Sir Tristan and Sprat kept a watchful eye on the scene to make sure everyone had a trolley at hand. I winced and rubbed my chin.

Apparently, Knuckles misread my body language. “Cheer up, Olgerd,” he gave me a friendly slap on the shoulder. “We’ll level you up so you won’t know yourself! You, and Sprat, and Sir Tristan too!”

“Oh yeah,” Flint agreed. “I can already see our group of Experienced Diggers doing level-two instances. That’s better than climbing down some spider’s hole!”

“You can make good money with emeralds too,” Sprat suggested. “Lord Shantar has this mine...”

“Please,” Flint winced. “Rubbing shoulders with those midgets, thanks but no thanks! Great deeds await us!”

I listened in to their conversations, faking a self-conscious smile. I tried so hard to play the part of a newbie embarrassed by the attention of his more experienced colleagues. Even as I did so, I realized this was our last outing. More than that: I realized that if I happened to make Experienced Digger here in this cave, I’d have to disappear from Leuton. Here, it took people months of daily grind to earn their skills, point by miserable point. And here I was, rising through levels faster than some magic goose could lay golden eggs. Was I really a fraud—or as they called them here, a cheater? I didn’t know. I’d chosen a race. I’d registered my account. I’d done some cruel things to my char trying to save every point in order to invest it in my future characteristics. Had I used any dirty tricks?—I didn’t think so. I’d been offered a choice. So I’d done what everybody did when joining the game: I’d made my choice. Theoretically, everything was kosher. But it’s true that most of the time theory disagrees with practice. I was 200% sure that had the true nature of my skills become known, it would have created quite an uproar. And that was the last thing I needed. Really.

“Cool,” I tried to change the subject. “What comes after Experienced Digger, then? Isn’t it Master Digger?”

Sprat guffawed. “Won’t you be happy with Experienced?”

“Oh, I will,” I smiled. “Just curious. There isn’t much about it on the Internet.”

Flint grinned. “That’s all you’ll find. Firstly, because clans treasure their Masters. They keep their names under wraps. They provide them with bodyguards, individual capsules and whatnot.”

I whistled in surprise. “Why?”

Sir Tristan answered for everyone, “The answer to this question is pretty obvious. See for yourself: here we are in one of the most basic quest instances. But its resources cost like the most expensive class-one stones. There are certain locations in Mirror World that are the dream of every advanced player but venturing there is pointless without having a top-level digger to do the mining. The resources in such locations can be incredibly valuable. Without certain quest stones, for instance, you can’t level up your mount or improve your castle’s defenses. The examples are legion. People pay a king’s ransom for the opportunity to lay their hands on resources like these. And in their turn, they protect and value the workers capable of obtaining them.”

“I see,” I said. “And secondly?”

“Pardon me?”

“Flint said, ‘firstly’. What’s secondly, then?”

“Ah,” Sir Tristan’s voice rang with understanding. He turned to Flint. “ May I, sir?”

Flint nodded again. “Completely forgot. Masters have access to a second profession.”

“Exactly,” Sir Tristan said. “Normally, whoever gets access to a second profession concentrates on it and only agrees to clans’ occasional requests to mine a particularly rare resource. The rest of the time Masters spend in the comfort of their workshops-”

“... crafting stuff like our runes and elixirs,” Knuckles finished his phrase.

“Interestingly,” Sir Tristan went on, “other professions have more than their fair share of Masters. But amongst Mine Diggers they are few and far between.”

“That’s because our profession is the most dangerous and accident-prone!” Sprat announced.

“Absolutely,” Sir Tristan agreed. “Most people prefer an easier job even if it doesn’t pay as well.”

“As for Master Diggers,” Flint said, “you don’t need to be a brain surgeon to realize these people are quite wealthy. They aren’t interested in busting their humps in the mines anymore. Nor in running around instances like we do.”

“They definitely aren’t,” Knuckles rolled his eyes in anticipation. “Once I become a Master Digger, I’ll grow myself a big fat belly and get myself a personal assistant. I’ll buy myself a waistcoat like they wear in the movies, with little pockets and a gold watch on a chain. Then I’ll do nothing all day but saunter about like I don’t have a care in the world. That’s life!”

“Just make sure you don’t get promoted while working the instance,” Sprat said sardonically.

I pricked up my ears. “Why’s that?”

“What do you mean?” Sprat sounded surprised. “The moment you reach a new level, the system throws you out of the group.”

“Why?”

“Because an Experienced Digger can’t be subordinate to a Seasoned one. Likewise, a Master can’t be subordinate to an Experienced one,” Flint explained.

“I see,” I said. “I’d missed that somehow. What’s the problem, then?”

“The problem is, a rise in levels incurs the player’s deletion from the group and automatically teleports him back to his or her starting point,” Flint said.

“The biggest bastard is the fact that I would lose all the resources I’d already farmed during the raid,” Knuckles added.

“Everything you’ve done in the last thirty-six hours? Really?” I asked, dumbfounded.

“Not everything, no. The stuff already declared is immune,” Flint reassured me.

Sprat nodded at Knuckles’ trolley filled to the brim with gray crystals. “But this isn’t.”

Bummer! More food for thought.

Gradually the conversation faded. Each of us was busy doing his own thing. Then Flint turned to me,

“Actually, Olgerd, there’s something we’d love to know...”

I tensed. Here come the questions. I nodded for him to go on.

“How do you like Mirror World?” Flint asked.

It took me all of my composure to suppress a sigh of relief. Unpleasant questions were being put off. “What do you mean?”

“What he wants to say,” Sir Tristan butted in as was his habit, “is that this game has a very high addiction rate. You have the developers to thank for that. They created a week’s free trial—perfectly functional with all the trimmings, mind you—in a special dedicated server.”

“Normally, a week’s enough for a player to get seriously hooked,” Flint said. “From what we’ve heard, ninety-nine people out of a hundred can’t imagine their lives outside Mirror World anymore. So we’re curious how it happened in your case.”

I chuckled. “I see. Well, I’m afraid my answer might disappoint you. I don’t like it here.”

They exchanged meaningful smiles.

“Please don’t get me wrong,” I said. “I fully appreciate the entire experience. I still can’t believe it’s possible. Everything’s so real. Too real. It’s like...” I paused, searching for the right words.

“Like visiting another planet?” Knuckles offered. “Or a parallel world?”

“Exactly,” I nodded. “Not even. My job requires a lot of traveling. I’ve seen lots of different places—lots of strange people and unusual cultures. I’ve been to some amazing places. But strangely enough, coming back to my family was always the best part.”

“A family?” Sprat asked.

“Yeah. A wife and a little girl.”

“So you miss them but not the real world as such? Not your home?” Knuckles asked. “Me, I’m homesick like you won’t believe.”

“I’m not,” I said. “You’re right: I miss them, not our home.”

“Are they away, then?”

I nodded, suppressing a sigh. The others fell silent, each thinking his own thoughts.

“And still,” Sprat broke the silence, “I don’t understand those specters. How can you swap the real world for this cage? The admins can interfere when you least expect it. What kind of life is that?”

“You think in real life you’re free?” I said. “D’you want to say we aren’t puppeteered around in the real world? That we don’t have to obey their sick rules and regulations?”

“I couldn’t agree with you more,” Sir Tristan turned to me. “Absolute freedom is the politicians’ notion helping them to massage the voters’ egos. Nobody votes as eagerly as a free idiot.”

“In a way, I can understand those who’ve chosen this project to replace their real-world lives,” I said. “I’ll bet all you want that they’re desperate. Mirror World allows them to experience something they’re deprived of in real life. I keep thinking about my next door neighbor. The smartest guy you’ve ever met, handsome as hell and a mountain ski freak. One day he left on a ski holiday. A few days later they brought him back to his mother almost a vegetable. Completely paralyzed. He spent years on medications. His mother fought for his every breath. She placed him in all sorts of clinics and occupational therapies. Finally he could walk—after a fashion, moving around on crutches, all crooked like a bonsai. He can’t speak anymore, he hums. But at least he can move around!”

“Let me guess,” Knuckles said. “His friends gradually stopped coming. His girlfriend disappeared. He was all alone, if you don’t count his mom and his computer. Right?”

“Yeah, sort of,” I said. “At first he kept fighting. He walked a lot and he did all the exercises. Then one day his doctor said this was his limit.”

“And he believed him and gave up?” Sprat said.

“It’s not a question of believing,” I said. “He’d already done everything he was supposed to have done. Oh, no. He just joined an online game. Made quite a few friends there,” I smiled. “One day he even said to me that he’d got married... in the game. It may sound sick but I understood him. And as for Mirror World... I wouldn’t be surprised to find out that my next-door neighbor is here somewhere, walking around as some paladin in shiny armor.”

“You might be right,” Flint said pensively.

“Whether I’m right or not is of no consequence. I just think these people deserve some understanding. Having said that... I don’t think my neighbor cares that much about what other people think. It’s not going to change his life, that’s for sure.”

Chapter Seventeen

W
e’d reached level 7. We had another hour and a half until the first mobs reappeared. We had 118 Twilight Crystals in the kitty. Everyone was tuckered out but it felt good. The guys were happy. According to my calculations, we’d earned about four hundred gold each and had done a bit of skill leveling. As for me... each swing of my pick sent cold shivers down my spine. Eighty-three points! Two more points, and I’d get a new level.

I took a heavy, purposefully slow swing. My pick lingered in mid-air.

You’ve received a resource: Gray Crystal.

That was close.

By mutual agreement, we did level 7 all by ourselves. As the other guys explained to me, you didn’t get as many bonus resources when you let the bots to do the job.

Another swing.

You’ve received a resource: Gray Crystal.

Big sigh of relief.

Level 7 was one huge throne hall. Admittedly it looked more like a mass grave. Its floor was littered with skulls and bones, pieces of rusty armor and broken shields, swords, axes, halberds, arrows and spear tips. This disgusting mix was generously garnished with stiff gray cobwebs.

I’d mined thirty-four Twilight Crystals. I’d lost count of the Gray ones. If I made Experienced Digger now, I’d ruin the whole raid, both for myself and for the others. I’d already decided to tell them the truth once I made level 84. I just hoped they’d understand. That wasn’t what worried me. But where four people shared a secret, it was only a question of time before it became common knowledge.

Should I keep it under wraps, maybe? Should I hit 85 points, get my new level, then promptly quit both the group and the game and start over in some other cluster as far from here as possible? Never mind the crystals—never mind what the guys were going to think about me. But this way my secret definitely wasn’t safe. It wouldn’t take Flint and the others long to put two and two together. And then they wouldn’t keep their mouths shut, if only just to punish the jerk who’d done the dirty on them.

No. This wasn’t an option. I hated the very idea of it.

Another swing.

You’ve received a resource: Gray Crystal

“Keep going, guys!” Flint cheered. “I got another Twilight one!”

“Olgerd, hold on!” Knuckles shouted to me from the opposite side of the hall. “We’re nearly there!”

“Leave him alone,” Sprat interfered. “Can’t you see he can barely lift his pick? First time is never easy!”

“Don’t shortchange him, man,” Flint joined the quip exchange. “He’s gonna surprise us all, trust me!”

Sullenly I kept picking at the rock. He didn’t even know how right he was.

You’ve received a resource: Gray Crystal.

Your tool slipped as you picked at the slab of dark rock.

You’ve received a resource: Twilight Crystal.

“I got another one!” I wheezed.

“So!” Flint echoed. “What did I tell you?”

He had indeed. And the worst was still to come. I could imagine his face once I started telling them my story.

A swing.

“Comrades,” Sir Tristan called out, “our time is up! One last swing and we’re out of here!”

A swing.

You’ve received a resource: Gray Crystal.

Saved by the bell.

I stopped. I was heaving. For the first time in the last two hours I cracked a happy smile, meeting my friends’ cheerful eyes. Yes: my
friends
. Nothing brings people closer than hard work. Especially when you know that each of them, you included, had given it their all.

I noticed an enormous carving in the rock wall a few paces away from me. It depicted a battle of dwarves with hordes of Rhogghs and Horruds. That was unusual. As I’d worked, I hadn’t even had time to cast a look around. But now I could finally enjoy a bit of local artwork, why not? I still had a couple of minutes to catch my breath.

“Olgerd!” Flint called out. “Whassup?”

“Just a sec! I need a breather!”

“I see! All right then! We’re going up! You’ll have to catch up with us! Don’t forget that the spiders will be here in forty minutes!”

“They’re the biggest ones in there!” Sprat added, grinning.

I waved their warnings away: like,
don’t worry, I have plenty of time
. Then I stepped toward the carving. I couldn’t yet understand what it was but my eye had caught on something very... very
familiar
.

I had three more paces to take when I sensed a light prickling in my right hand. My ring finger.

Surprised, I pulled off the glove. The ring. The fine runic script encircling it glowed an intense blue.

I took another step. The ring prickled my hand again. Another one of Pierrot’s tricks.

I immediately remembered the conversation we’d had earlier about stashes and things. What if I managed to find a treasure as well? But what if it was a trap?

I took another step. The ring gave me one last prickle and became inanimate again. Not that I needed its warnings now. I’d already worked out what it was in the carving that had seemed so strange to me.

The warriors fighting the hordes of fanged Rhogghs and thick-skinned Horruds were no dwarves.

They were Ennans.

I peered closer at the scene. No, I wasn’t mistaken. A squat figure of a warrior at my eye level was clad in a set of armor, his helmet in his right hand, his left one reaching for his face. Just like my own Ennan: a sullen stare, an aquiline nose. This one didn’t have a shock of hair, though: his was neatly braided into lots of plaits, both his head and his beard. A tattoo on his cheek looked very much like a rune.

What an interesting individual. He wasn’t in the thick of battle but it somehow seemed to flow around him. I got the impression that the Rhogghs and the Horruds seemed to be trying to get to him, hindered by the thick ranks of squat broad-shouldered Ennan soldiers bristling with long spears and blocking the way with their tall shields.

I couldn’t see any archers. Ah, there they were. Not archers: crossbowmen.

A group of bearded midgets hovered around the Ennan leader. Cassocks, long beards, twisted staffs in their hands. They carried neither armor nor weapons. These must have been wizards.

I stepped ever closer to the picture. I wanted to see everything in every detail.

But... what was this? It couldn’t be! Then again... who did I think I was fooling? Apparently, whoever had created Ennans had his own far-fetched plans for their race. The Ennans’ leader sported the exact same ring on his hand as I did.

Could I have been wrong? I raised my hand and took a look. The ring was identical.

I’d been expecting what happened next with a complex mix of fear and impatience. Both our rings glowed with the familiar blue hue. Fine blue threads emanated from the Ennan’s ring. Mine followed suit, the threads reaching out for each other. It was fascinating.

I nearly missed the moment when they met. I snatched my hand away. The light went out. Gasping, I looked around me but saw no one.

What could this mean? Was it yet another surprise from the disfavored programmer? Or was it a complex activation of something very dangerous—or alternatively, very useful?

Later, I kept asking myself the question hundreds of times. What had triggered my next action? Could it be the guys’ talks of hidden treasures? Or my constant musings to the point that Pierrot or what’s his name, Andrew Petrov, hadn’t done anything that could have hurt me yet?

I really couldn’t tell. I only remember thinking clearly that if the ring would allow me to earn a bit more money, I shouldn’t let this chance slip.

I raised my hand. The threads of blue light reappeared, reaching toward each other even faster than the first time. It was as if they were scared to fail again.

Finally, they met. For a while nothing happened. I admittedly thought this was the end of it. As if! A system message popped up,

Greetings, O Olgerd, from the guardian spirit of the Der Swyor Clan!

Would you like to download the clan’s app suite?

Accept: Yes/No

An app suite. What harm could an app suite do to me? An expert would probably warn me against it. But once I started, I had to complete this route. The first thing that sprang to mind was a treasure map of the notorious cursed clan.

I pressed
Yes
.

A download bar came on. Oh. The download was big. I’d have to wait. And I really had very little time.

As if in confirmation, Flint PM’d me,

Olgerd, where the hell are you? What do you think you’re doing?

I’m coming!

Drop everything and get here quick! The spiders will be there in a minute! Then you’re fucked!

54% downloaded. If I broke the fine thread now, the download would stop. Just one more minute...

75%...

89%...

96%...

Finally—100%!

Yes!

The fine thread disappeared. My little ring followed suit and crumbled into dust. So that’s how it was, then? A single-use ring? Never mind. I’d think about it later.

Would you like to install the Der Swyor app suite?

Not now. It would have to wait until a more convenient opportunity. Time was an issue.

I was about to reply to Flint’s message when I heard a rustling noise behind my back. Had the mobs already arrived? I still had about forty minutes, hadn’t I?

Chill poured down my spine. My heart fluttered.

I swung round.

“You shit for brains, whatcha stalling for?”

Yes, he had remembered me alright. And he’d noticed me outside earlier that morning. Vindictive bastard. I didn’t envy his father.

His wizard minion Slayer stood slightly aside. A nasty smirk curved his lips. He had the typically slanted eyes of an Alven and a navy suit of armor that all the magic classes wore in Mirror World. He stood there with his arms crossed, glaring at me from under his eyebrows. I really didn’t like what I read in his glare.

“What’s that for a tone?” I tried to browbeat him as I stepped toward the exit.

Slayer only grinned, then waved his hand as if brushing aside an annoying fly.

A system message popped up,

You’ve been cursed! Name of curse: Midday Shroud.

Effect: From now on, you can’t talk to other players.

Duration: 2 hrs.

Then another,

You’ve been cursed! Name of curse: Wasted Prisoner

Effect: From now on, you cannot leave the location.

Duration: 2 hrs.

“That’s better,” Slayer smirked, then added, “Don’t even try to escape. It won’t work. And I can see in your face that you realize it already. Your chat isn’t available, is it? Cool, eh? Your idiot friends must be spamming you with messages. And you can’t write back like the dumb asshole that you are. Can you or can’t you? The Shroud is an excellent thing. Especially when one needs to talk. To teach some cheeky noobs to show some respect to their superiors.”

I could feel my face turn crimson. I wasn’t afraid, no. I was enraged. I took a better grip of my pick.

Seeing this, Slayer shook his head. “Once a noob, always a noob. Don’t stare at my lash. I’m not going to soil my hands on you. All I want is to teach you a lesson. Next time you’ll be more respectful,” he started for the stairs, speaking as he climbed, “All right, time for me to go. I’m not wishing you good luck but trust me you’ll need it. See you later, shithead! Repeat after me: respect!”

All my attempts to break through the invisible wall failed. All I achieved was a nasty fall and a few points’ drop in my pants and jacket’s Durability.

Flint kept flooding my PM box with messages while all I could do was open my mouth soundlessly like a fish out of water.

Damn that carving on the wall! Damn Shantarsky and his sorry excuse for a son! Damn this sadist Slayer scumbag!

Gasping, I sat on the floor by the wall. I tried not to think what was going to happen once the instance came back to life. One thing I knew was that this was the top level and top mobs. Plus Steel Widow, the instance boss. I wasn’t going to like it, that’s for sure. It was going to hurt. A lot. I didn’t even want to think how it was going to feel. Shame about my clothes. Their Durability was about to suffer somewhat.

What could I do? Had I had a standard account, I could have promptly “died“, then resurrected at the main square. But now... How was I going to survive the two hours until the curse wore off? And once it did, how was I supposed to battle my way out of a dungeon swarming with spiders? Now my hopes lay with Flint. If he disbanded the group quickly, I might get off easy. But they had to declare the stones first. They were still on their way to the exit—and would be for the next half-hour. Then they would have to use the terminal. They weren’t going to lose their haul—what was the point? I wouldn’t want to, either. So I’d have to suffer in silence. I had no other way.